A Decade of “What’s THIS?!”

GERD: “I have an announcement.”
Inner ear: “Hold my beer.”
Menopause: “Move over, amateurs.”
Bladder: “WHAT DID YOU JUST DRINK?!”
Raven: “It was RED DYE, not battery acid! Calm your ass down.” 😂

———/-/

Apparently, I misunderstood aging. I really thought getting older was mostly a number thing. You know… you turn 50, then 51, then 52. Maybe you need readers. Maybe you make a little noise when you get up off the floor. Whatever.

I did NOT realize my body was going to spend an entire decade introducing me to new shit and making me ask, “What’s THIS?!”

And crazy as it seems, it didn’t even start with menopause. Nope. First came GERD. What’s this?! Then GERD apparently decided it needed a friend and brought along LPR. For those of you lucky enough not to know what LPR is, it’s basically acid reflux that decides your stomach isn’t enough territory and heads north. Wonderful.

Then came menopause. There she is! The one I actually expected. Hot flashes, hormones, HRT, trying to figure out what dose makes you feel like a normal human being instead of either a 90-year-old woman or a hormonal teenager. Fine. Whatever. I knew menopause was coming.

What I DIDN’T know was that random body parts were going to start hurting for absolutely no reason. Wake up in the morning… why does my shoulder hurt? What did I do yesterday? Nothing. Why do my hips hurt? Did I work out? Nope. Did I fall? No. Did I lift something heavy? Absolutely not. Apparently I injured myself sleeping. WHAT’S THIS?!

Then one night I’m feeling young again. My daughter and I are out zip lining, having fun, flying through the air like I’m 25. My inner ear apparently saw that and said, Oh, she’s getting cocky. Next thing I know, I’ve knocked a tiny little crystal loose in my ear and discovered vertigo. (And for the record, no this activity did not give me vertigo)

Now THAT was fun. And by fun, I mean I’d rather have LPR. At least acid reflux doesn’t make the bedroom spin because you rolled over wrong. So I learn the Epley maneuver. I learn about ear crystals. I learn which side to sleep on. Suddenly I have more knowledge about the inner ear than any woman who doesn’t have a medical degree should possess.

Okay. Got it. We good now? NOPE.

Because then my bladder developed an opinion. About red dye. Apparently my bladder does not like red dye. Doesn’t want it. Doesn’t appreciate it. And absolutely does not want it traveling through our body. Excuse me, ma’am, but I thought this was MY body. Evidently we’re a committee now.

My stomach has opinions. My esophagus has opinions. My hormones have opinions. My ears have opinions. My joints have opinions. And now MY BLADDER is reading ingredient labels.

I don’t like all these changes. Nobody explained this part. People always say, “Age is just a number.” Bullshit. Age is apparently waking up every few months with some new ridiculous thing happening and immediately heading to Google to find out if you’re dying or if you’re just 60.

I honestly don’t know why I thought getting older was going to be birthdays, gray hair and maybe a few wrinkles. I’m dumb as hell. Apparently your body has been keeping a whole bag of tricks hidden for the second half of life, and every once in a while it reaches in and pulls out another one.

At this point, I don’t even ask “Why me?” anymore.

I just say, “Oh for God’s sake… WHAT’S THIS?!”

And then I Google it.

11/7/11

7/19/26

How to Leave a Bad Marriage When You’re Financially Dependent

If you’re lying in bed at night wondering how you ended up in a marriage you no longer want to be in—but you have no idea how you could ever afford to leave—this is for you.

Maybe you haven’t worked in years. Maybe you gave up a career to raise your children. Maybe every paycheck, bank account, and bill has his name on it. You never planned to become financially dependent. You were building a marriage and raising a family.

Until one day, everything changed.

Maybe he cheats. Maybe he becomes controlling. Maybe he treats you like crap. Maybe you simply realize you don’t want to live this way anymore.

But there’s one BIG problem.

You can’t afford to leave.

No paycheck. No savings. You have kids depending on you, a rent or mortgage payment, utilities, insurance, groceries, and all the other expenses that come with running a household.

So now what?

Sometimes you have to PLAY IT COOL.

People love to say, “Just leave!”

Okay. And go WHERE?

With what money?

How are you paying the electric bill next month?

Leaving may take time and planning. There is nothing wrong with quietly getting your ducks in a row before making your move.

And if the money is there, don’t automatically assume YOU and the kids have to walk away with nothing. Tell him you expect him to help pay for a place for you and the kids and give you a few months to get financially established. Or maybe HE needs to be the one who leaves the family home. Find out what your rights are before giving up your home, money, or property. If you have the legal right to remain there, secure the house and change passwords and passcodes you are entitled to change.

Then start building your independence.

Get a temporary job if you need to. Work evenings or weekends. Babysit. Clean houses. Sell something you make. Find something you can do from home. Go back to school. Finish that degree you put on hold. Get a certification or learn a skill that can turn into a career.

Then sit down and figure out the NUMBERS.

What will it actually cost for you and your children to live each month? Housing. Utilities. Food. Transportation. Insurance. Childcare. Phone. Medications. Minimum debt payments. Write it ALL down.

Next, figure out what money you’ll have coming in and how much you need to make up the difference. That gives you a real savings goal instead of just saying, “I need to save some money.”

Start building an emergency fund. Even if you can only put away $20 or $50 at a time, START.

Know what you have as a couple, too. Bank and retirement accounts, credit cards, loans, the mortgage, vehicles, insurance policies, property, and other major assets or debts. Gather copies of important financial and personal documents and keep them somewhere you can safely access them.

Check your credit and know what is in your own name. If you don’t already have access to money of your own, start thinking about how you will manage your finances independently when the time comes.

Now you have something more valuable than “I need to get out.”

You have a number. You have a goal. You have a plan.

