Why Can't We Be Friends?

So I was up late the other night when I happened to catch a previously aired episode of The Wendy Williams Show.  During her initial gossip talk, she began talking about Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.  She said she thought he was the perfect guy until she recently found out that he is still not only friends, but also business partners with his ex wife.  She was also alarmed by the fact that he did not pay her alimony, as he only pays child support.  She felt this was a red flag and asked the audience how many would be comfortable dating their man knowing his ex wife still in the picture in this kind of capacity.  Many in the audience shook their heads no.   In fact, her words were “I knew he couldn’t be as perfect as he seems.”  I think I must be different because I found that very odd.  I found that to be a plus to him.  I'll admit that there are quite a few things that would give me cause to pause with a man, but a great relationship with his ex wife and mother of his child is not one of them.

I have some high school buddies who recently celebrated their 10^th anniversary and they have a great relationship with the wife’s ex husband.  It took some work, but they are finally there.  The ex attends quite a few family functions.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was family.  Well to be honest, he actually is.  Another friend expressed that he would have a serious problem with this situation.  He stated that he would not want anyone his wife was once intimate with to be that close to either of them—even if children were involved.  He would prefer the honk the car horn to let us know you’re outside when you pick up the kids method.  Now maybe I’m just different, but I find that so odd.  I really don’t get the problem with

Certainly everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, and I’m not bashing it.  I’m just confused as to why people feel this way.  While it’s not a necessarily accurate view, I tend to look at a person’s relationship with their ex as a good indication of how they’ll probably be with me should things come to an end.  So I feel that if he’s on good terms with her and still has a lot of love and respect for her; he’ll probably have the same for me if things end.  In my opinion, it is the mark of two individuals who are choosing to be mature and respectful of the fact that they weren’t meant to be together.  And that is ok.  I’d much rather prefer to deal with someone who has an excellent relationship and friendship with their ex (I’m really referring to unions involving children), than one who is at war with his ex.  Now of course, this presumption is operating under the premise that there is an either/or circumstance, meaning that either the relationship is great or it’s terrible.  I understand that everything is not black or white and there are actually more than a few shades of shades of gray in life.  I myself have a rather meh relationship with my ex husband.  We’re not at all friends.  We’re also not mortal enemies.  However, in saying that, I can admit that we barely speak and we certainly haven’t mastered this co-parenting thing.  I would actually like things to progress toward a friendship, but I don’t think it will ever be.  And I’ve made my peace with that.  So I do get that not everyone will have the idealized Dwayne Johnson/ex  Dany Garcia relationship.  But I don’t get why the former would be more desirable for my future mate than the latter.   I think people give ex’s way too much power.  Unless the ex is extremely disrespectful and oblivious to proper boundaries or your mate still wants his or her ex, I see no reason to be that concerned with the ex.  I think it would be beneficial for all parties to be friendly.  And again, I’m really speaking more from the point of view of one who shares a child with an ex.  I think when children are involved (and I don’t mean grown children), I think it is much more healthy for everyone to be friendly.  I do get that sometimes that just isn’t possible, but I would still think that would be more ideal for a newcomer than to walk into the middle of the “baby momma/daddy drama”.  But like I said, I might just be different.   So what say you?  What are your thoughts on the sich-e-a-shun?

Just a Simple Confession

 Me and my dad during a family vacation to Florida 1989

I have been feeling some kind of way for the past two weeks.  It’s been weird.  I’ve been anxious, unable to sleep, and off balance.  I have vacillated between feelings of happiness and inexplicable sadness.  And if I’m not sad, I’ve been feeling like I should be.  Initially, I simply attributed my mood swings to loneliness.  My baby has been gone visiting her father so I just assumed Oh I miss her and my usual schedule is thrown off.  But she’s back home now and I still have insomnia.  I still have this weird anxious feeling.  It wasn’t until I was perusing Facebook last night that it hit me.  A friend of mine tagged me in a picture and the picture was of my father and Isaac Hayes.  The caption stated that they passed 5 years ago and they were taken way too soon. 

