I am Kate.
I am a mother, a friend, a lesbian.
I have been a daughter, a sister and a partner. I hope to be a partner again someday if I find love once more.
I feel alone sometimes, but other times I feel alive and happy and surrounded by friends who are my surrogate family.
I am an incest survivor.
I have clinical depression and PTSD.
I am the child of an alcoholic.
I am the parent of a beautiful son who makes me proud everyday.
I am a hard worker.
I am a writer.
I am a good cook and hostess.
I am a hiker and a person who ejoys nature and the outdoors.
I am a good photographer and an art lover.
I grew up working class and was the first person in my family to attend college.
I am intelligent.
I have a hole inside of me that I’ve been trying to fill my whole life.
I have a lot of love to give.
I am honest, dependable, caring and kind.
I like to have fun.
I am independent, and sometimes in my life I’ve been co-dependent.
I am a feminist.
I am very liberal and open-minded.
I am a cat lover.
I am a person who loves the city and the country but not the suburbs.
I am a survivor who does what has to be done even when I’m afraid.
I am strong.
I was never safe
Paced the floors at night
Counted the sheep til dawn
Til I was too exhausted to stay awake
And lived my life anyway
Then she was there
Holding me tight
Telling me it would be alright, she’d make it so
And I could finally let go
Let her watch for my demons
And I knew she’d fight them off
And all the while bury her face in my hair, kiss my neck
Hold me
Let me know I wasn’t alone anymore
And in return I adored her.
I have had my share of crazy-makers in my life. Oftentimes these people say they don’t like drama when in fact they do everything in their power, either consciously or unconsciously, to bring it into their lives. My very first experience with one of these people was with my father. He caused craziness in our household on a daily basis. I never knew when I walked in the door from school what would be facing me, what he’d be angry about or freaking out about or just plain insane about. I didn’t know who he’d be mad at or who was mad at him on any given day. And I never knew what was real with him and what was imagined. He always thought everyone was out to get him.
I vowed I’d never be with someone like my dad. So, I ended up marrying someone like my mom. I wore the pants in the family and he was a weak, hypochondriac drama queen. He didn’t bring drama into our lives because he really didn’t have much of a life. By the time we divorced, I wanted someone as far removed from him as possible. Plus I finally came out as a lesbian, so I even wanted a different gender.
My next two major relationships were with women who turned out to have some of the traits of my father. They were both strong and aggressive and mentally unbalanced in ways. Both had lives filled with high drama. The first one created it and the second one surrounded herself with it. Both were emotionally abusive and controlling like my father. Both treated me horribly when I finally left. And I have begun to feel a little compassion for the predicament I think my mother found herself in. I’m not excusing her inaction, but I’m saying I understand a bit better the feelings of helplessness and disbelief when a woman finds herself in an abusive relationship.
I can not be doomed to end up with people resembling either of my parents. I’m thinking, writing and reading. I’m trying to discover why I have chosen the partners I’ve had. I’m trying to learn to take things slower and make better choices in the future. I’m trying to discover those red flags I need to watch out for and learn to discern their presence without being blinded by my feelings. I understand that in each relationship I’ve taken on a role, not the role I really wanted. The role I truly want is more balanced, that of a healthy partner. I want to love and be loved. I want mutual respect. I want for my partner and I to be individuals as well as mates. I want us each to appreciate the other’s strengths and differences. I want compassion. I want an exchange of ideas, caring and mutual admiration. I want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t have to be perfect, but who isn’t broken. I want to find someone who will grow with me. I want to live, laugh and love.
I panic when I think about doing certain things in my life alone. I think it’s because I’ve been in long-term relationships and have rarely been alone. I realized this morning that it’s silly for me to panic. Even when I’ve been in a relationship with someone, I was often the person who made plans, arranged things and dealt with problems. It scares me to deal with car maintenance on my own because I’m always afraid of being taken for too much money. But there’s always a solution–car maintenance plans, taking a friend who knows about cars, etc. I’ve negotiated the deal for every car I’ve purchased even though I hate doing it. I’m uncomfortable dealing with creditors but I’ve pretty much always been the one to do that too. I dislike the thought of traveling alone, but I’ve planned most trips I’ve ever taken, done the driving and travelled across the country and back alone. I worry most what will happen to me if I get sick. I wonder who will be my advocate in a hospital or who will take care of me. I’ve always taken care of myself and other people. I’m not old by any means, but the older I get the more I think about this issue. I have no family other than my son. I will have to depend on the kindness of friends. They have never let me down. So, when it comes right down to it, I guess it’s not so much fear about these things that I feel. It’s a lack of support, feeling like no one has my back and it’s all me. There’s no one to give moral support or to run a decision by for input. There’s no one to say that everything’s going to be okay, everything will work out.
