Posted in Notes TO Women Who Think Too Much

This is…

This is gas lighting
When you finally leave someone for the seventh time and they say they’re sorry, it’s all their fault and you already knew it, but they kept telling you for years it was your fault and you were a bitch and you treated them rotten.
It was all a lie and you knew it, but sometimes you got confused and thought maybe you were a bitch and maybe you did treat them bad, even though you rubbed their head and their shoulders while you watched TV together and you fell asleep every night with your hands wrapped in their curls with your face buried in their neck.
You did everything they wanted and they still weren’t loving, they never touched you, never loved you and took away affection as a punishment, but they bought you everything, and said you should be grateful because you had everything, but you didn’t want everything.
You just wanted them to love you and you went back to them back over and over, and you tried to be better.
This is codependency
You know you want to keep it together when you take him back six times and you go back and you hope and you pray and it is good for a little bit and then it slips away back into the pooper and it takes years to leave again because it’s so hard to leave, but you do it over and over.
He’s the one who breaks you and he’s the one you run to, he’s the one you ask to mend your broken heart by loving you, even though he’s the one that cut you to shreds.
This is recovery 
When the day comes that you don’t care that he says it’s his fault and you know it was his fault, he doesn’t have to tell you, you already know it in your heart and nothing he says is gonna change your mind.
When you’re done, done, done trying to believe in him anymore and you want your mind back and you want your life back. When you throw him out and he goes because he knows you always take him back, but you’re not gonna, not this time, and he calls everyday to make sure you’re okay, but he doesn’t want to talk about anything you’ve been through except when he calls you and he talks at length about how he knows it’s all his fault and he reminds you that he’s devastated by the way he hurt you and he triggers your heartache that you had just put aside because this happens every time and then you stop taking his calls.
Then, he texts and asks, are you okay? You text back, yes, thank you.
You don’t talk about your feelings with him, you don’t talk about how devastated, destroyed and broken you feel or how happy and relieved you are that it’s over, and you start to take back your mind and your heart and your soul and you’re surprised that they are still there, surprised that you can breathe without him.
You are surprised that the air is lighter and the sky is bluer and the rain is sweeter.
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Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

Inside The Picture

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Sitting on a porch swing
at her country home
I never saw a face
that looked so all alone.
She gazes into space
her eyes are far away
I wonder where she is
she isn’t in today.
I see a little girl
in the woman’s eyes
a hurt and lonely child
I hear her softly cry.
The pain of dreams now lost
the scars that still remain
when I look at her picture
all I can see is pain.
She captures my heart
I want to hold her tight
I run to save the woman
the girl hides in fright.
The girl plagues the present
with all her musty fears
if I could console the girl
I’d end the woman’s tears.

by Jeanne Marie

Posted in From My Newsletter

THINGS I WISH I’D NEVER SAID TO MY DAUGHTERS

You have to wear a bra!

You’re too young to shave your legs and I don’t care if all the other girls your age are doing it!

I read your diary. We need to talk.

Yes, there are microphones hidden in your barrettes!

If you didn’t take my green eye shadow, then why are your eyelids green?

I’m gonna kill you!

I’m your mother and your father!

Take down those rock posters or I’ll tear them down!

I don’t believe you.

Never let your husband see you without your make-up on or your hair a mess!

Don’t ever let him see you in the green face mask!

You have to try harder and look better, after you’re married.

Cook him a big breakfast and have his supper ready when he comes in from work.

Are you gonna let him get up and make his own coffee?

Tough luck, life isn’t fair!

THINGS I WISH I’D SAID EVERYDAY

I love you.

Let’s all go out and play.

I don’t care if you make a mess!

Go to college and get a degree, before you have kids.

 

