doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
love
sadness
0
Yesterday, as I drove home from work, I got stuck in traffic. This isn’t a normal occurrence for my town. We don’t typically have traffic jams except during the university’s graduation or if some big sports team is in town (like the Phoenix Suns or the Arizona Cardinals). This was abnormal.
I watched people drive by in the turn lane and my blood pressure was going up. They were trying to bypass the standing traffic and worm their way into the line further up. I hate that.
As I sat there, I wondered what was going on. Some traffic accident, to be sure. I could see the rotating lights of the fire truck up ahead.
I saw the ambulance coming towards me. It’s lights were on. Then suddenly, they went off.
I could feel the blood drain from my face. I felt sad all of a sudden. I was sure someone had lost a life.
It made me overwhelmingly sad. We don’t see those a lot on the streets here. They typically happen outside of town, on the dangerous highways that feed into this area.
I crept closer, merging right to get by the accident. Five police cars lined the road. Two engine trucks were in the Sonic parking lot.
I saw a large white Ford pickup to my left. It was one of those trucks whose owners seem to think they own the road. They can’t see small cars like mine because they aren’t looking for us. We are supposed to be looking for them. It was tilted.
As I inched closer, I saw it. A motorcycle was completely under the wheels of the truck. Completely. Each wheel of the motorcycle was firmly locked under one of the front wheels of the truck.
My stomach clenched. I could feel hot tears burning behind my eyes. My hands started shaking.
I took inventory. My dad was at work. My brother-in-law should be at home with the kids. I frantically called my brother. No answer.
I pulled into Sam’s Club to get a few things that I needed and a woman and her son come out, talking about the accident. He was obviously distressed. I commented. “It was a bad one, wasn’t it? Very upsetting.” The mother looked at me with gratitude. “You’re talking about…” She motions toward the accident. I nod. “I’m so glad I’m not the only one who feels that way,” she says. “I had to come here to stop driving because I was shaking.”
I know how she feels. She thanks me again and we move in our separate directions.
I nearly run through Sam’s. I don’t want to be there and I’m worried about my brother.
I’m standing in line and I see someone familiar. I run over to the line and peak around.
“Aunt Dawn!” My Willow is standing there with her parents. I’m so happy to see my brother that I nearly start crying. Instead, I wrap my arms around Willow and press my lips to her head. I want to bury myself in her, to hide that image that is burned onto the backs of my eyes.
I can’t explain it to them. My sister-in-law is a nurse and these things don’t faze her anymore. My brother is knee-deep in finishing the 3rd chapter of his doctoral thesis and can barely think about other things. I don’t want to burden them with my sadness.
But just seeing them…just smiling at Justice and holding Willow in my arms was enough. For that moment, it was enough.
this i believe
0
National Public Radio (NPR) in the U.S. has been doing a series called This I Believe. It is based on a 1950s radio show.
I’ve been thinking about the things I believe in and what I would say if I entered an essay. For me, it all comes down to family. I think that one event, out of so many, really defines what that means to me.
–
Justice was born in the early morning hours of a June day in 2003. He surprised us all and arrived a month early. As his sister and I slept, waiting for a call from my brother and his wife, Justice fought his way into the world.
One call was all it took and the family phone network was in action. Family members went to the hospital to rejoice in the birth of another baby and welcome him to the world. We also went to give support to my brother and his wife.
Justice was born a month early and had a hole in his heart. He was also diagnosed with Down Syndrome. He was on ventilators and all kinds of machines for that first month of his life. When he was finally released, he had to remain on oxygen because he just couldn’t produce enough.
Sometimes the help and support of family can be too much. Sometimes it can be overwhelming. Sometimes it doesn’t allow you the space and time to grieve that you need. The entire family was caught off-guard by Justice’s birth. Friends in the disability community told me that we all needed time to grieve: to let go of that image of the healthy child we had expected and to embrace the child we had received.
Justice became our miracle baby. He fought his way into this life. He endured open-heart surgery at the age of four months. He occasionally has respiratory issues to this day and has to go back on breathing treatments or oxygen tanks.