Even with these fears, I’ve come to believe that it’s better to be alone than to be with the wrong person. A price can’t be attached to getting through the day without emotional abuse, being controlled and wondering if things will ever get better. I have resolved never to do certain things again. I will never:
1. allow someone else to control my finances.
2. share transportation with a partner.
3. date someone with young children or kids who have emotional problems.
4. mix money with someone else unless we are legally bound in a marriage/domestic partnership.
5. allow someone else to influence my parenting.
6. stay in a situation where I’m being isolated from people, controlled, put down or otherwise emotionally abused.
7. stay with someone who takes me for granted and doesn’t make me happy.
8. give up my social life and interests for someone else.
9. ignore red flags warning me of mental problems or moral issues.
10. date someone with a criminal record.
11. be with someone who constantly puts other people down and talks about everyone they know behind their backs.
12. be with someone who refuses medication and/or counseling for their mental problems.
13. be with anyone who doesn’t treat me well all the time.
14. date another hypochondriac or someone who uses their illness/disability for attention and sympathy.
15. try to change myself for someone else.
16. give up parts of myself for someone else.
17. be with someone who can’t/won’t communicate with me.
18. be with someone who isn’t respectful when they talk to me.
19. stay with someone who doesn’t make me a priority in her life.
20. stay with someone who makes promises to me they don’t keep.
I’m sure I’ll think of more “nevers”. The best thing I think you can get from a failed relationship is an idea of the things you do and do not want in a future partner. In that way, every relationship is a learning tool and offers insights into oneself and others. It’s just hard to think of it that way until enough time has passed after the end of a failed relationship to step outside of the emotions and look at things objectively. And now I’m there.
It seems almost unbelievable to be starting over once again. I’m 37 and three years ago I met the woman I thought was the love of my life. I would describe it as the closest I’ve come to love at first sight. I was smitten immediately. She seemed to be everything I wanted: cute, funny, caring, compassionate, understanding, giving, romantic, sexy, a perfect mix of masculine and feminine qualities. We could relate on so many levels. Before I knew it, we were living together, combining our families, planning our future. We went to Mexico when we had been together for a year and nine months and she proposed to me on Isla de Mujeres (Island of Women), said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. It was storybook, idyllic.
Now, seven months later, we’re living apart and our relationship is over. It seems incredible to me that things fell apart the way they did. Everything wasn’t perfect. We both had issues in our relationship. My definition of commitment was to stay together and try to work things out until either it worked or we knew we had tried everything. I guess we had different ideas about that.
Now, even though I feel this break-up happened for a reason and it’s better not to stay with someone who isn’t truly committed to me, it’s still hard to move on. I’ve only had three major relationships in my life. The first one I loved like a friend. The second one I realized later I didn’t really love in the romantic sense. This woman I loved in the deep, romantic, committed for life sense. I made a lot of personal compromises while I was with her which, looking back now, probably wasn’t healthy. At times I didn’t communicate very well and neither did she. But people have problems. It’s life and most people just plod on and do the best they can.
My friends keep telling me to stay busy, go out and socialize, don’t spend too much time concentrating on the past. So, I do that as much as I can. But when I’m alone and I have time to think, that’s a dangerous place for me to be. I start sinking quickly and it takes everything in my power to pull myself up and out of that hole. When I go out, it’s not a natural thing for me to look at women in a romantic way. I was so in love I didn’t want anyone else but her. I didn’t need to look. So, as I’ve tried to look it seems like a foreign practice, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing. I have to remind myself that she’s not part of my future anymore. The very first time I went out, I was at a bar I only went to with her over the past two years. And as I looked around all the memories there with her came flooding back and I had to leave. Everywhere I go, I look around trying to spot someone attractive and I realize I’m looking for her.
