What do you mean you don’t want kids?!?!

Yeah. I’m starting the post about not wanting kids with an analogy about kids.  Follow me though…

So you know those kids who constantly ask,

‘But whhhhhhhhyyyyyyyy????’

Well that was me but not literally cuz my mum would have smacked me, but def in my head.  Eventually this little girl grew up to start asking why out loud.  First just quietly to myself and eventually so loud that I could no longer ignore it.

I asked myself WHY I wanted to get married.  Is it to have a wedding? Nope, not into it. Is to declare in front of God, my family, my friends that I’ve found someone I want to spend the rest of my life with? Nawww. TBH I don’t care much about that either.  It’s only important for me to make that declaration to my partner. The rest is just a formality.  We’ll leave it there for now because this post is really about:

Why don’t I want kids?

The short answer is that if I have to think sooooo fucking hard to come up with a reason to want them, then sorry not sorry; I don’t want them.

I draw on all the reasons other people give for wanting kids. One that I get often is, there’s just nothing like it. True. But so long as that’s the case, I don’t know what I’m missing and I’m PERFECTLY cool with that. Because where I stand now, I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.

It’s def not because I’m afraid to be a mother or think I wouldn’t make a good mother.  Quite the contrary my friend, I know I’d be an awesome mum. And if I had an unplanned pregnancy I would love that kid more than life itself.  Knock on wood, but if that does happen and it’s years from now, and my kid is reading this:

Mofo I loved you from the moment you existed.  You just weren’t in the plan.  You will learn if you haven’t already, that life doesn’t always go to plan but it doesn’t make it any less valuable or meaningful – So fix your face!

I’ve been told by some friends who’ve been around long enough that maybe it’s because of the large age gap between myself and baby brothers.  Because like any big sister, I learned my time wasn’t actually  my own time and I learned to do a lot of things on my own while my parents focused on their babies who needed them most.  Because I was old enough to see my brothers go through the stage where they disrespected my parents and took them for granted.  Able to see my mother hurt from feeling devalued; which I’m sure I did to her too and I’m also sure is not unlike the experience of many mothers.  I know what I’m describing is not unique and of course I’m not telling you about all the moments of pride and joy that I know my parents also experienced.

But none of this changes that I just don’t have that innate desire to want children or marriage or that happy lil’ family unit. Being a mother isn’t on my list of aspirations.  I don’t question your desire for those things.  I don’t ask you why you want them and TBH I don’t give a fuuuuccckk.  Do you boo!  Be happy.  I will however ask myself why? Why do I want those things? And I just can’t find a reason that is truly meaningful to me. Not. One.  If you’ve got a problem with that, well, that’s just what it is…  YOUR problem.  I can I assure you, I lose no sleep over it.

What you might want to do though – if you’re not doing it already; for your daughters, for future boss ass babes, is not put so much energy into making other women feel bad just because they make a choice that’s different from your own.

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Not for everyone

This past year has been a lot of soul searching for me.  Fuck, more than just the last year but the volume of self exploration I’ve been able to do in the last year most certainly far outweighs the last five.

I found that in all my past relationships I was searching for someone to care for.

Because taking care of, whomever, whomever except me, is a task that’s been ingrained in me for as long as I can remember.  Can’t say exactly how it was nor do I care to; just accept that it was.

I can appreciate that’s not how all relationships work, or at least how they’re supposed to work.  Both partners should take care of each other.  Yah, I see that and raise you this:

Maybe I just know how to take care of myself the best.  Maybe there just isn’t someone(s) out there who can take care of me in the way that I need.  The person inside of me doesn’t know how to need someone because I learned early on that needing leads to disappointment; a lesson only further reinforced with subsequent experiences.  If I knew how to need someone, I’m certain I wouldn’t have lasted this long.

I propose that maybe everyone isn’t meant to be in a relationship with someone.  Maybe they’re not built for it, not wired to compliment and be complimented by someone else.  Maybe they’re meant for many great things, but one of them isn’t that romantic kind of love.  And what kind of dick move would it be for you to say that those great things are any more or less valuable than that romantic kind of love?  A Big. Dick.  Move.  That’s what kind.

So I’m convinced this is the case.  I don’t want your unicorn, sunshine and roses story that ‘You just haven’t found the right one(s) yet.’  Truth is, I wouldn’t know what to do with them if I did.  I don’t know that I’m capable of feeling or at the very least showing the love they would need, deserve and expect from a relationship.  Just not sure I have it in me.  All signs point to an uphill battle; one that I don’t expect anyone to stand for.