What I have realized, since his birth, is the power of family. I have seen people rally to support my brother and his family. I have seen friends send articles about Down Syndrome from across the country when they see something that makes them proud of being in Justice’s life. I have seen a family begin to learn a new language to communicate with a small boy; a family join together to walk in the annual Buddy Walk in Phoenix; a family who cries when they hear about other people leaving their Down Syndrome children to die.
I have witnessed the dynamics of family: biological and not, coming together to support a miracle.
I have witnessed compassion and activism. I have witnessed growth and understanding.
I have witnessed love.
I believe in the power of family. I believe that they can make adversity turn into miracles. I believe that anything can be achieved when that support is there.
This, I believe.
trumpeting beauty
06 years ago
He said that he’d like to see me blossom, become more comfortable around people. He wanted me to come out of my shell, expose myself a little more.
I wonder if he understood how difficult that was for me. I wonder if he understood what trust meant or the power of the words he said to me. I wonder if he realized, then, that I wanted to blossom if only to make him smile…and maybe make myself smile, too.
I reached out to him, wanting to blossom beneath his gaze. I wanted to watch him watch me open up.
I wonder if he understood that without nurturing care, it’s difficult to blossom. When you pour harsh words over struggling petals, they want to curl back inward and close up again. I wondered, again, if he understood the power of his words.
–
In May, I lost a job. In June, I lost a friend and someone I thought I’d have a future with. In September, I got cancer. I gained weight. I became depressed. I lost track of me.
In May, I got a job. In August I started graduate school. In October, I got a better job. I started working out again. I went out with friends (and even invited 20 or so over to my hermit cave for a BBQ). I realized that I had never lost me but that I had scurried back into that cocoon where I feel safe.
–
I could wallow. I could say “why me?”
And I came *that* close to doing just that. The cancer was the final straw. I couldn’t take anymore. I was tired and scared and felt alone. The physical pain diminshed but the emotional pain would not leave.
I came *that* close to screwing things up. I lost sight of what is important to me because I wanted to stay in the warmth of that cocoon.
A funny thing happened, though. I realized that I wasn’t alone.
I’ve said, over and over, how much my brothers are always there for me. And they didn’t disappoint me this time. They are my foundation.
But there is more. People I have never met reached out and gave me strength, let me know they were thinking of me.
People I had just met in the last few months reached out, letting me know that they were there for me, to help me. My student workers were amazing – sending me thoughtful e-mails, giving me a card, offering to pick things up at the store for me.
People called…just to see how I was.
My professors have been amazing. Supportive, encouraging, and patient with me in my recovery.
I’m overwhelmed by the outpouring. I call myself anti-social. I tell people that I don’t like people much – mostly because I don’t understand people much. Partly because I don’t know who to trust. Partly because I want to trust everyone. Partly because they scare me. Partly because I want them to love me.
–
I’m done. I can’t allow the pain, emotional or physical, to stop me from living, to stop me from reaching goals that I set for myself 25 years ago.
–
I want to say to him, “Look at me. I am blossoming. Life may drench me in rain and then scorch me in heat but I survive. I push through and open my petals to the experiences.”
I want to say to him, “Don’t hide away from the world. Embrace it yourself. Open yourself up to new experiences. Trust that people will stay by your side even when you push them away.”
And I want to say to him, “Be careful with what you say. Your words have power. They mean something.”
And I want to wish him the glory of life. And I want to wish him joy. And I want to wish him peace.
clarification
0
I feel like I need to explain myself on subjects all of the time. I wonder, sometimes, if I’m speaking the same language.
Yesterday, in class, I made a comment about the interesting gender-related correlation between the four books we had read in class. I did not say ALL books are written this way nor did I say that I believe that men or women write in a certain way. I simply said that between the four books that we’ve read so far, they seem to fall within certain categories. The two men have written sparse and to-the-point books. In fact, the men’s books were both substantially shorter than the womens’. The women seem to write in a more conversational tone.
However, the moment I said that, someone commented that she didn’t believe that all writers are like this.
I didn’t say all writers. I was making a comment on the four books we had read.