The most difficult part is discovering that sometimes love is not enough. You can love a person with all your heart, but the day-to-day drama of kids, extended family and personal issues sometimes proves to be too much. I became a different person when I was with her. I lost some vibrancy, became too co-dependent, ignored relationships with friends, quit pursuing my interests. I quit growing as a person. I thought love would conquer all. I still wonder if it can when the right two people are together.
I make lists and I set goals. I plan things. I have way more free time than I’m used to or comfortable with having. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself. I write, I read, I call friends. I send emails or text messages. I tell my son I love him. I nurture my friendships. I go for walks alone. I sleep alone, and sometimes I long for her arms around me. I can’t help it. I miss us even if we don’t exist anymore.
The thought of someone else in my life, in my bed, is still foreign. Everyone says I’ll find someone else someday, someone who will love and appreciate me. I can’t imagine anyone else yet. I don’t want anyone else yet. I’m often lonely but I can live with that for now.
I work. I think. I write. I wonder how long it takes to get over the love of your life. I wonder when I’ll feel normal again. I wonder when I’ll quit missing our life together, the good parts anyway. I wonder when I’ll quit slipping up and thinking of her in my future because she’s now in my past. I wonder when I’ll quit crying over the things she said to me and the way she treated me. I wonder when I’ll really move on. I’m told it’s a process, so I’m going with that.
I asked a friend how long it took her to move on when she broke up with one of her great loves. She said she did all the things I’m doing even though she didn’t feel like it, even though it seemed like she was just going through the motions. And then one day she realized she was okay again. And her new love interest was supposed to call, and when she saw her ex’s number pop up on the phone she was disappointed. And that’s when she knew she had moved on.
No matter how much I try to forget it, I still miss falling asleep in her arms, feeling safe.
I was sitting in a park alone for the second time lately and realized it has been a long time since I’ve thought of going by myself. This park is in a smallish town; it’s not a big city park where you see lots of single people hanging out or strolling through. This park is usually full of families, children rolling down the hill in the grass, people picnicing on blankets. I saw a young boy on a bike with training wheels and it made me think of my own son at that age and miss him. And I saw a couple laying together under a tree in the grass and I wished I was there with someone.
Being alone is not something I do well. I have yearned for a partner and a family for as long as I can remember. I spent many years with someone I didn’t love because I didn’t want to take away a family life from my son. When that family life was virtually gone anyway because we never spent time together, I realized there was no point in staying. All those years of loneliness and feeling rejected by my birth family has made me desire and value a partner and extended family.
As I recently packed vodka and gin boxes with my clothes and personal possessions and then unpacked them at my new place, where I live alone now, I have come to wonder what it is about me that drives people away. I have been rejected or abandoned by most of the important people in my life. And yet my friends tell me what a beautiful, kind, caring, desirable person I am and that I deserve someone who appreciates the sweetness in me.
I’m no longer a Christian, as I was growing up, but I do live my life based on a teaching of Jesus: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And I also keep in mind Buddha’s teachings on karma. I try never to intentionally hurt anyone and to treat them the way I want to be treated. I try to help anyone who needs it because people have reached out to help me at some of the lowest points in my life. Sometimes I give money to people standing at intersections with signs because I really don’t believe most of them go home to nice houses or fancy cars. I don’t kick dogs or hit children. I don’t even yell very often and I dislike arguing.
So, I ask myslef, why am I alone again? My partner and I are separated under the pretext that we are taking time to work on ourselves. We still love each other. We each have our problems and issues, none of which I thought were unworkable or would split us up. But yet, here I am. I am trying to be hopeful that we can each do the work necessary to repair ourselves and our relationship. I desperately hoped that commitment meant staying together no matter what and helping each other through things. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s a definite possibility that I don’t understand the real meaning of a healthy relationship or what other people think commitment means. I only know what I have learned up to this point.