Today is the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.  And it’s not like I haven’t known that.  I couldn’t forget August 9 if I wanted to (and trust me there are times that I definitely want to).  I’ve even mentioned it quite a few times within the month of July.  I guess knowing and experiencing truly are two different things because now that the moment is here, I am hit with a deep sadness.  Upon his passing, a friend of mine told me, I couldn’t tell you that it gets easier, but I can tell you that it gets more manageable.  In my oh so humble opinion, she is absolutely correct.  The pain I feel isn’t any less today than it was the moment the doctor informed us (my mother and me) that he was gone.   However, the pain is no longer such a shock to my system.  It’s familiar now.  The ache and longing in my soul is no longer foreign.  It’s with me every day, as it has been for the past 5 years.  And please understand that I’m not depressed.  I’m not in a dark place.  I am healed.  I just know that the void of my father’s absence will never be filled and it’s ok.  I’m in a space where I can laugh more than I cry.  I can remember good times.  I’ve even reconciled the fact that I am so much like him (something I detested when he was alive).  I catch myself sounding just like him and I smile.  I know that as long as I live, a part of him does and that makes me so proud.  I can talk to my daughter about her grandfather with affection and pride without feeling sad that her memories are so scarce.  I can relish that he at least had the opportunity to enjoy her for a whole year and a half.   

But, I’ll admit, that I am not always able to be so up beat.  On certain days of the year, the ache feels more agonizing, the void feels deeper, my heart feels heavier, and my soul just a little more weary.  Today is one of those days.  Today is the day where I admit that one of my biggest fears is living life longer without him than I did with him (in the physical sense).  Today is the day where perspective truly takes meaning because I know that 30 years is a significant amount of time, yet I don’t feel like it was enough time with my Daddy.  Today is the day where I cry more than I usually do—not that I intend to.  It always just sort of happens.  But above all else, today is the day that I remember a little more.  I remember his smile. I remember his laughter.  I remember all the lessons.  I remember all the times he got on my nerves and wish he was here to do it again.  I remember hearing his voice and thinking, “Man does he know how to be quiet?”  I remember his face the day I told him I was pregnant, and how he cried upon hearing the news. And most importantly, I remember how much I love him.  Thankfully, I don’t have any regrets.  I know that we do the best that we can in the moments.  We both did the best we could by one another, and in my humble opinion, we did pretty damn good.  Today as they say, is just one of those day.  So because I feel this way, I usually like to do something significant.  It makes me feel good to do something really significant.  But I don’t do it because he died.  I like to do it because he lived.  And I know that because he lived, I do as well.  I guess all I’m saying is that I love and miss my Daddy. And in the words of Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that.

Nothing Is All Good or All Bad . . . Includin Fear

Happy Friday!  It's been quite a while since I've done my V-log so I figured it was way past time that I posted one.  I recorded this little number some time ago, but after watching it, I can see that it fits.  I have been working to embrace everything that is in my life and that includes all of my feelings, attitudes, and viewpoints.  After all, the only way I can truly change is to accept what is and amend what I feel needs amending.  So the prevalent feeling has been fear.  As I shared in Wednesday's post, I have been working to let go of the fear that has so paralyzed me for much of my adult life.  However, when I examine what fear truly is, I had to recognize that all fear isn't bad.  In some instances, fear can just be a signal that you're on the right path.  The road of life is paved with all kinds of unknowns and in the face of the unknown, it's common for fear to arise.  That isn't necessarily a bad thing.  After all, it's not necessary to remove fear in order to act.  All that is necessary is that one possess courage.  And courage is simply acting,  even in the face of your fear. 

I'm Scared, But I'm Not Sure of What

I definitely feel a shift occurring in my life.  Seems that I am ready to release all of the fear that I’ve given in to for most of my life.  I don’t think I was born afraid.  I don’t think any of us are born afraid.  I think fear is a learned behavior.  In my case, I think my dad taught me to be afraid.  Don’t get me wrong.  I know he meant well.  His intentions were pure.  However, the end result was that I became a very fearful child.  By the time I turned 6, my dad became very over bearing.  He criticized me for what I didn’t do correctly, what I did do, what I should do and what I should be.  It seemed as if I was lacking in some area.  If I attempted to ask a question (simply because I needed clarification), I was accused of being a smart ass and I would get in trouble.  If I voiced an opinion (let alone one that differed from his), I was accused of being a know it all and would get in trouble.  So I learned it wasn’t good to say anything.  However, if I didn’t speak up to others, I would get in trouble for letting others take my mojo and that was a major no no (Ha! Look I made a rhyme!).  So I learned to second-guess myself.  I mean, when was the proper time to speak and the proper time to be quiet?  I just didn’t know. At one point, he taught me not to take such pride in my grades because there would be someone smarter than I—one with good grades.  And in his words, “A hard C is better than an easy A anytime” But when I came home with a “hard C” in Science, I was punished because let him tell it, I was “Bull sh*tting!”  I was way better than that.  I was so scared and confused I didn’t know what to do with myself.   Over the years, the mixed messages just taught me to be afraid of everything.  I was damn near afraid of my own shadow.  I was afraid to be great.  I was afraid to fail.  I was afraid to succeed.  Did I move left?  Or was I to head right?  I didn’t know and so I made a decision to just not move at all.  I wouldn’t play small nor would I play big.  I just wouldn’t play.  I would just glide along in life—being afraid the entire time.