–
I wrote about monogamy because I seem to be facing this issue a lot in the last few years. I’m not sure if it’s the men I’m meeting, our ages, or me. I don’t know. So I put it out here so I can think about it.
I keep meeting men (or getting involved with men) who tell me how unnatural monogamy is or how they can’t possibly be expected to lead a monogamous life.
Okay, that’s fine. If it doesn’t work for them, I understand.
However, it works for me…and I’m being asked to compromise myself if I want to be in a relationship.
These aren’t, obviously, the right relationships for me. I just start to wonder why I attract men who don’t have the same desires that I have. I start to question myself.
–
My brother said something wise to me a few months ago. I was telling him that I was worried I’d be alone for the rest of my life.
I had just come out of a relationship and I was sad. I had just been told that my weight was an issue. I had been told that my personality traits were bothersome (not the exact words but I’m trying to be kind to myself). I wasn’t feeling very good about things.
My brother stopped me before I continued.
“Dawn. You work full-time. You’re going to grad school full-time. These are both things that most people do one at a time and you’re doing them at the same time. Concentrate on the things that matter to you now. The rest will come later.”
And he’s right. My school is more important to me than anything else right now. My job pays the bills so I can go to school. I know he’s right.
It would just be nice to share this with someone. It’s an exciting time in my life and I’d like to share it.
around and around and…
0
“In fucking, one’s insides are on the line; and the fragile and unique intimacy of going for broke makes communion possible, in human reach–not transcendental and otherworldly, but an experience in flesh of love.”
~ Andrea Dworkin ~ Intercourse ~
My brain is in overdrive right now. I’m thinking (maybe over-thinking?) the issue of sexual politics. Things may not come out coherently because I’m thinking about so many different things right now.
Let me give you some background.
Last week I was speaking with a friend through e-mail. She was telling me how she had met a man outside of her marriage and how she had to do it secretively. I also remember how she has written that she has had affairs outside of her marriages.
I was jealous of that freedom. I’m a single woman who is free to do as she pleases and yet I was jealous of a woman who is married and having affairs.
Fast forward to yesterday. I was hiking with a friend. We were discussing sexuality and monogamy and needs and fulfillment. He asked me if I knew about Sonia Johnson (I have her book, The Ship that Sailed Into the Living Room). And we discussed her views on monogamy.
I would say I’m a monogamous person. When I’ve been confronted with an open relationship or had to share in a relationship, I inevitably feel left out. I feel like the “lesser than” piece of the equation. It hurts. I don’t feel secure.
I seek monogamy for security. I seek it to feel like I matter…to one other person than myself.
I want a place in this world.
Yeah, it sounds like low self-esteem. I know. But really…I just want to be the center of attention for some time…to be the only one who gets that attention. It would be nice to feel that for once.
Or maybe it is self-esteem and I just don’t feel good enough for someone. And is that my problem? Should I be open to non-monogamous relationships?
But I’m starting to question myself. Maybe monogamy is too much to ask for. A friend told me that men want to make a choice…to not feel controlled in a situation. I can understand that. And because I want to feel like I matter, I push myself to believe I can be a part of a world that is not monogamous…even though every bone in my body screams “NO.”
*sigh*
Today, I was having a conversation with an old friend about Foucault’s repressive hypothesis and Andrea Dworkin’s views on sexuality. It is intense and lasts most of the day.
I’m not a huge fan of either Sonia Johnson or Andrea Dworkin because they tend to promote separatist views (men are not needed nor desired and women should – according to Dworkin – even create their own nation-state). While both write beautifully (and I appreciate that about them), I don’t really like their form of feminism.
And then…yeah…there’s the whole feminisim thing. I called myself a feminist long ago (my late teens and early 20s). I worked in Planned Parenthood, assisting with the abortion clinics. I was the local chapter president of NOW (until I quit because the state chapter president believed in separatism). I worked with pro-choice groups. I worked on the campaign of a pro-choice congressional representative and a senatorial representative.
And then I read Alice Walker’s discussion on being a womanist and I thought…oh, this is so much more inclusive. I like that.