I wouldn’t.

How to Lose the Dead Weight

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Obviously I’ve been on this journey called life for a minute now.  I’ve said this before, I just want to be happy.  Now don’t get it twisted, saying that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy now.  I look for the positivity in every stage, even the struggles.  Sometimes being happy doesn’t mean adding something.  Sometimes it means losing something, cutting out, saying goodbye.

I’ve said ‘Bye Felicia’ to a lot of things over the last few years.

And I regret none.  Doesn’t mean I don’t miss anything or anyone; missing is fine.  But I say again, I regret NONE.  I’m good with missing as its far outweighed by the value of what’s gained.

So here’s 5 weights I’ve dropped off my back in the last few years.  Thought I’d separate them into physical weight and mental weight, but I won’t because they’re so tightly tangled into each other there’s no getting in-between them.  Holistic AF…

One:  Leaving food to chance.

Unless you fancy and got a chef on call to make you whatever whenever, not planning how you’re going to fuel your body is fucked.  You’ll end up making a bad choice or no choice at all, both of which are torture for your mind & body.  So, on Thursdays we meal plan.  On Friday’s we grocery shop.  And on Sundays we meal prep!

Two:  Consuming animals.

Vegan AF.  Not only has this given me more energy and helped me to lose the extra weight I put on (more on that here), but it’s also lightened my mind.  Living according to your values, especially those ones you subconsciously ignore is fire; matches & accelerant.

Three:  Inorganic Chemicals.

It’s taken some time to source beauty, hair and make-up products that work for me, are natural & cruelty-free and don’t break the bank but I’m almost there.  Again, it just feels better; inside and out.

Four:  Fucking Carbs & Sugar.

Woah brah, I’m not carb-less, but I have severely cut my carb & sweet intake and replaced it with healthy fats and periodic sweet treat cheat days, along with working real hard at keeping my protein intake on point (more details here).  And FYI for any mofo who wants to open the “vegan protein-deficiency debate”: try logging everything you put into your mouth for a week and then tell me you as a meat eater are getting enough protein – If you are, I’m certain you’re in the minority.

Five:  Unlike-Minded People.

Of course everyone doesn’t agree with everything you say and we go out in the world and work with all kinds.  I’m talking about those people who don’t support you, those people that always have some MF negative thing to say and poo poo on your goals.  And those negative people that feed into your insecurities because misery loves fucking company.  Nawwww man.  Fuck them.  Next!

Obviously it’s not easy to not care what people think.  Everyone cares.  Sometimes I say I don’t care, but I really do, just not enough to have someone else’s opinion dictate the value I see in myself and certainly not enough to stop me from doing something that’s right for me.

So drop those sand bags and live free baby!

 

Yah I’m Vegan… And I don’t drive a hybrid!

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Photo by Jeffrey Valerio

Or an electric car.  Or the transit.  Or a me powered bike.  So many misconceptions when people find out that I’m vegan.  As if there is only one way for me to be vegan?!?!?  And of course the expert on this one way is going to be someone who isn’t even vegan?!?!  Or more importantly someone who isn’t even me.  Sure.  Seems legit.

The car thing is just one of them.

“Oh, okay.  You’re vegan, but you still drive a car.  So…”

Ummmmm.  TF are you even talking about?!?!  I guess because I am vegan – for the animals, for my health, for the environment or any number of reasons, which of course this ignorant mofo has already decided my reasoning without asking me…  Then it must follow that I should live off the land or only shop at farmer’s markets, also be a minimalist, zero waste and be the most perfect, angelic, green, zero carbon footprint chick ever.  That means I should not, ever drive a car, which of course is polluting and destroying the environment, ruining it for our children (well your children since I’m not having any).

Yes.  I drive a car.  A regular, old car that runs on regular, old gas.  That only recently became old enough to require emissions testing and clearly passed as I’m still driving it.

I’m vegan and I drive a car.  Because at some point most vegans were meat eaters and I’m one of them.  I would love to own a more environmentally friendly vehicle (and will in the future) but I’m not going to get rid of my car and buy a new one now because I’m vegan.  Nor would that be financially feasible and is a complete waste at this time since my beautiful Daytona is still running just fine.  Nor is it necessary as just because I’m vegan doesn’t mean it’s for or just for the environment.  And it def doesn’t mean that you get to dictate what being vegan means to me or how I choose to fit my choices into my lifestyle.

