Lifestyle
For the lives that we love, and everything that comes with it.
We Are Survivors, NOT Broken
I am insecure; this comes from many terrible relationships that over time have torn me down. I worry too much, I apologize for silly stuff, but to me those silly things are enormous. I fear that what I wear will get them to ask me, “Why are you wearing that?” even if it is meant to be sexy clothing like lingerie. I have been programmed over the years to apologize for silly things. I question if I am even pretty enough to wear specific clothing, or if I am even worthy of talking to someone. Mental abuse is just as severe as physical abuse. Both equally change who you are as a person and shape you into something different. I still smile and laugh, but deep down I am scared and worried I might say something wrong, or my actions will warrant verbal abuse. I flinch at the slightest hand movement that comes near my face. This comes from not only the verbal abuse but physical abuse as well. I don’t reach out to many people even if I feel I could have a connection with them, I don’t like rejection, and I don’t want to bug or bother someone, so I tend never to be the first to make contact.
By Aindrea Mccoy8 years ago in Viva
Tails of a Misunderstood "Fur Mama"
I should start by leveling with you dear reader. I am not maternal. Before you run for the hills, don't panic! This is not going to be some tear ridden diatribe about how hard my life is because I do not have the capacity to bear human fruit from my loins. While I understand there are women out there whose one sole reason for existing is to procreate, while I sympathize with those who have tried to reproduce and cannot, for one reason or another; it's just never been for me. I guess I'm just not programmed that way. My life, to a certain extent, is complete without a gaggle of children hanging around, covering the walls with whatever stickiness they've located in the past five minutes.
By Rachel Neave8 years ago in Petlife
Growing Up with 30+ Cats
First of all, this is not an Animal Hoarders Horror Story. The cats at my mom's house were well-fed, well-loved, and taken care of. We lived in the country, and they had plenty of space. They went to the vet when they were sick. They were happy, and the ones remaining at my mother's house, still are.
By Tarin Campanella8 years ago in Petlife
The Mom Who Is Always Yelling
Today is a bad day. Why am I yelling so much? Did I sleep enough? Does it make me a bad mom? Am I a bad mom...? I yell so much lately that some nights my throat is raw from just trying to get my kids to stop hurting each other, me, or really just to listen. Excuses... that's all I see: my childhood maybe—it was rough, a lot more so than others; maybe it's just who I am—the mean mom who always yells at her kids....
By Kat Peirce8 years ago in Families
You Were Only a Little Abused. Top Story - October 2017.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," I cried. These words frequently echoed off my lips, resounding in a deafening silence from my mother. Most kids in my generation feared being grounded, losing privileges, or some form of physical beating, but I would have preferred those over what my mom typically had in store for me. I would have understood being sentenced to sit silently in my room. That was a punishment that most, if not all, kids went through. I would have understood not being allowed to watch TV or to use the computer, for those were good things that I, in my bad behavior, didn't deserve. And even a spanking with the wooden spoon...I'm not justifying physical violence or abuse, but at least these consequences would have been more typical of the average kid in the 90s.
By Matthew Eyler8 years ago in Families
Adjusting to Life Without a Pet
I had never lived a day without a pet. Before I was born, my parents had already adopted a dog they named Jackson. Jackson was a beagle-basset hound mix. He was black with white splotches. From what I understand, he was a bit of a handful. My parents have told me a story where he had eaten an entire thing of Vaseline and, the next morning, regretted it. When my parents brought me home, he wasn't sure how to handle it. I'm sure it didn't help that when I learned motor control, I would pick on him by tugging on his floppy ears. Then, as Jackson and I aged, we became the best of friends. By the time I had reached the fourth grade, he very much became my dog. He slept in my room, typically on my clothes. I fed him, let him outside, and played fetch with him. In his old age, he became a grumpy old man. Of course, I'm assuming this is due to the fact that we had adopted another dog who is a psycho towards any other animal. Anyway, Jackson began to only tolerate the rest of my family, but his love for me remained the same until he passed away.
By Lemuel Edwards8 years ago in Petlife