Posted in Notes TO Women Who Think Too Much

Mad Men & Crazy Women

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My sisters and I, we like to love Mad Men. Seriously.
We are Crazy Women.
The Mad Men we love are always mad at the world and we spend way too much valuable time trying to make them calm and happy…
We are old-fashioned, cooking and cleaning while working full-time, loving our man all night, kinda women.
It doesn’t help very much.
Turns out Mad Men don’t want the all night loving after they get you. They are too busy being Mad at you.
But Mad Men don’t always tell you when they’re Mad…they just make you pay in a million little ways and then tell you it’s your fault.
Can you say Gaslight?
The Mad Men think everything revolves around them and I’m being brutally honest here, Crazy Women agree.
Splitting up is as common as Full Moons in our homes.
We certainly know how to leave, we just don’t know how to stay gone, so reuniting is also on our agendas just as often.
Fight. Cry. Talk. Don’t talk. Pack. Leave. Talk every night for hours. Agree on a fresh start. Pack up. Go home. Unpack. Pack. Leave.
We put up with a bunch of bullshit, but luckily the Mad Men are all different, so our phone calls and visits never get boring.
We got rid of the Mad Men who hit many years ago. I give us credit for that.
However, there are thousands of ways to hurt another human being without hitting them.
We watched our mom maneuver this same road with our dad, a truly certifiable Mad Man, and we vowed that we’d never marry a man like him.
But we did.
We are not weak women.
We are strong, intelligent, creative, loving, caring, beautiful women.
But once we fall in love, we give of ourselves until we break and we do not accept defeat gracefully.
My dad begged my mom to leave him before he killed her in a drunken stupor, which he was working on every night, the killing and the stupor.
He would try to wrap the phone cord around her neck and strangle her while my twelve-year-old sister sat on Mom’s lap and stopped him.
My mother’s most famous words were, “Go to bed. your father is not going to kill (or hurt) anyone tonight.”
Our strongest model of reality and she told us we were safe when we were not safe.
Dad even stood over our beds with his hunting rifle now and then. Pondering killing us.
Reality has been confusing for us, at best.
As young girls, we all had a turn sleeping in front of Mom’s bedroom door trying to listen under the crack to see if she was still breathing.
If dad got quiet, she would say, “Go to bed, Ray.”
You would have thought she’d stuck a hot poker in his side because those words would spur the Mad Man on for another hour.
When I write it down and then read it back, it sounds insane and it was, but that was how we lived.
My dad would rant and rave until the sun came up and then we would all try to go to school and my mom would go to work…
It wasn’t hard to find a better man than my father, but I know for myself it took me a long time to realize that on a core level, I was recreating the dynamics of my childhood home and trying to make it come out right.
Four divorces between us, one of us married the same Mad Man twice, not naming any names, baby sister. I would have married mine twice too, but I never got brave enough to divorce him.
I did leave my Mad Man five times, six if you count spending a few nights (alone) crying in a motel. I think that counts.
Serious enough about not going back to buy my own place to live, twice.
I’m in the second place I bought right now, packing to go back home, again.
My sisters and I, we like to love Mad Men. Seriously.
We are Crazy Women.

Posted in Notes TO Women Who Think Too Much

Fuhgedia

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I have the beginning stages of Fuhgedia or as its also called on the street, Fuhgeddaboudit.
It’s a very peculiar illness and quite common in codependent women.
We go through life blocking out our daily experiences and feelings so well that we start to fuhged who we are and what we are doing, who you are and if you are related to us.
We don’t remember who we were before someone told us who we needed to be, what the desires of our heart really are and how we would like to wear our hair.
So you might have to tell me things more than once…things like the day my newest great-grand baby is due, your birthday, my birthday, what day of the week it is…stuff like that.
Otherwise, I’ll just fuhged about it.

Jeanne Marie, 2016

Posted in Gracie's Glimmer, Poetry From A Woman Who Thinks Too Much

No Longer The Girl…

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I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.
I am much older now. I know too much to play Cinderella to your Prince Charming, although I still love you.
I am no longer a girl at all.
The girl grew weary of childish games and a woman stands in her place.
I can’t play Tinkerbell to your Peter Pan, not anymore.
I am woman who knows what she wants most of the time and I definitely know what I don’t want, all of the time.
I have grown-up. Changed.
In some ways for the better and I’ll admit this, in some ways maybe not so better.
As I fight to make my own choices and live my life inside the confines of this codependent relationship, I am often frustrated and angry.
Sometimes, I feel as if I’m walking on floors of Jello surrounded by walls of melting wax.
The rules change as soon as I learn them.
Your truths are flexible and my reality rebels.
I don’t want to be you. I want to be me.
I want to relax and I want to enjoy my life.
I want you to love me, not direct me.
I want my flowers, my gardens, my children, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, my sisters, my pink friend, the Sun, the Stars, the Moon, the Sky, the Rain, the Snow, the Ocean, the cool breeze that gently blows as I sit on my porch and write…and you…
I simply want to get lost in my blessings.
I am no longer the girl you first touched, held, caressed and loved.