Category Archives: My Sad Little Life



IMG_5448I haven’t written anything in one year.  Technically, 371 days.  I have a lot to say, just not a lot of time to say it.

So, here is what has kept me from writing for the past 371 days.

1.  I was married on December 30, 2012.  I spent a little time being a newlywed (about 3 hours) and then it was back to reality.

2.  I spent most of the year trying to build a business.  ANGEO INTERIOR PAINTING is something I never thought I could do.  I never thought I would own a business.  It has been a series of trials and errors when it comes to spreadsheets, advertising, invoicing, estimates and painting.  I want this to be a success.  I need this to be a success.  I need to contribute.

3.  Depression.  It has been a thorn in my side for a number of years.  I don’t think anyone needs to hear these things that are swirling around in my head.  They confuse me.  I can only imagine how others would react.

4.  It seems selfish.  Spending time alone upstairs in front of a computer seems selfish to me.  There are a hundred things during the day/evening that need to be done.  Writing seems to be an excuse not to do what needs to be done.

5.  Some of the things I want to say are not particularly nice.  I don’t think I am ready to be that person.

6.  Some of the things I want to say are probably not very interesting to anyone but me.

7.  Exposure.  Am I ready to give myself to everyone?

8.  Reaction.  I have little self-confidence and everything scares the hell out of me.  I take everything personally and even a hint of disappointment from the people I love would send me into a tailspin.

9.  Topics.  The file folders in my head are full.  How on earth do I choose?

This may take baby steps.  Maybe a blog about cooking or crafts (NO, I  am not a Pinterest person) but do enjoy a craft now and then.  And I love to cook.  Or I can always write about cleaning.  I have been called not-so-nice names because of how I keep house.  But I have seen the alternative and no thanks, it isn’t for me.

So I am going to cross my fingers and see how this goes.  Who knows, maybe this is a start of a beautiful relationship.

Happy New Year to all.  Here is hoping 2014 is just as wonderful as 2013.


P.S.  I hate snow.


What does it all mean?


Each year holiday preparation comes earlier and earlier.   We become consumed by excess and all things material.  Our children get excited by the mere thought of multiple christmas celebrations (more gifts than ever).  There is never enough candy at Halloween even though most goes uneaten.  The same is true for the endless Easter baskets and birthday gifts.  

Most of the time we feel the need to show off and compete with our Facebook friends.  Which family has the most obscene picture of the family christmas tree with gifts stacked around the tree and several feet high?  Who is taking the family on that expensive vacation during the holiday?  Which 7 year old is getting an iPad, iPhone or other expensive gadget that most adults don’t have?  What are we teaching our children?  That all this crap will make them happy?  It won’t.  That they have a RIGHT to have these things.  They don’t.  That they can’t live without these things?  They will.  

It has been said a thousand times before me and will be said a thousand times after me…this is not the true meaning of Christmas.  I am happy to be with someone who agrees with me on this point.  This is our third year of “the twelve days of Christmas.”  Our christmas tree and decorations do not go up until December 13.  Not a day before.  And this year we have taken our distain for the commercialization of Christmas another step further.  Three gifts and three gifts only.  Our children will receive three nominal gifts each along with a modest stocking.  PERIOD.  We have told the children this and as you can imagine, their response was less than thrilled.  And when they asked why they are only getting three gifts, our response….”it was good enough for baby Jesus, it is good enough for you.”  

So let us be reminded:

First the Gift of Gold:  The heart. Matthew 6:21, “. . .for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  

The Second Gift of Frankincense, the Fragrance of the Christ:  When we remove all forms of evil from our heart, we spread the fragrance of Christ.  

The Third Gift of Myrrh, Unchanging Faith:  We give to the Lord that which does not perish.

Our renewed outlook of our faith has changed our lives and the way we live each day.  We are not perfect and on any given day at any given moment, we fail.  But we continue to learn and follow our path.   Hoping to be better people and better parents.  





I had decided after my last post in July, to give blogging a rest. I had a lot to say and most of it was hateful, hurtful and downright mean. So stepping away was a good idea. My mouth and temper are quick and if not filtered properly, I can blurt out some very mean things to dig the knife deeper. Add a bit of depression to the mix and the recipe turns out dry and tough to swallow. I immediately feel awful afterwards, even when what I say is true. So how do we get past hurtful words said in anger? Especially when they come from someone you were close and never thought would treat you that way.

The people closest to us have the ability to hurt us in the deepest ways. I know when I am hurt I take it very much to heart and relive it and relive it, not on the outside but in my head and heart. I think at these times we just need to excuse ourself from the situation before we have a chance to respond badly. If we stop and cool off for a time both people are more likely to respond better. So I decided to give it a rest. Find a way to deal with all the hurtful and angry words.