So yes mofo, I’m vegan and I don’t drive a hybrid.  TBH, my values are my own and I couldn’t give zero-er more fucks about what you think about them.

What is comfortably uncomfortable?

Sometimes being uncomfortable is exactly what you need

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Comfortable…

Other than in reference to temperature that word doesn’t have a positive connotation for me.  Not negative either though.  Just not a word I would like to use when describing my life.  Happy.  Exciting.  Pleasurable.  I’d take either or all instead of comfortable.

Comfortable for too long of a time almost feels like complacent.  And complacent..  Well nawww, complacent just won’t do.  Comfortable would mean I have no desire to go further,  no appetite for more or thirst for something…  Something else.  Comfortable would mean that I’m content to remain in this spot.  Know this though,

I don’t associate comfortable with happiness or with fulfillment.

Comfortably Uncomfortable…

Now if I’m comfortably uncomfortable that’s a different game altogether.  It means I’m okay with the sickening, stomach dropping, most uncomfortable feeling in my current position.  More than okay with it; I revel in it.  I embrace it.  Surround it.  Inhale it till my lungs can’t hold anymore and I’m coughing and wheezing from the burn.  Because I need that discomfort.  To say to me;

“Hey J!  Are you good?  Cuz if you’re good then cool.  But we both know, you’re not good.  So next question:  What are you going to do about it?”

We’ll see then won’t we.

 

Are You Trapped???

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This idea of being trapped has been lingering around me for some time now.  I hear it mentioned more than I’d like.  Thing is, I don’t feel it.  Or at least not in the way it’s intended.

I’ve found myself in situations I’ve wanted to get out of.  Some more difficult than others but I will say that I never felt trapped by the situation.  I have felt trapped by myself.  Knowing the trapped feeling is transitional.

When I decided to study fashion arts and had to work full-time concurrently to pay for it, I made a promise to myself.

I promised myself that I would suck everything I could out of the program.  Go 200, all day, everyday, no matter the cost.  I barely slept.  I ate poorly, if at all.  I didn’t train.  But I finished with a 4.0 GPA and more importantly I was overflowing with skills and perspectives I could have only dreamed of obtaining otherwise.  And the cost?  Well the cost was 40 lbs of extra weight.  Forty pounds and I knew exactly where they came from.  Not sleeping.  Not eating.  Not training.  As my previous identity was all wrapped up in being a competitive cheerleader and training 5-6 days a week, this was hard for me to reconcile.  But I didn’t feel trapped.  No chance because nothing can hold me boss, promise.

I knew exactly what needed to be done but I also knew they were not changes I could make quickly while maintaining their longevity.  I needed to make them slowly.  I did and continue to do so.  The only reason why I’m able to do this is because I know that I am the determining factor.  I’m the only one that can allow myself to feel trapped.

This is in my bones.  I believe it in all aspects of my life; above all.

I am not trapped.  I am only caged if I allow myself to be.  The difference between where I am now and where I want to be is defined by…

How much sweat I’m willing to give.

How many tears I’m willing to shed.

How much pain I’m willing to stand.

How much work I’m willing to put out.

How much shit I’m willing to eat.

How much patience I can squeeze out of me.

I am not trapped unless I allow myself to be trapped.

And I don’t allow it.

 

How to: Patience AF

but patience is HARD

I’ve been quiet for the last little while but quiet doesn’t mean stagnant.  I’m working.  My head is down, my eyes are open, my mind is processing.

Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Every once in a while I poke my head up to take a look around.  Take a look back.  A quick check to what I’ve left behind (won’t miss you) and glance forward to make sure I’m still in line for what’s just ahead (and further still).

Promising myself that I will be patient as fuck and failing every once in a while with a volcanic eruption of anxiety prompting me to check & correct myself.  Reminding myself that…

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I’ve realized that while I’m the one in my circle that people come to when they want a raw, uncut opinion, I don’t often take my own advice.  Tried a little experiment the other day when I was feeling especially anxious and worked up about something.  I wrote down what I would say to one of my friends if they came to me in the same mental state and then made a voice recording of myself saying it.

Listening to my little rant two nights in a row was enough to kick those negative vibes.

I realized that the reason why I communicate in this blunt, tough love kind of way is because that’s the type of communication I respond to.  While it doesn’t work for everyone, a lot of people respond to it as well.  If you’re one of these people, try it.  It couldn’t hurt – just saying.

There’s something to this recording and listening to myself talk to myself as crazy as it sounds.  I’m sure I’m onto something.  In the meantime:

Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.  Werk.

Patience.  Patience.  Patience.