I wish he would have just hit me

Someday you won't remember this pain you thought would last forever and ever...T.Swift

Someday you won’t remember this pain you thought would last forever and ever…T.Swift

The gift of darkness…

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift”

My ex-husband was a mean son of a bitch.  He was abusive and disrespectful.  He was a liar, a cheat and dishonest.  He was not loyal, not kind, not loving, and not nice.  My Ex stole from me, took from me, and robbed me of money, emotion, time, the children I wanted and the life I dreamed we would have.  He was living in a dark place and took me with him most days of the week, and yet, there are still days when I wish he would have just hit me.

I know that sounds crazy, but it is true.  Let me start by saying that I don’t condone people placing their hands in a violent nature on anyone, however, with that being said, I am not sure if I would be in a better place if he had just hit me.

Words hurt.  Actions hurt.  Lack of actions hurt.  They stay with you for a long time.  He kept a calendar of “shame” on the door of the office.  There, each day, he would write down if I had been a “good” wife or a “bad” wife.  This was arbitrary, obtuse and I have since determined that the measurement was not by anything that I did or did not do, but by his own feelings of how he felt about himself each day.  Let’s just say that there were many “bad” wife days.   I think I could forget those days better if I had a scar that is now gone.

There were times when we were out, and he would see old friends of his, and he would introduce me as Wendy.  Not his wife, not even as a friend…just Wendy, and that was if he introduced me at all.  Because I began to realize that was how he felt about me, I was no one special, just the person that met his basic needs of food, clothing and shelter.  Never a gift for Christmas, Birthdays, or Anniversaries.  I could not “buy his love” he said…I knew that also meant that I would never have his love, no matter what I did.  The fingerprints of his slap in the face would be gone by now.

He moved out the bedroom.

My husband and I made love less than a dozen times during the course of our marriage.  It is quite humiliating to beg the one you love to make love to you.  Once, Basil, the dog, jumped on the bed, and my husband said to me that we could not make love because it would upset the dog.  Really, upset the dog?  I began to question my body, my attractiveness, my sexiness.  If my husband did not want me, and I chose him, then who did?  And while he would be with other women, even with them in our home, I don’t think it was for pleasure, it was for sport.  The sport of causing me pain.

I lived not knowing which one of the many “models” from his “business” would be the one he was loving that night.  Not knowing what was wrong with me, and why couldn’t I be the one he loved, talked to, laughed with, slept with, made love too. I thought, what was I doing that made him react to me this way?  I did all that I could to make myself appealing to him, to no avail.  A deep purple bruise would be gone by now, had I been punched.

 He shoved me once.

He actually did put his hands on me once.  He shoved me when I was going to buy a car I wanted.  I got up enough nerve to call the police, and they came.  But the officer was a friend that he grew up with and so after they had their mini-reunion, the officer said that I really didn’t want that car anyway, it had too many miles.  I felt so totally devastated and alone.  My husband never put his hands on me again, but that just made him meaner and nastier, mentally vicious and an expert in psychological warfare.  If he had pushed me down the stairs, my broken bones would be healed by now.

And yet I stayed.

Why?  I don’t know, but then I do.   How did I end up in that place?  Why did I remain in a place that was filled with sadness and darkness?  What kept me frozen in place, scared to move?  I stayed because I was afraid.  I thought I had no one.  I had been alienated from my family and friends.  Making new friends was out of the question because they may ask too many of the right questions.   I was told and treated as if I were worthless, and I began to feel that way.  I was called a pig, and so I felt like one.  The dog was given more consideration and value than I was.

He kicked my brain in the ass.

Catching an ass whipping in the brain is nothing nice.  It begins with an overkill type of love.  You are the most important thing in his life.  There is nothing that he can do without you, the grocery store, getting your hair done, retail shops, picking up a meal at the drive through are all done together.   You are made to feel that you are important, because maybe you never felt you were important before.  He paid you attention, and no man had paid attention to you before, at least not like that.  He made you feel safe, but later you realize it was a twisted type of safety that was really keeping him safe from his feelings of inadequacy.

“It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness.  We have no scar to show for happiness.”

I was mentally beat down, and a shell of the person I knew I was the day before I met him.  I did not remember who I was, where I was from, the experiences that I had.  There were not even memories of the happiness that we shared.  There had to have been good times right?  There had to have been times of laughter and joy in the midst of the anger and hatred.  It could not have been all bad, was it? He filled my mind with so much “stuff” it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.  It was all his plan, total domination of Wendy, and it was working.