I have come to the conclusion that all I can do in this life is try my best. I have tried to make some good friends and have done that. I have tried to be an open, honest person who truly cares about other people and I feel I have done that, too. I tried to get a degree and a job to support a family and I accomplished that. Now, I’m trying to be a better mother, a healthier person both physically and emotionally, and to conquer my long-term depression issues. I’m trying to resolve unresolved issues from an abusive childhood. And I’m trying to figure out how to be a better partner because I feel like my best hasn’t been good enough.
I think I fear being alone because I start to live in my head and my depression gets worse. Obviously I need to learn that it doesn’t have to be that way. My partner recently told me I need to learn to love myself. That’s quite the conundrum when I’m feeling rejected and my self-esteem is at an all-time low. I’m thinking that perhaps, to overcome my own self-hatred and blame for this separation, I must try to accept that I’ve done the best I could with the tools I had and know that I can’t always please everyone regardless of how hard I try. Maybe I need more tools.
I have to believe there is always a reason for things happening. I don’t think much in this life is truly random. So, I’m hoping to make lemonade out of lemons. I’ll exercise, go to doctors and counselors, renew friendships, be creative and nurture myself, spend some quality time with my son, become a better person. I’ll figure out what my real needs and priorities are and decide what I am and am not willing to compromise on for the sake of love. I’ll try to accomplish some goals I’ve been putting off. I’ll be productive and find some happiness again. And I’ll hope that maybe someday, regardless of my faults, I won’t face rejection and abandonment again. My heart feels like it simply can’t take anymore. And yet I know I won’t give up on love. It’s not in me. A friend told me recently, “You’re a romantic! You won’t live your life alone.” I want to believe her.
All of this talk about my needs may make me seem like a selfish, self-centered, demanding person who is in competition with others for attention. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I still find it difficult to ask for what I need and much easier to put other people’s needs ahead of my own. I have to force myself to express my needs to my partner or those around me. I’m probably a little more demanding now that I’m in my late thirties than I was a decade ago, particularly since I finally know it’s okay to want and need.
Women in our American society have been raised to always put everyone else first, and in doing so many of us lost ourselves. I was a young mother who always put my child first, my family and friends second and myself last. When I passed age 30 and had my epiphany, I realized I had my priorities messed up. I was done with the marriage I was in for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that I was never a priority. I had made it alright, through example, for everyone else in my life to put themselves first. Over the years since then I’ve realized that sometimes I have to come first. My order of priorities now is that children’s needs come first, then parents’ needs, then whoever’s wants are more pressing. As a child who was not a priority at all, I definitely see the importance of putting children’s needs as a major priority. But, they don’t always come first when the issue is their wants versus my needs or my partner’s needs. I learned a valuable lesson along my journey–your partner has to be a priority if you want to keep and maintain a good relationship. I decided when I left my marriage that I only want to be with a partner who wants to be with me, who loves me to the same degree that I love her, and who doesn’t make me compete for her time and attention. I want to be treated like a special, important person. I don’t want to be disrespected, play games or be made to feel jealous by her attentions to others. I’m not a jealous person by nature, but I do think it’s natural to feel jealousy from time to time. I don’t think people would be human if they didn’t get jealous on occasion and it lets you know your partner values and cares about you. However, I’ve been in a relationship with someone who was constantly jealous and played games with my emotions by overtly flirting with or encouraging attention from other women. I won’t go down that road ever again. I occasionally tease my partner about someone’s attentions but I’m only rarely really jealous.
Being treated carefully and with dignity is also a need now. I would rather just not do something than to risk hurting my partner and I expect the same treatment. I err on the side of caution, which hasn’t always been the case with me. I’ve learned from past experiences that it’s easy to inadvertently hurt someone and sometimes that feels worse than hurting someone intentionally. There are things I just don’t do: go out to bars without my partner, pay compliments to people outside of family about their looks or otherwise flirt, put myself in inappropriate situations such as being alone with an ex-lover. If we’re out somewhere and someone flirts with me, I don’t encourage it and let them know I’m taken. I believe in treating my partner exactly the same as I want to be treated, with the same level of love, respect and consideration. I don’t ask anything of her I’m not willing to reciprocate or that I don’t expect of myself. Having finally found love for the first time in my life, I value her like a precious treasure. I know I would defend her life and reputation with everything I’ve got. Putting her down or threatening her is the same as doing it to me. I was never in a relationship with someone whom I knew would stand up for me before, and knowing she feels that way makes me feel fiercely protective of her. She’s a part of me now.