This stagnation only served to infuriate me.  I would feel so helpless, so overwhelmed, so unfulfilled.  Yet, I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted so much for myself.  But I wasn’t sure that I could get it.  So I made excuses that could appease my ego and allow me to stay stuck.  Things like that don’t happen for people like me.  Now who exactly are people like me?  At the time I didn’t really have an answer.  But today I know it’s everybody.  We are all so much alike than we are different. And just the sheer fact that I am here means I am worthy of great things.  So I learned to accept that I want more and that’s ok.  However, I hadn’t managed to release the fear.  So I stayed stuck.  I would do a little bit—create vision boards, write down my wishes, pray, daydream.  But that’s where it would end.  I wouldn’t take any definitive action toward my desires.  And the simple truth is that I was just too afraid to.  I mean what would become of me if I did?  I was too scared to find out.

Well now that fear has waned.  I’m no longer afraid.  I trust the Universe.  I think the Universe is truly benevolent and wants to give us everything our heart truly desires (bar from harming ourselves or others).  However, we have to work with The Universe to make sure we receive those things.  I’m no longer afraid to work with the Universe.  And now that I’m in this space of no fear, it seems so silly that I was ever as afraid as I was.  Now I have to ask myself: well what was I really afraid of?  And the sad truth is that I don’t really have a definitive answer.  It’s like the Boogey Man.  No one really knows what he looks like, yet he’s to be feared.  Well, now I get it.  Fear is really more fearful than anything I can face.  So now it’s time to act.  And I’ve got a lot of making up to do.   

What Will You Have Me Learn?

Since my dad passed, I have approached all that happens in my life as a teachable moment.  I didn’t always understand that things in life are happening FOR me and not to me.  I have since gotten the memo, so I do my best to stay mindful of this.  I’ve also learned that I have a great tendency to operate from the neck up instead of the neck down (something I’m consciously working on).  Therefore, I miss many cues upon their initial presentation.  When I finally get the cues, it’s after I have allowed a lot of distress, and they have since turned into full-blown tornadoes, leaving me with no choice but to pay attention.  Yesterday was just a very difficult day for me.  I was giving in to some majorly negative energy, and I unfortunately did not redirect myself until I reached a breaking point.  Thankfully, I was able to redirect and I got some lessons from two (unlikely—well unlikely to me at the moment) sources:  my daughter and my dog.

I have had my dog since February 2011.  My former dog Snowball passed away in September 2010 and I was heartbroken.  My daughter was young and I wanted her to grow up with a pet—especially since I didn’t have that luxury.  Unfortunately, I ignored the fact that I was still dealing with my issues from my dad’s death and turmoil with my mom.  I picked up a cute little West Highland White Terrier, which I aptly named Beanie (after my dad).  But from day one it has been a struggle.  Beanie was terribly difficult to train and after two and a half years, he still messes the floor (in spite of being taken out regularly).  I am not home as much as I need to give him the attention he deserves so he has some major separation anxiety.  Furthermore, I just don’t have the patience I once had.  After about two weeks, I became aware that I made a decision that wasn’t really in my best interest and I needed to rectify it.  However, I didn’t listen.  I came up with any and every excuse that I could to keep Beanie.  In the meantime, my frustration has done nothing but simmered.  In between frustration, I have always asked, What am I supposed to learn from him? Unfortunately, I have yet to grasp the answer.  Two years later, and I’m still just as frustrated as I was then.  But I’m not frustrated with him.  My feelings are all directed at the appropriate person.  So fast forward to Monday and I come home after dropping my daughter at theater camp.  I let Beanie out and I decide to clean.  Five minutes later, Beanie comes upstairs with me and proceeds to pee on the floor . . . right in front of me!  I was instantly struck by the same feeling that I had two weeks after I brought him home.  This dog is not a good fit for my life right now and I became aware of the lesson.  My relationship with Beanie is a direct reflection of my relationships in general.  I have always allowed people to go beyond my comfort zone.  I’m always willing to give, do, and be more than I know that I can.  I ignore my intuition when it tells me to draw boundaries or just let go.  I feel “bad” for thinking and feeling it.  So I stew in unhealthy relationships and grow resentful, giving away my power, failing to realize that I had the power the entire time. 