People who have scars can tell not only the story of how they got the scar, but can tell and show the healing process.  Those who have seen you broken, and wounded, see you in your new state of healing.    You know you are healed because it, the wound is not there.  The bruise is gone.  The black eye has return to its natural pigment.  The broken arm has been set and is better than new.  You remember the circumstances of the injury, but you are witness and testimony to the healing.

A closed head injury, a wound to your brain, takes longer to heal, and some never heal.  You get better, bad memories begin to fade, you remember the good, and you learn how to love again. But the minute you feel threatened, you revert back to those behaviors that kept you safe and sane.  It sure does make it rough for whoever comes next to try to love me.  I apologize in advance for the hard time I will be giving you.

And so where am I?

How do I know that I have been healed?  What are the signs?  There is no internal wound, just the pain.  There is no scab to fall off, just the pain.  There are no bandages to put on, just the pain.  There are no stiches to be sewn in the fabric of your being, just the pain.  No antiseptic ointments, potions, and gels, just the pain.  The pain of wondering if my selection was so off on this, how can I trust that I won’t make the same mistake again?  How will I know that my next choice is a right choice?  How will I know that I won’t be hurt again?  I guess the answer is that I won’t know, and I will never know until I know until I risk being vulnerable again, open myself up again, and choose to feel again.

I am sure that there are those who have felt the pain of physical abuse who will strongly disagree with me, and that is their right.  I can only speak to my experience and my life.  There are those who know me now and never guess that my life sings songs of sorrow and pain, but it has and it does.  And now the darkness that was given to me, was really a gift.  A gift of life, joy and happiness.  A gift of strength and power.  I made it through, I got out.  I found myself and reclaimed me and all that I am and will be.  And still there are moments that I feel that pain and become afraid that I am crawling back into the nightmare that was my life…and I think, I wish he would have just hit me.

The best date I ever had was with…Me

Discovering new things by yourself can be a great experience

Discovering new things by yourself can be a great experience

The weekend has come. It is Friday night and all of your friends have plans. They are doing something that you are not a part of. You had depended on them to have some fun. They were going with you to the show, to the mall, to the club, or to the restaurant. You looked forward to spending time laughing and talking about something that may not be important, and in some circle could be considered shallow but entertaining none the less. So what are you to do? Well, you could sit at home, watch TV, eat ice cream, get on Facebook and Twitter and tell the world how bored you are on a Friday. Or you could go out on a date with the best person that you know…You.

Many of us don’t spend time with ourselves. We are always with someone or surrounded by a group. We are always hanging out with friends. Being with Family. Going out with co-workers after hours. Catching up with the girls. Girls night out. Boys night out. Football with the Boys. Mother/daughter. Father/son. Time with brothers and sisters. It is endless the combinations that can be made up when we are spending time with anyone other than ourselves.

It is like the idea of having to be or do something with just ourselves is a punishment. Oh my goodness…I am bored, I have no one to go out with. It is just me, I am by myself. I can’t go by myself. It is almost as if we are saying that we afraid to spend time alone, with ourselves. Spending time with our thoughts, our ideas, our own opinions, can be a scary situation for some of us. It forces us to actually face the reality of what our life is, not the fantasy that is easily lived in because we are so preoccupied with being with others.

We claim that we want someone to be with, but the truth is, how can we expect others to spend time with us when we can’t stand to be alone with ourselves.

Frequently, I go out on a date with myself. I mean a real date. I get dressed up, make up and all. Put on heels, make sure the hair is right, and go out by myself. I go out to eat, not mickey d’s, but somewhere that I have to sit down and be served. Somewhere they serve the meals and drinks on plates and in glasses. I don’t bring a book or newspaper, I keep the phone in the purse, unless it is to take pictures of the wonderful meal that I am about to eat. The goal of this exercise is to see just how I am comfortable being alone in a public place.

There is not to be any reading, texting, phoning, Facebooking, none of that. Just to be alone with yourself. No one or nothing to distract you from what you may be thinking. If you must bring anything, bring a journal and write about your feelings, your thoughts, your meal. How did it feel to say table for one? Did you think people were looking at you differently because you were by yourself? Did you feel self-conscience being with just you?

Some of my best dates have been with just me. Finding new restaurants, and bars is a wonderful time to discover new foods and drinks. I have found one of my favorite martini spots on a date with myself. I have bought outfits that I never would have tried on these solo adventures. I found out that I will try new activities when I am alone. I mean, once you get past the fear, you can really act crazy and no one will know who you are, unless you liked acting crazy and want to go back for more fun. Doing Karaoke, walking a 5K, going to a sports bar and cheering the loudest for the opposing team are all things that were great adventures that I experienced for the first time by myself.