So after two months have I discovered anything? Well, yes. I have discovered that the person who says hurtful and angry things is only human. He or she may be struggling with things I know nothing about. Depression, illness, anger, bitterness, self-loathing, and fear just to name a few. What sets me apart from this person is that I have the ability to forgive. To be a better person. I don’t pretend for a second it is just that easy. It takes work, a lot of work, each day. Forgiveness is a choice we make each day through a decision of our will. We forgive by faith. Seeing that person through a new heart lets me care for that person. God doesn’t withhold his foregiveness from me, what right do I have to not forgive others?

It is normal for us to feel anger towards injustice, however it is not our right to judge.



This is too good to be true. What is he thinking? Why do we hide ourselves? I am just not good enough. What did that mean? I should just walk away. I over compensate. I need to prove myself. My imagination is worse than the reality. I can’t believe I make this stuff up. I know he loves me. If only I could read his mind. I wish I could just go with the flow. Focus on the good. Be confident. I am only human. I am not perfect.

Seven Words


During the holidays, a few people asked me about my family. They say I rarely talk about them and wondered how many siblings I actually have. Where do they live? When was the last time we spoke? Well, if you are looking for a heart warming tale of a family who are so close they can finish each other’s thoughts, stop reading now. If you choose to continue to read, let’s just say, I warned you.

I am the last of 5 children. I was born in 1964. I have two older brothers and two older sisters. They were born in 1952, 1953, 1954 and 1955. All within 42 months. All a year apart in school. Fast forward to September 1964 when I was born. Not planned, I was a surprise and according to my parents, a product of a rather raucous New Year’s Eve party. Needless to say, my entry into the world was not particularly a welcome one. I have few memories of my siblings from my childhood. Obviously they were 9, 10, 11 and 12 when I was born. So by the time I began grade school, they, one-by-one, began to enter college. And by the time I was 9, I was an only child. My parents were exhausted and had already raised 4 children. My siblings proximity in age kept my parents busy and burdened financially. And once they were all in college, my parents seemed to run out of steam. They had nothing left for me. So as I watched all my friends and their families behave as, well as families do, I longed for anything that might possibly resemble that for myself.

While not completely out of view just yet, my hope for a “normal” family life disappeared when I realized that my mother, a removed and cold woman, was an alcoholic. I knew my mom was different from other moms, but I never could quite figure out why she was always out late, couldn’t drive me and my friends to activities, why she would make arrangements for me to stay over at a friends house on the weekends or why she would drop me off at various fast food restaurants with enough money for dinner, and leave me there for hours (she was drinking at a bar nearby). As I grew older began to realize what was happening. Although I knew little of alcoholism, I knew that the 7-Up bottle was filled with Vodka, that she hid bottles all over the house, I knew who her drinking friends were and I knew when I saw her car parked at her favorite tavern that it was best to avoid any sort of confrontation with her that night.

This is also when I realized that my father had thrown in the towel when it came to helping my mother. While they stayed married until shortly before her death in 1991, their marriage was over and I lived with two strangers who could barely stand the sight of one another. And there I was. Growing up alone. My brothers and sisters had the good fortune of being born first and they were off living their lives. They were getting married and having children. Buying homes and starting careers. They were moving to various parts of the United States and rarely coming home anymore.

My sad little life continued like this until one day when I was 16. I don’t recall the circumstances surrounding this particular day. I don’t recall what it was that made me decide I was going to stand up to my mother. I have no idea where the courage came from. But sitting at the breakfast table, in what used to be my oldest brother’s chair, I told her everything. I told her how much I loved her, how much I needed her, how much her drinking hurt me, how much I wanted to be a family and how much I hoped she felt the same way too. There. I had said it. My words hung in the air like balloons while I waited for her to throw her arms around me and tell me that she felt the same. That she loved me. And while my existence was not a planned one, it was a happy one. So I waited. A deep breath filled her and then she spoke. But her words were nothing like I imagined. There were no smiles, no hugs, no tears of joy. What she was saying was a blur. Drinking was her only happiness. She was tired. She was unhappy. And then those words…”I wish you had never been born.”

No one should have to endure the gut wrenching pain of a parent saying those words to them. And until recently, I did not know how deeply those words impacted me. And if it weren’t enough that she said those words that day, she continued to say them many times over in the coming years. It seemed to become therapeutic for her. I believe she somehow felt better when she said those words to me. It validated her need to drink and the unhappiness that filled her life. She finally had someone to blame for everything that had gone wrong in her life and marriage.

I spent 30 years with those words resonating through my mind. It penetrated my every thought. I ruined relationships, friendships and family ties because of those seven words. No one was ever able to get close to me. I constantly changed myself for my friends, my boyfriends, my spouses. I was always who they needed me to be. I loved everything they loved. Their music, movies, clothing, values, religion. All because of those seven words. I could never muster the courage to be myself. The authentic me. All because I believed if my mother never loved or wanted me, then no one else could.

The depression that those seven words created was and still is, at times, crippling. It left me weak and tired. But today I am better. I am a little stronger. There are a throng of people that make me strong. Though they may not understand what it is that I feel, they have held me up and carried me when I could not carry myself. They breathe life into me when I can not breathe for myself. And they remind me every day that they love ME.

I am a person worthy of love. Those are my new Seven Words.