I’m working on a series of stories and essays for a memoir about my childhood and how it has influenced and affected my adult life. From time to time I’ll post something I’m writing for feedback.
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My mother was a narcissistic hypochondriac and my father was an abusive sociopath. Neither was interested in anyone else, least of all me. I wasn’t cared for; I was in the way. I took time and money that could better be spent on either of them. When I was old enough to work a summer job they never spent much money on me again. I was responsible for myself and the things I needed. I was responsible for finding my own attention, love and friendship. That’s probably why I’ve always felt like I could never rely on other people but could only rely on myself.
I grew up learning that wanting was dangerous because disappointment was never far behind. I learned not to need anyone but myself. I married someone just like my mother who never paid attention to my wants or needs. I sat home alone at night with my baby, then toddler, then small child and watched my neighbors have barbecues and parties. I peeked out my window from behind the curtain, watching, wishing and wondering if I would ever be happy.
When I turned thirty something happened, something changed within me. I couldn’t stand the person I had become and the person I really am was begging to be set free. Without being able to control myself, I began a dangerous practice. I started to want. I wanted love, attention, sex and maybe a little bit of happiness. I wanted to be more than a shell, to be a complete person again. I wanted to be a woman who felt like a woman. I wanted to like myself, love myself, respect myself. I had to change because I realized that a life void of wanting and needing is really no life at all.
So now wanting has progressed to needing. I need love, friendship, respect, friends, family, time, privacy, attention. I need to be nurtured, touched, cherished, desired, adored. I need to feel like a priority in my partner’s life because I’ve never been a priority in anyone’s life before. I never knew I needed that, but I do. I crave attention like a drug. I’m like a junkie who needs more and more. I’ve gotten a little and now suddenly I can’t live without it. My bones and my flesh and my brain need it. I need it to feel loved, wanted, desired. And I need to give it as well. I need to shower my partner with attention. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever get or give enough.
Some of my wants have become needs. I don’t know when that happened. Daily I fear not meeting the needs of my partner, my children, my friends and family. I fear their disappointment. I fear my own if I let them know my own needs and they aren’t met.
I’ve spent a considerable amount of time alone during various periods in my life. I’ve also spent a lot of time depressed and unhappy. Now I fear being alone. It’s like I have to make up for all those disappointing hours, days, years. I’m like a sponge, soaking up all the attention I can get, all the love I never had. I have to pull myself back, attempt to keep from smothering my partner. I need to give her space to be a mother, a sister, a friend. And I need to make myself accept that being alone or getting my needs met in a variety of ways is healthy. I want to be the mother I never had. I don’t want to fail anyone. And yet I know that sometimes I will fail and that others will fail me. It isn’t intentional, but it is inevitable.
I wonder how much I can expect of others. Maybe the answer is no more than I expect of myself. What I do know for certain is that, despite my best efforts, I will continue to discover new wants and some of those wants will probably become needs. I’ll try to continue to get them met and to anticipate the needs of the people around me. I’ll do my best to be a good person day by day, and to try to balance my needs with the needs of those I love.
I’ve wanted to travel all my life, but haven’t been in a position to do much traveling until now. This past October, I finally made it to Mexico for the first time. My partner Jen and I, after several months of looking online and discussing and planning, decided we’d travel to Cancun for our first international vacation together. She had been there once before, many years ago, and it was nice going with someone who knew what was worth doing while we were there for a week. We chose to go during the Dia de los Muertos holiday because we thought there’d be a lot to do and it would be fun to go during that time. While we did see lots of altars for the dearly departed, Cancun didn’t seem to have much of a celebration like other places in Mexico Jen has been before. That was a little disappointing, but the rest of the trip was fabulous.