Take yourself to a concert? Did the music sound differently because you were by yourself? Now, do the unthinkable – try a new experience by yourself. Experience a new restaurant, an art museum, a play, or a trip to the park. We often don’t try new things because we don’t have anyone to go with us. That is limiting our life. There is always some degree of fear when we try something new. And the fear is heightened when we are alone, but take that energy and turn it into a new memory that is yours and yours alone.

Dating yourself allows you to be able to expand your experiences and open yourself up for more adventures. It also allows you to share your new experiences with someone else. It takes your conversations to another lever of interesting. People find you more attractive and want to spend time with a person that always seems to be off on some grand adventure. Then you can share your new “spot” with your friends or with someone you may take a liking to. You now can share with somebody a small piece of your world, your mind, your reality.

By dating yourself, you are really laying the groundwork to dating someone else. You are preparing the entrance for someone to come in and share. It also allows you have a better understanding of who you are. What do you like? What you can’t stand? What type of places you like to go for gaining balance? Where do you go to re-energize and to unwind?

Spending time with yourself, somewhere new, gives you the opportunity to celebrate you. Who you are, what you are, how you are…And once you begin to understand that…you can then really be open to the many different dating possibilities that are all around you.

We can’t escape the giggles….

I know it's sad, but we all giggle...

I know it’s sad, but we all giggle…

We have all done it before. No matter how much of a feminist we are. Even if we have called ourselves a liberated, self-aware modern woman, at some point in life we have found ourselves becoming the woman that we swore we would never become. No matter the age, race, or ideology, we all become that giggly girl on the phone when we enter a new relationship.

You know that woman, the ones that we hate to see, on the phone, obviously in the infant stages of a relationship, giggling. You know the one, she wears a wide toothy smile, eyelashes batting, face flushed as she looks around her surroundings as if she has a secret that only she and the object of this embarrassing activity know about. It is just sickening. You can always spot her in a crowd, she has a glow about her as if she was the subject of a Renascence painting of the Madonna with a golden halo about her head. And that is just the response to seeing his name pop up on her phone. She then lowers her voice, it becomes softer, kinder, gentler, even genteel as she says hello.

Giggles start in the middle of the throat. There is a little tingle that starts where the nape of the neck meets the shoulders. The more you talk to your intended, the more this sensation slowly crawls, and as it does, it grows with intensity. As it moves up, it hits the back of your throat, there is an automatic reflex to open your mouth, and then it happens. The giggle. You look around to see if anyone has caught you performing this childhood activity, but you feel little girl, complete with pig tails and ribbons.

This is what we are reduced because of some man? Ok, he is a cute man. Well, he does make us laugh and he tells us we are beautiful. He cares about us, and makes us feel special. These clandestine phone calls are what get me through the day. He belongs to me. No one else’s, just mine and mine alone. I won’t share him; we are not that far in our “relationship” yet. I don’t any of my friends to ruin it. (And yes, those unhappy heifers will try to ruin it.) I want to live in this fantasy world that is only real in my head. It is not based on reality, it is not based on a time table, and it is not based on the matching his and hers towel set that I have imagined in our perfect bathroom, located in our perfect house, with our perfect kids…you get the picture.

The giggle actually begins when we see his face on the caller ID. Heaven forbid if we give him some “special” ring tone. (Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye always was a good one for me…lol.) We look at his picture on our smart phone, take a deep breath, and then say hello. This hello is airy because, of course, he always takes your breath away. Then you do it…you throw your head back, slowly bat your eyes, and that giggle comes out of nowhere. And he hasn’t said anything but “hello”.

Just the thought of it makes me ill. I mean come on, we are educated professional women. We have worked hard to be taken seriously in our careers, to be seen as surpassing all measurements of excellence by our peers. And we giggle? A girly giggle at that. It is like you have become a totally different personality when you talk to him on the phone. Like an airheaded nit-wit. Everything he says is hilarious, and you just laugh and laugh, but in a breathy sort of way. (Doesn’t that give you a headache missing all that oxygen?) You listen with baited breath; you call him by a special nickname. (I always use Sunshine, it just works when you say it in a special, always surprised and elated to hear your voice sort of way…lol.) Your personality changes, your demeanor changes, heck, even your posture changes, back straight, shoulders back, chest out, you know the drill.