My other lesson came from my beautiful daughter.  I have known since the moment I found out that I was pregnant, that this person I would birth would teach me great things.  Little did I know just how true that would be.  In her short 6 years on this earth, this little woman has taught me more about myself than I have ever thought could be possible.    I had a "bad" Mommy moment, and in the moment, I felt as if I was watching myself take the wrong turn, but was somehow powerless to stop it.  After my baby left crying to her room, I was compelled to follow to continue in my poor decision, but I instead chose to take a moment, be still, and give in to what I was feeling. Then I asked myself, "What lesson am I to learn from this?"  What I got was that I was not taking care of myself.  I have been so busy and so immersed in taking the Fizzle to theater camp and making sure that I'm a "good" Mommy that I was neglecting myself.  I have not taken the time to do just one thing that I love.  I've been all about being Mommy.  I haven’t done anything that I love or need to center myself.  No yoga, no Zumba, no reading, no writing.  I haven’t even taken 5 minutes to meditate.  So because I have been going full steam ahead for The Fizzle, I have been tired.  Soooo tired.  Being tired has led me to being frustrated.  But instead of recognizing this, I gave in to my frustration and then had the audacity to take it out on my daughter.  After taking a moment to center myself and then forgive myself, I went upstairs, got my baby and apologized.  I could have allowed pride to keep me stuck.  But thankfully, good sense prevailed and I instead chose to go to her to apologize.  I explained that I was having a bad day and I inappropriately took it out on her.  I explained how I will make conscious choices to make sure that I do not engage in such behavior again.  While I do not like that the moment is etched into our history, I’m proud that she can at least remember that she has a mom who takes responsibility and holds herself accountable.  Hopefully that will mean more to her than my poor judgment. 

While I was somewhat shocked to receive my lessons from these two, I’m so thankful that I did.  The lessons brought me to the book If Life is a Game, These are the Rules.  Lesson #1 is lessons will be repeated until learned.  Here’s to not having to repeat these two lessons (at least I’m holding on to the belief that I won’t).

Anger Management

Hello, my name is Je’Niece and I have a problem with anger.  I think my anger problem may even require anger management.  But not anger management in its traditional sense. My anger issue isn’t the traditional I get so angry I lash out problem.  My problem is that I have to learn how to express my anger.  My usual tendency is to suppress my anger.  Actually, I think it might be more accurate to say that I actually deny my anger.  As far back as I can remember, I have been unable to truly express my anger.  I sometimes even feel guilty for becoming angry.  I immediately begin to rationalize all the reason why I should not be angry and then I try to behave as if I am not.  Of course this doesn’t work to alleviate the anger.  It simply makes it last longer.  After all, what you resist persists. 

I’m not sure where this aversion to anger came from.  I remember having some very visceral reactions to my father’s anger as a child.  My dad was a major hot head who would blow up first and deny later.  He would get so angry that he would lash out and after he calmed down, he would have very little memory of what he said while angry.  I remember thinking that was no way I wanted to behave nor did I wish to make anyone feel the way my dad made me and so many others feel.  I also remember that my mother did not express her anger very well either.  She bottled her anger and acted out passive aggressively.  Maybe I am modeling what I saw her do.  Maybe on some unconscious level I decided that I do not want to be like my dad.  Maybe in some past life I was a terrible dictator who ruled with anger and so in this lifetime, I’m working out how to deal with it.  Whatever it is, I need to deal with it.  Who knows cause I don’t.  Maybe I’m just like my father, too bold.  Maybe I’m just like my mother, she’s never satisfied.  Maybe I’m just too demanding.  But all I know is this is what it sounds like when the doves cry. 

Anyway, I used to classify anger as one of those “bad” emotions.  It’s negative.  It makes one behave foolishly and harmfully.  It eats away at ones soul and breaks down the brick wall of peace.  What I know today is that while all of that can happen, anger can be a cathartic emotion.  If used in a serving manner, anger can be fuel to move to one’s greatest heights.  What I know today is that there are no “good” or “bad” emotions.  There are simply emotions and like anything else, too much or too little of any of them can be toxic. What I know today is that I can’t think away emotions.  While logic has its place, so does feeling.  My refusal to express my anger hinders me.  It has impeded my ability to resolve conflicts.  I think it also fueled my limited self-confidence.  I think my inability (or maybe even refusal) to express my anger has only resulted in my anger growing.  And I think I began to direct that anger toward myself. 