And then, I thought that “humanist” (if one must have labels) fit me better. I want equality for all…not just men, not just women, not just whites or African Americans or straights or gays. Everyone. Humanist.
And anyway…I’m back into this feminist debate but it’s about sex this time and we’re discussing a woman who chose to not have sex…and a man who said sex (and repression of it) are social constructs.
And I’m thinking to myself that I can’t win.
I shouldn’t have sex at all. Or it doesn’t exist anyway. Or I should have it with anyone (or everyone). Or I will be labeled something that I may not be. Or…or…or…
And my heart starts beating faster. And I get anxious.
And then my heart hurts because this woman who chose not to have sex says beautiful things about it. And she makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. And she makes me want to find someone to share that beauty with.
And we’re back to talking. And we talk about emotional masochism and sadism. And we discuss how Dworkin may have been a masochist and how she studied de Sade.
And then we’re on to innocence and poking at that innocence to get pain.
And I realize that I may be a masochist, poking at those tender spots just to feel something. Because when it hurts, I feel…and that feels good.
And finally, we’re talking about the narratives we weave in life and how we construct these webs to catch ourselves in. This web I’ve created today…this web narrative of my confusion and anxiety and desires and needs and wants. My narrative. My story.
through it all
0
I’ve just finished reading Goat by Brad Land for one of my classes.
Ouch. That’s what I say. This book hurt my soul to the core.
Maybe it’s because I understand him far more than anyone should. I’ve been there. I’ve done crazy things.
He writes:
…I know I’m too much for anyone, that if I let myself, I’d love them all, I’d think they could fix me. But I know they can’t, and it’s enough, because every so often when a girl kisses me, touches my hand, my face, I remember that the world has light.”
I’ve been told, time and again, that I’m too much for people. Just too much.
I’ve been afraid like Brad Land. I’ve lived with that perpetual churning of the stomach everytime I exited my front door, afraid of what the world held for me that day.
I’ve been called those names that will forever echo in my head: stupid, ugly, fat, liar, bitch. I forgot where the labels ended and I began. Words do hurt me.
I’ve bled at the hands of another, bruised, beaten, shaking with every turn.
A young woman in class today said she felt pity for Land. From the beginning to the end of the book, she felt pity. And I wondered…would she feel pity for me, too?
Maybe she doesn’t understand what torment does to the mind. What fear can do to the soul. How overwhelming it can be.
And yet, we want to go on. We cling to things. Land filled his pockets with trinkets of life to remind himself he was still among the living and to cling to the smallest remnants of sanity. I filled my life with my dogs, my photographs, my books. These were sanity.
Like Land, I’m a worrier. I worry about everything. Everything.
I worry if I’m going to fail at grad school, not fulfill my dreams. I worry that I’ll be alone forever. I worry that people at work don’t like me. I worry that I’ve upset my mother.
And through it all, like Land, I had someone to turn to. He had one brother, I had two. When he was scared, that was who he could cry to. When I’m scared, I know they will listen to my cries and try to help me through it. They’ve saved my life, much like Land’s brother saved him.
And in that one single thing, we are wealthy and blessed. Fear does not have to own us because we have something so much more powerful than that.
We have love.
closed doors
0
She writes,
“I think no one would stay with me if I allowed myself to be who I am, and so I don’t, and it’s the daily hiding that’s so hard, so tiring, and so lonely.
How do you keep the monsters from touching the ones you love? You don’t love. You keep a cool distance from everyone, even those closest to you, and keep your monsters to yourself.”
I get that. I understand it. I’m thirty-eight years old and I’ve never been in love. I’ve loved…and I’ve loved deeply…but it’s never been an “in love” thing.
Those first relationships taught me not to let people too close. People knowing too much about you can be a dangerous thing.
She says,
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe people truly love you, isn’t it? When your entire life has been spent hearing people’s voices say they love you, but their actions tell you it’s only the external shell they love, because when your internal self comes out to play they run, still loving the outside, but unable to deal with the inside.”
And I think this is the problem. People throw the word “love” around like it’s nothing. “I love you.” Do you really? Do you know what that means? Why do you hurt me, then? Why is it so easy for you to hurt me when you say you love me?