Women of all ages, races, ethnicity, and economic status do it. Giggle.

Wait, was that my phone? Ah yes, Marvin Gaye singing that sweet song. As I gaze at his face on the phone and smile, I can feel it begin, from the bottom of my throat, coming right to the top of my neck…



Hey Babe…

I crave cake….

My senses craves the idea of you and
the way you would inspire me without even knowing…
My desire for you is beyond irrational, because I set you free…
Many have tried to please me and they have all been good,
but there could only ever be one you….D. J. Pierre

I want to share my cake with you...

I want to share my cake with you…

I crave the idea of being in a relationship. There I said it. And this, at times, sickens me. Why you ask? It makes me to behave in a manner less than becoming. I mean really. Well, let me clarify. It is not that I believe that I need a man to complete me. It is not that I need a man to accomplish my goals in life. It is not even that fact that I need a relationship to determine my social standing. I do, however, love the idea of being in a relationship. But loving the idea, and actually doing the work, are two entirely different things.

Being in a relationship is hard work. It requires sacrifice on both parties, and concessions in the terms of your agreement. It means that you cannot have your cake and eat it too. People that tell you that you can have it all, your cake and eating it to, are either: 1. Lying 2. Not looking at the reality of their relationship or 3. Not in a relationship. The reason you can’t have it all is by the very definition of the word relationship. Being in a relationship means that I am feeding you my cake, and you are feeding me yours…and because we know what each other needs to survive, my cake is good for you, and your cake is good for me.

You see when I was single, I ate my own cake. It could be whatever flavor I wanted it to be. It could have icing or glaze. My cake could be vanilla, chocolate or strawberry. Butter cream or whipped cream icing would sit atop and maybe with some sprinkles too. My cake is my cake, and I don’t really care who likes it. I will gladly share my cake, but you will be getting it the way I want you to have it. You will get the amount of cake I want you to have. I am in control of my cake.

But a relationship is not like that. My happiness should come from making your cake. Consulting with you about what you like. Do you want a layered cake or a sheet cake? Would you enjoy fresh fruit or would you prefer just plain icing. You would want to see me make your cake so you can lick the bowl and spoon. This is your cake. If I am in a relationship with you, then you should have input into your cake. Learning about what makes you smack your lips for more. My desire is to make you crave only the cake I make for you.

No, this is no box cake…it is made from scratch. Baking is a science, exact and precise. Each ingredient is carefully selected, prepared, measured, and combined to make the sweet delicacy to your perfect specifications. I have beaten the eggs, creamed the sugar and the butter, and sifted the flour. The oven has been pre-heated to the correct temperature. The batters have been put into the pans, and I am waiting, with you, for the baking to finish. Everything done just the way you like it. This is a cake made from love and devotion. This is a cake that took hard work to make.

Now, my real prayer and wish is that you will bake a cake for me as well. That you will care so much for me that you feel it is necessary to prepare the best cake possible for me. You will take the time to discover what I want. You can explore what tastes and flavors bring me the most pleasure. You will carefully select the finest ingredients, measure them precisely and carefully mix them into a smooth batter. You will place the pans in the oven at the exact temperature, and together we will watch it bake. You will let the cake cool, remove it from the pan, and then ice it with the essence and sweetness you know I like.

And now, here comes the good part of the relationship…Together, we will sit across the table from each other, you with the cake you baked, and me with the cake I baked. Looking into each other’s eyes we feed one another our cakes. Cakes made with loving hands, lingering conversations, probing questions, and uncontrollable laughter. And because we have taken the time to discover what the other likes and dislikes, the cake, baked from the heart of someone that I am in a relationship with, will be the best cake I have ever had.

To tell or not to tell…That is the double standard

Sometimes it is better not to tell...

Sometimes it is better not to tell…

Why is it that when you are a woman, and you share your sexual history with a new or potential relationship, there is always a small problem? The number? I am a firm believer that men, when talking to women about their sexual history, have a number in there head, that when it is approached, the scale tips from a woman becoming a potential “mate” to her being a “ho”. I think that each man has a different number in their head, and this number is solely based on the number of partners that they have had in their past, and should a woman come even close to their number, she then becomes a ho, slut, whore, skank, whatever the word of the day is.

Is that really fair though? I mean I am not condoning the at-risk behavior of anyone. I am not making a moral or spiritual mandate of celibacy or remaining virginal. I am not saying the right way to live your life, because it is yours not mines. I do believe however, that there is a sexual moral double standard, and the standard set for women is much higher than the one set for men. Men are expected to have experience in the “marital” bedroom. And how is this “experience” gained? Well, I am going to assume it is not through books, pictures or movies…or is it?