As I continue to grow and mature in life, I’m really gaining an understanding and an appreciation for the dichotomy of life.  While I know I am much more at home with the thinking rational side of life, I recognize the need and importance for the feeling.  I don’t have to be afraid to feel.  I don’t have to be afraid to get angry.  Hell, there are some things worth getting angry over!  Then why do I have such a gosh darn hard time expressing my anger?  I think one of the reasons is because up until a short while ago, I never felt worthy enough to be able to express myself to others.  My unspoken rule was always Everyone else is more important than I.  As such, what right did I have to become angry with anyone?  I also think I didn't recognize that being angry and acting reckless do not have to be exclusive to one another.  I do not have to lash out at anyone to express my anger--though that seems to be the norm.  Another reason I think I have had such a difficult time expressing anger is that I have confused holding on to anger with expressing it.  I consider myself to be a spiritual individual.  I think spiritual laws are always at play.  But one of the misconceptions of the spiritual (and even religious) ideology is that anger isn’t a good thing.  Think about it.  How many times have you heard something like: Anger is a poison, or Whoever you’re angry with has control over your life, and my favorite Anger is one letter away from Danger, and all of that jazz *cue the dancers*  What is never said is that anger is healthy.  The Bible even talks about Jesus' righteous anger.  I think the healthy thing to do is to acknowledge your anger, deal with it and let it pass.  So I know that means I’ll have to do a much better job with my anger management.  I can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.  And I can’t judge myself for getting angry.  So far I’ve tried journaling, deep breathing techniques, and I even tried that screaming into the pillow trick.  Cant tell for sure if any of them have worked.  I guess I’ll find out the next time I get angry.  Hell, maybe I just might join an anger management support group. 

How Much Writing Should a Writer Really Write?

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So I had a post all ready to for today and then something happened last night that inspired me to change my mind and write this piece.  Last night, as my ex dropped off our daughter, he initiated a conversation about the welfare of our daughter that was well over due.  He said he would like for us to work together for her benefit—something we both have failed miserably at doing.  I gotta say I was beyond proud that he brought the issue to me and I was quite proud of us as co-parents.  It was a first for us—but one that I’m hopeful will not be singular in nature.   But that’s not the point to this post.  During our conversation, he said that he would like for us to work collaboratively and that working collaboratively does not involve blasting someone on a blog.  Now this was implying that this is something I do here on my space.  I had to interject to let him know that at no point have I ever “blasted” him.  This here blog is my space.  Terri McMillan once said that she writes because it’s therapy for her and I have definitely found that to be true for me. The words I share on this space are all about my life experience and me.  It’s all about lessons I’ve learned or am learning.  It’s never about blasting another human being to make them look bad--least of all him.  As a matter of fact, I did a check just to make sure I wasn't being dismissive.  This post right here is my 49th post on this blog.  Of the 49 posts, 4 (including this one here) actually mention my ex husband, one post talks about him without actually saying it is.  There isn't anything about ex, husband, ex husband, his name, occupation, or any identifying property.  Of the 3 that mention him, only 2 are actually about a specific experience I had with him.  And of those 2, the focus is not on him, but on me and what I learned or took away from the experience.  The other 2 merely mention him in saying how he is my ex husband.  So, the fact that he feels he gets "blasted" on here is kind of beyond me.   But he's entitled to his feelings.  I'm almost sure that if he reads this he will feel this is a blast as well.  But it's really not.  The conversation (and my own reaction) got me to thinking.  I honestly didn't like the fact that he implied that I blast him on here.  I didn't like that I felt as if I had to defend my work.  However, I recognize that is my issue.  One thing I'm very comfortable with now is the fact that I am a writer.  As such, I am inspired by everything around me.  Sometimes my daughter inspires me to write.  Am I blasting my 6 year old for sharing experiences and lessons I've had with her?  Sometimes I'm inspired by watching my family and friends.  Are they also being blasted?  Sometimes I'm even inspired by television and film, and social media.  Again, are those mediums being blasted through my share?  Hell, if that's the case, I blast myself each time I post because this whole blog is about little ole me.  It's a funny thing as a writer because you will eventually deal with criticism and possible fall out from those close to you because they don't appreciate you including them in your work.  And I recognize that this is an issue that writers have faced probably since the beginning of autobiographical writing.  How do you share your story without offending those around you? Is it even possible to not offend those close to you when you write personal narrative?