Maybe it takes three months. Maybe it takes six. That’s okay.

HAVE A PLAN AND STICK TO IT.

And if you’re a stay-at-home mom and everything is wonderful right now, have a Plan B anyway. Keep your skills current, have some money of your own, or build a nest egg over the years so that if life ever changes, you aren’t starting with $14 in your purse and nowhere to go.

I’m not saying never trust your husband. You can love someone completely and STILL be smart enough to protect yourself.

People change. Marriages change. People get sick, die, or lose jobs. And sometimes the person you thought you would spend forever with turns out to be someone you need to get away from.

Sometimes protecting yourself doesn’t mean dramatically packing a suitcase tonight and storming out the door.

Sometimes it means smiling, going to work tomorrow, putting another $100 in your escape fund, and continuing to build your way out.

There is no shame in taking your time if taking your time allows you to leave prepared instead of desperate.

Just don’t get comfortable and forget why you started.

Make the plan.

Save the money.

Stick to the plan.

And when the time comes, you won’t be asking yourself, “How am I going to survive without him?”

You’ll already know.

A NOTE ABOUT ABUSE: If you or your children are being abused, threatened, stalked, or you believe you may be in danger, this advice changes. Your safety comes FIRST. Don’t confront someone or announce that you’re leaving if doing so could put you in more danger. Reach out to someone you trust, a domestic-violence organization, law enforcement when appropriate, or another safe resource and make a safety plan for leaving. If you are in immediate danger, call emergency services.

That’s Between The Monster And The Blanket.

Every October, I try to watch one scary movie per day. Now, there are rules to this. I like scary movies. I like Jeepers Creepers. Give me something lurking in the woods, a serial killer, a creature, a creepy mystery, somebody being chased through a house—I’m in.

But I have limits.

I don’t need demons possessing anyone. I don’t need two hours of people being dismembered. And most importantly, I do not need a movie introducing me to a brand-new fear that I will carry around for the rest of my life.

Because apparently, I’m susceptible.

I watched Mama.

Big mistake.

There are scenes in that movie involving the ceiling that my brain has apparently archived under IMPORTANT SURVIVAL INFORMATION. To this day, I look at the ceiling when entering or leaving a dark room. Why? I don’t know. Do I actually believe Mama is up there? No. Do I still check? Absolutely.

Then I watched The Descent. When that movie ended, I had to watch the bloopers. I needed to see those creatures laughing dancing with a top hat and cane. I needed to see cameras. Makeup people. Craft services. Somebody named Steve drinking a Diet Coke. I needed PROOF that everyone involved went home afterward.

And caves? No thank you. People say, “Wouldn’t it be fun to explore a cave?” No. I’ll stay right here where I can see and get to the car in record speed!

There is, however, one safety system I have in place when I get a little skittish: THE BLANKET.

I am 61 years old and I will still hop into bed because there is a very small part of my brain that understands something the rest of you have apparently forgotten: Monsters could live under beds.

You don’t casually stand beside a bed with your ankles exposed. Are you insane? have you seen Wax Museum? Instead you approach. You calculate the distance. And then…HOP. Once you’re safely on the mattress, you immediately activate the blanket. And everybody knows how this works. Monster under the bed? Covers up. Access denied. Creepy noise in the hallway? Covers up. Security system activated. Something moves in the corner? I didn’t see it. I am under the blanket.And God forbid a foot slips out.

🚨 SHIELD COMPROMISED. 🚨

That foot gets sucked back under those covers so fast you’d think something actually grabbed it. It can be 95 degrees outside. I don’t care. People say, “Aren’t you hot?” That’s not the point. This isn’t bedding. It’s security equipment. And don’t come at me with logic.

Yes, I understand that if an eight-foot supernatural creature can enter my home, crawl across my ceiling and drag a grown adult into another dimension, my $49 comforter from HomeGoods probably isn’t going to stop it. But that’s between the monster and the blanket. I don’t make the rules.

All I know is that for my entire life, nothing has ever gotten me while I’ve been completely covered. 100% success rate. You can’t argue with statistics.

So this October, I’ll once again watch scary movies. I’ll scream. I’ll jump. I’ll tell the idiot on the television NOT TO GO IN THERE while they go in there anyway. And afterward I’ll walk through my dark house pretending I’m not slightly concerned.I’ll check the ceiling—thanks, Mama. I’ll avoid caves—thanks, The Descent. I’ll take three quick steps toward the bed… HOP. Covers up. Protective shield… ACTIVATED.

 The Blanket Is a Protective Shield. I Don’t Make the Rules.

And I’ll live another day for another scary movie. 😂🎃

Ya'll think I'm crazy but I bet you have a blanket yourself!

When Your House Stops Feeling Like Home

I have what I call a dead house.- You know that weird stage of moving where you still technically live there, but it doesn’t really feel like you live there anymore? That’s where I am.

I’ve taken everything off the walls. Pictures are gone. Decorations are packed. All those little things I’ve collected and placed exactly where I wanted them are now wrapped in paper and sitting in boxes. Basically, I have removed every expression of ME from my own house.

And I hate it.

The walls are bare. The shelves are empty. There are boxes everywhere. It echoes differently. It doesn’t feel cozy anymore. It doesn’t even really feel like home. It feels like we’re squatting in somebody else’s house while waiting for our actual lives to start again.

The ONLY room I haven’t touched is my bedroom. My pictures are still there. My stuff is still where it belongs. It still looks lived in. It still looks like me. So naturally, I’ve decided I may never leave it. 😂

Unfortunately, I’m going to be living in this dead house for two more weeks. I know there’s something exciting waiting on the other side of all these boxes. A new place. New walls to decorate. New places to put all my crap. I’ll get to unpack everything and make another house feel like ours.

But until then? If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bedroom.