We took off from Seattle and flew to Cabo San Lucas on the first leg of the trip. I stepped foot in Mexico for the first time on the tarmac of the tiny little airport there and waited in line inside to go through customs. It was very rushed as the airplane was picking up passengers and taking off again just as soon as we were re-loaded. I used the restroom there and experienced what I was to come to find everywhere I went in Mexico–extremely powerful toilets in which one was not supposed to put any toilet paper. People in Cabo spoke both English and Spanish. I spent the flight from Seattle to Cabo, then Cabo to Mexico City, seated beside a Mexican man who did his best to sit very straight and upright, not touching me at all with any part of his body. After we took off from Cabo, I offered him a piece of gum. He smiled and took one, said “Gracias” and went back to sitting stiff as a board. I hate sitting in the middle seat.
When we flew into Mexico City it was getting dark and as we descended towards the airport, I could see the thousands and thousands of twinkling lights throughout the city and the apparent Friday night traffic jam on pretty much every street downtown. When we got off the plane in that airport, I really felt like we were in Mexico. Lots of people from all over the world were walking around, speaking many languages, and English was not something one could automatically assume anyone spoke. I tried to order a soy latte at the Starbucks in the airport, and ended up using a combination of broken Spanish and sign language to try to explain what I wanted. I mentally kicked myself for not brushing up on my Spanish prior to the trip. Jen and I tried to find the gate for our next flight with not much luck. We stopped and tried asking people who worked at the airport only to be told in Spanish that they didn’t speak English. We finally found someone who told us the secret route to our gate, virtually unmarked, and we found it and boarded the final plane to Cancun.
Finally, we landed in the airport that has a gorgeous view during the day, right on the Carribean. When we got off the plane I could smell the sea, even if I couldn’t see it. Customs in Cancun is simple. You go to a gate with a button. There is a green light and a red light. You are told to push the button and if you get a green light you go. If you get a red light, your luggage is searched. Jen and I both got the green light. Our van to the hotel was waiting and I experienced my first ride in Mexico. I think every driver pushes the pedal to the metal and somehow ends up where they’re going without an accident. I never did see an accident the whole time I was there, but held on for dear life in every van or bus I rode in. No one believes in driving slow and I honestly don’t remember seeing a speed limit sign.
Jen & I in the hotel lobby, Day 2 in Cancun
After getting to our hotel downtown, TerraCarribe, late at night, we got up bright and early the next morning (October 31st) to take a boat ride and tour out to an island off the coast of Cancun called Isla Mujeres. Our van came, picked us and a few other people up, and dropped us at the marina to await our boat crew. We got on a beautiful catamaran like this one:
It was very windy once we got underway, not to mention wet. The waves were coming up over the sides of the boat and more than once I got completely drenched. I made the mistake of wearing shorts and a shirt instead of just wearing my bathing suit to begin with. Here I am prior to changing but before I got drenched:
Just before we left the marina in Cancun
And here we are on the boat after we changed and started drinking:
Jen & I on the catamaran, going to Isla Mujeres
Jen snorkeled while I sunbathed on the sailboat. The water was a bit choppy for me to jump into. I decided to stay and have another cocktail. When we got to Isla Mujeres we had lunch at an outdoor restaurant/bar, and then Jen asked me to go for a walk with her on the beach. I sat on a rock and before I knew it she was kneeling in front of me, telling me she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me, and asked me to marry her! Here we are not too long after:
October 31, 2008, Isla Mujeres
We went shopping in town, got back on the boat and headed back to Cancun. Oh, and we drank some more tequila. 
Toasty and in love
We made it back to the hotel that evening, and tried to find the hotel pool only to discover it wasn’t heated. It had cooled down a lot. On the way back to our room, Jen stubbed her toe on the stairs and I spent a while wiping up blood from the tile floor of our room and laughing hysterically as I fell forward when I tried to bend down to clean it up. We had a fabulous evening, but unfortunately I only remember bits and pieces of it. 
The next day, November 1st, is Dia de los Muertos in Mexico. The photographer from our boat ride the previous day came to our hotel in the morning to sell us a DVD of our trip the day before, and then he and his friend offered to give us a ride to a local market. We had lunch outdoors at a little Argentinian cafe and it rained the one and only time during our trip. The sky opened up and it poured buckets for about 15 minutes. People unfortunate enough not to be under cover were soaked and dripping in just a few minutes. After lunch we walked through the market and saw the altar behind us in this photo:
We shopped and bought some gifts for our kids and people back home. Then we went back to the hotel and got ready to go out that night. Here we are before catching the city bus to the hotel zone to go out to dinner:
We looked for some Day of the Dead fun, but only saw a little fair closing up and a few children out trick-or-treating. We had seafood, caught a cab back to the hotel and decided to call it a night as we had a big day ahead of us on the 2nd.