The answer, in my humble opinion, is that you cannot.  As a writer, you are bound to piss someone off, hurt their feelings, and leave them scorned, or flat out resentful of how they feel you have portrayed them in your narrative.  And you know what?  That’s ok.  You write anyway.  There is no reason a writer should limit his or herself—and certainly not because someone may not like what they said.  I will say this.  I do understand how he feels.  I’m even sympathetic.  I have often asked myself, how would I feel if anyone in my life wrote about a shared experience with me?  And I’ve had to do a really hard gut check.  Honestly, I do not know how I would feel.  I may be elated at what I read.  Or I may be hurt and feel betrayed.  I may have to face that the dear sweet me that I have in my head may not be the same me that someone else feels they have encountered.  As sobering as that thought is, I'm aware that the reality is that I can feel whatever way I feel about it.  It’s my right to feel.  However, I do not have a write to stifle or stop that person from writing about their experience.  Now that is entirely their right.  I know what my intentions have been to those in my life. However, I have no idea whatsoever how my actions have affected them.  And if they choose to write about it, I must accept and respect their experience for just that—THEIR experience--however unfavorable I may deem that to be.

About a year and a half ago, I was talking to a professional writer whom I know.  I was asking about how I should go about writing my book.  She told me to just write and not worry about anything or anyone else.  In my attempt at writing my book about my life with my dad, I have stumbled and just been plain ole’ blocked.  One of the first blockages I experienced involved my inability to write about my life experiences in their entirety for fear of what the other players involved would think or feel.  Starting this blog and getting comfortable with my voice has helped to alleviate my fear.  That is why I’m so proud of myself.  If this were probably just a year ago, that one little blip in the conversation (and it really was just a blip) with my ex would have sent me into a writing hijinx.  I would have begun doubting myself.  I would have probably decided that his feelings are more important than mine and concluded that I should no longer use my voice. I probably would have started to censor myself and anyone who writes can tell you what a mistake that is.  But today is a brand new day and I've got a brand new bag.  And again, I’m sympathetic to his feelings.  I really am.  However, I extend that same sympathy to myself.  I recognize that I have every right to share my story.  I also know that my intentions are not to harm him (or anyone else for that matter), or to make him look bad.   My intent is to share what I have learned in the hopes that it can help or inspire another.  That is all. 

I will say that I always find it funny that most people tend to have a problem with a writer sharing their experience if they feel it portrays them in a “negative” manner.  Rarely have I heard anyone who believes they look good in a story say, “I don’t appreciate you making me look so good in your story. Why don't you keep me out of your stuff!”  But that's just my observation.  And to be honest, that's their issue.  As a writer, one is only responsible for maintaining their artistic integrity when they tell their story.  The reaction of others is not their responsibility.  In my opinion, it's the same thing as dealing with someone's opinion of you.  It's really none of your business because their perspective has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with their own self.  My ex said he read my blog.  Now I'm not sure if that means he's read every post, or the 5 that involve him, or one of the 5.  But I don't mind at all.  That’s more than fine with me. I'm not ashamed of anything I've written because I know it was written with love and truth.  If he reads this, I hope he has a better understanding of where I’m coming from.  I hope he now gets that this space is not about him at all.  I also hope he understands that the hard truth is that I'm not going to stop writing.  Should I feel the urge to share an experience that he either was or is a part of (seeing as how we are still in one another's life), I will share it--as I am at this moment.  I will write as my heart moves me and I cannot, nor will I, stifle myself for someone else.  I've done that for far too long already.  I will write not to blast anyone, but to share the ABC's of me.  That is all.  And I hope he gets that.  I hope he can now understand that this space, and the words they contain are not about making him look bad or “blasting” him as he calls it. I hope he can move beyond his own perspective to see mine.  And while that is my hope, I am thankfully in a space where I can hope for that without becoming attached to the need for that to actually happen.

So what say you?  Any other writers out there who have dealt with the fallout of someone in your life due to your words?  How have you navigated through the murky waters of maintaining your artistic integrity while being sensitive to the players in your life?  Anyone out there have a writer friend/family member who you felt portrayed you not so favorably?  How did you deal?  Let’s talk about it cause I’d love to hear about it.