There are men out there that cannot handle the idea of their woman having a larger sexual appetite than theirs. There is something that makes a man think twice about being with a woman who goes after what she wants sexually, who is not afraid to call it like she sees it, who is looking to have her itch scratched, be licked, filled, and stuffed in a variety of ways. Who tells a man he is not hitting the spot, or that he just needs to stop, and let’s try again later (maybe after he has read one of those educational books). Or is it that sex is the last area of dominance for a man, and women have now “taken” that over too.

It seems to be OK for him to have a variety of women who will meet all of his “sexual” needs. One woman that will do this and another that specializes in that. But what if he found one woman that could do all of that, plus some things he never even imagined could be done? I get the feeling that he would probably be scared of her and that fear would lead to feelings of anxiety in the areas of capability and proficiency. There comes a shift in the mentality from I can please her to can I please her. Yep, those are two very differing mind sets.

There are women today that are on a search, and it seems that the older we get, the more we search. We are looking for someone who can please us in the manner we want to be pleased. We are looking for “Mr. Goodbar”, and having a hard time finding him. We want someone who is not concerned about his pleasure, because he knows if she is happy, he will be more than happy. Someone who not only will hear us, but listen and understands that all moans are not created equal. And someone who understands that in order to find that special one who meets those qualifications of satisfaction, she may have to go through a few, well you are grown, figure it out. And here in lies the problem that some men have.

I was having a conversation with a man recently who wanted to explain to me his sexual prowess by divulging the number of sexual partners that he had. So I listened to him, and then proceeded to tell him of some of my conquests…a strange look came over his face…and I am not sure why. It seems that he was either counting my “conquests” compared to his, or (and I would rather like to think this one), he was beginning to have performance anxiety…was he going to be able to compete or satisfy. But I think it was the first one. The number game.

I have asked men this question, is there a number of previous partners a woman can have that would have them be considered a whore? And believe it or not, a majority of them have said yes there is. When asked why, they are not sure. It seems to go back to some old fashioned 1950’s, vision of mom in the kitchen with an apron on, having the meal cooked and on the table waiting for their man to get home from a long day’s work. But these men seem to forget that the “Beavers” mom and dad slept in separate twin sized beds.

Men say they want a lady in the street, and a freak in the sheets, but how freaky is up for discussion. All I have to say is the following: Remember when a man tells you how many past sexual partners he has had, he is probably exaggerating and inflating his number, but when a woman tells the number of sexual partners, you can best believe that she is low balling that number by quite a bit….LOL…

There can’t be two penises….for my independent Sisters

There can only be one "penis" in a relationship.

There can only be one “penis” in a relationship.

I once dated a gentleman simply because during our first date, the conversation turned to my car. He asked me when I last had my oil changed. He was asking because he was going out of town, it was cold, and he did not want me to have car trouble while he was gone. I found this amazing. Here was a man who cared enough about me, as a person that he wanted to insure that I was not going to be stranded because of automotive issues. He barely knew me, we really had just met, but he identified me as a person that he could care about, and he did not want anything to happen to me or my car, even something as an oil change. And I let him.

I know how to go get an oil change. I know where the oil and lube quick changes are. I know how to pay attention to a check engine light, I have made enough money to pay for this myself, I did not need his assistance. I have had my oil changed at least a hundred times, but he wanted to do this, and for the first time, I let him.

I came to understand there is one great principle that sometimes, we as women, regardless of race, creed, socio-economic status, need to understand…There cannot be two penises in a relationship. Yes, I said it…

I hate to say it, and I am sure that I will be drummed out of the “Progressive Forward Thinking Women’s Club” but I must make this overwhelmingly unpopular statement. We, women, keep saying that we are looking for a man, but when one come our way, we feel the need to show how independent we are. We have informed them of how we can do any and everything by ourselves, and have been doing so for quite some time now. We tell anyone who will listen that we can do bad all by ourselves, and we don’t really need a man to do anything for us. And we wonder why we are alone?
There has to be someone who is allowed to be the one who leads the direction the relationship is going.