I doubt I’ve ever been truly loved back. I’ve had people tell me that they love me, that they are in love with me. I’m not sure if they were, though, or if they understood what that meant. Or maybe, for them, they were and I just expect too much from someone who says “I love you.”
I have a feeling I may never find that elusive love. There are too many obstacles. I searched the world for it and have ended up coming home to live like a recluse with my dog because love, to me, means pain.
And I don’t want to hurt anymore.
nothing
06 years ago
I religiously read the blog of an online friend every day. It is raw. It is the dirty underbelly of society that we often close our eyes to and that we refuse to see even though it’s there. It is pain. It is love. It is horrific and it is joyous.
Today, though, I read something that hurt me to the core.
Someone asked her about her reflection in the mirror. She said she’s invisible to others. When asked what she sees, she said, “nothing.”
That hurt my heart. It hurt me to think that she doesn’t see what we may see of her. I know she would say that we don’t understand or that no one truly knows her. I understand that she often feels alone or taxed by too much need of others or that she is beating her head against the wall, that she trying to just stay above the water.
To all of this, I say this: Does anyone truly know any of us? I don’t think there is a soul alive that knows the real me…the me that I feel I am. I don’t think anyone out there knows the depth of my compassion or the ruthlessness of my heart at times. I can be a cold bitch. I can also be a cuddly girl. I can be extremes within moments.
People have perceptions of us that they have formed based on their own experiences in life and how they approach us. Oftentimes, those perceptions are created out of what they may need from us. Oftentimes, they are created out of nothing. People see what they want to see.
I used to look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I didn’t know who that woman looking back at me was. I avoided mirrors because it hurt to not see myself. In fact, sometimes I couldn’t see anything when I looked in the mirror. It was a blur. It was unrecognizable. It was painful.
I don’t wish that on anyone…especially this beautiful woman who gives more than she realizes.
I hope, soon, she sees something in that mirror. I hope she sees all sides of herself and embraces them. I hope she realizes that all of the bad and good make up who she is and that person isn’t as awful as she may think she is.
Most of all, I wish her peace. If there was anything I could give her, it would be that.
the making of a hero
0
Today I’m going to Phoenix to watch my brother make his dream come true.
He has worked very hard to be accepted into the Phoenix Fire Department. He is currently going through the Firefighter’s Academy.
Tonight, they are having family night. They are treating us to dinner and then showing us the skills they have learned in this academy.
Part of it is to help us understand what they will be dealing with on the job. Part of it is so that we can be a part of this important part of their lives.
Yesterday I told him that I’m excited to see him in this. I’m so proud of him for chasing and catching his dream.
This is huge.
But what brought tears to my eyes is when he said, “It’s cool that all of you are coming. But I can’t wait to see Willow’s eyes light up when she sees her Uncle Todd as a fireman.”
Todd and I have had a hard life at times. We lived a different life than our other two siblings and it has seemed that so much has been a struggle for us. We’re stronger for it but sometimes it’s exhausting.
The approval of those we love and respect means so much to us because it helps us validate the struggles we’ve gone through.
I understand what he means when he says that about Willow.
It means he has achieved something intangible but more meaningful that almost anything else in the world.
In the eyes of a six year old, he becomes a hero.
giving up the chase
0I haven’t written in a while. I think I’ve been going through some transitions in my life. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.
When I was having an issue in a relationship, my brother told me that I shouldn’t be chasing men. He said he understood why I did it in the past. He said that he knew I didn’t feel good enough or that I felt I would be alone if I didn’t chase. He told me, though, that now that I’m financially secure, own a home, have a degree, am still relatively young, and am fairly attractive (my words), that I shouldn’t feel the need to chase.
While I’ve never thought about this consciously, I suppose he’s right. I did chase because I didn’t feel good enough for someone to chase after me.
To be honest, though, I don’t even like the whole concept of “chasing.” Why can’t we just admit we like one another and move forward? Why does it have to be a game?
Frankly, I’m tired of games. I’m tired of the chase.
I just want to be in a warm, loving, consensual, tw0-way relationship.
Is that too much to ask?