Our next excursion was through the Quintana Roo jungle out to the Yucatan to the Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza. It was a long bus ride, and that trip really made me feel like a privileged, rich American. For the first time in my life, I saw poverty outside of the United States and I rode the bus crying as I looked out and saw children playing in dirt and garbage. People outside of the cities live without running water, plumbing, and many other luxuries we consider a normal part of everyday life. Before we got to the ruins, we stopped to see a xenote, a cave leading into an underground system of rivers running all over the Yucatan Peninsula.
Another colorful Dia de los Muertos altar and a beautiful peacock outside of the xenote:
Next we got to the ruins:
Jen & I in front of the biggest pyramid
Some more shots:
Oscar & Esperanza from NYC
Some more views of Chichen Itza:
And more:
That was a really long day and by the time we got back to the hotel we were exhausted. We hadn’t eaten dinner and were too tired to go out, so I attempted to order pizza. I kept getting teenagers who worked at the local pizza joints who didn’t speak English, so I finally went down to the lobby and asked the clerk to order for me. But, we were out of luck because all the pizza joints were closing down and it was too late for delivery. The restaurant at the hotel was also closed, so we ate snacks in our room and prepared for another day out and about.
Our next trip was to X-Caret, an eco-park about an hour outside of Cancun. For the first time ever, I went snorkeling. I don’t swim, so I was a little freaked out to jump in the water (with a life jacket, of course) and put my face in the water. When I jumped in I lost a flipper and my mask came off. After getting re-situated and one of the snorkel guides discovering I didn’t swim, Jen and I got our own private tour. It was kind of embarrassing, but I’m so glad I did it. I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful the fish were. The water is so clear there, an aquamarine you have to see to believe. And it’s warm, not cold like the Pacific or Atlantic. I don’t have any photos right now of the snorkeling experience, but once I get them scanned I’ll edit this and insert some. Here is another altar at X-Caret at the entrance:
Some of the flora in the park:
My beautiful Jen:
Some of the fauna:
Giant sea turtle
Black Jaguar
Iguana by Jen's foot
Parrots with attitude
Tree of Life, in temple near ball court
I decided to start blogging again because I miss it. Writing is something I do in notebooks and on computers and it’s a way for me to work things out for myself, record my thoughts and memories, and get some feedback from others. I have written previously on the blogs TerraFemme, Green Mom and A Suburban Treehugger. A lot has changed with me since those days, though.
Here’s a quick and dirty background synopsis–I grew up in the Seattle area. I’m an incest and abuse survivor, an adult child of an alcoholic, raised in an environment filled with mental illness and dysfunction. I knew I was queer from the time I was in junior high, but raised as Jehovah’s Witness I felt unable to come out for a long time. As an adult I thought I was bisexual until after I was married to a man, when I knew for certain I was really a lesbian. I stayed married for way too long, trying to stay true to marriage vows and keep my family together for my son. I finally realized I was raising my son with the example of parents who stayed in an unhappy relationship for the wrong reasons and knew I needed a change. I got divorced, came out as a lesbian, and 2 years ago I finally met my soulmate. We are planning a commitment ceremony this coming year.
I have worked at jobs in libraries, a college, hospitals and most recently a health insurance company. I have an unfinished degree I want to finish someday. I would like to eventually write and teach at a university.
I like to read, write, spend time outdoors, hang out with my family & friends, watch movies, and dance. I joined the YMCA this January but don’t go often enough. I want to start hiking again. I like to camp. I want to travel the world with my partner and do some good along the way. I’m enjoying watching the kids grow up. It’s bittersweet, but at the same time I’m excited for a time when the kids are on their own and my partner and I can be a little less domestic and a little more international.
My thoughts and opinions are my own. You can express yours in the comments section but please do so nicely. If you’re not nice I’ll use the delete button. Please don’t copy anything written here without my permission. It’s illegal and just plain rude.