We make it hard for a brother to be a man. We know how to emasculate him with the quickness. We use words that challenge his manhood. We give looks that telegraph our irritation with a current temporary situation. We compete with our men, in areas we have no business competing. We do what we can to show that we can’t be bossed, and told what to do. We are holding on to independence when we don’t have a clear definition of the word. We actually have dick slamming competitions with our own men to prove who is really “wearing the pants”, and our dicks are at times bigger than theirs. We are fast to chop down his attempts to please us because we have determined that we could do better. And many of us do this without even realizing what we are doing until it is to late.

I understand that we have been hurt before. I know that we have been betrayed, lied on, cheated with, disappointed, and we are angry. I get all of that, and I am not saying that there have been times when we have had to carry the brunt of load. We have had to keep the job, raise the kids, maintain the house, and be the mechanic for the car. We have had to do this, in many cases, with no support, financial or emotional from some man that we should not have set up house with, should have never had children with, and never should have fallen for. And with all that being said, at some point in our relationship, we must let a man be a man…just as we have to take our role as a woman, which is not a minimal or limited one.

Call me old fashioned or call me naïve, but a relationship can only have one head. There are not two Presidents of the United States at the same time. There is only one Leader of the Free World. I have come to learn that being partners does not always mean being equals, nor should it. Partners mean that there are times when you are the one to carry us through, and sometime he is the one…and there are many opportunities for both us to put in an equal amount of effort to move us to where we need to be. There are times when it is better for him to take the lead, and there are other times when it is better for me to guide the way. When we recognize each other’s strengths and know when to use them for our survival.

So my sisters…put your penis back in your pants, or better yet, castrate yourself. Stand in who you are, and allow your partner to stand within themselves as well. Understand the power that comes when two people who know who and what they are to each other have when working together to make it a lasting relationship of friendship and love…

I am 50 years old today and I have no regrets…

Happy Birthday to me...

Happy Birthday to me…

Today you are 50 years old. You have planned a quiet, low-key celebration, just friends at the regular martini night spot, just the way you want it to be, just celebrating every day you, the way that you like it. You really are a solitary person that understands the value of community. You have developed the ability of to make that work for you, but most of the time you prefer to be with you. You are still the best date you have ever had, because you are great company.
So you are fifty, that is a big milestone in life and you have reached it with class and grace and with no regrets. Everything you have been through, every tear of pain and joy, all the laughter and anger, and there are no regrets. The emotions and feelings, the losses and gains, the memories and the nightmares, all done with no regrets.

The times you thought you were going into the depths of insanity to the glorious highs of crawling out of that pit, clinging on to your right mind – no regrets. When you were lost spiritually, asking God why did he leave you, because He must have disappeared, while you were In hell, and yet there is a praise that continuously comes from your mouth because you discovered He had not abandoned you, but he plucked you up from the gates of hell, to have a life worth living with and for Him, yes, there are no regrets.

The jobs you have had, the good ones and the bad. Finding out early in life that you are a people person, because you draw form their energy to be filled. The employers that allowed you to see that it was and never has been about high salaries, but your need to believe in what you do Your jobs have been your ministry. Your jobs have always been the answer to your higher calling, with no regrets.

The relationships you entered because you did not understand your own value. The emptiness and desperation you felt just because you wanted to be loved by others when you couldn’t see that your own love was enough to get you through. That is why you let them use you and why you used them too. The loneliness you felt because you did not know your were not alone made you make some bad choices. But, when you cried your last tear and finally chose you and reality over him and his fantasy, you made it full circle back to you. No regrets.

You have met a lot of people along the way, there are those who love you and continue to do so. The friends you have are not large in number, but strong in their support of you. There are times in your life when you could not see their support, but you always felt it, and distance, time nor situations ever changed that, no regrets.

The constants in your life, the love of family, has never left your side. Your relationship with your parents allowed you to see that they love you the best they could, and that was more than enough. They gave you a foundation that was and is solid enough to last through out the ages. Your love for your siblings is based on that foundation. It is not a perfect love, but a real love, and contains no regrets.

So as I stand on this day, celebrating the day you entered this world 50 years ago, I can see a road in front of me, and what’s there I cannot see where it ends. I do not know what your future holds, I don’t have a clue of where it leads. I don’t know what stops you will take along the road, as it winds through the woods and plains, mountains and valleys. You will have to depend on what you have with you, your experiences, and sometimes you may get lost. You will make choices you won’t like or the results will not be what you wanted, but whatever happens, have no fear and don’t second guess. Take those chances with no regrets.

So my birthday wish to you is:
To have unconditional love and freedom from your mind.
Ask for what you are worth and give more from your heart.
Place your past behind you and watch the blessings rain from the sky…
And live your life with no regrets.