The Stress and Anxiety of Improving Your Situation

I live in a trailer. It’s not terrible, but it’s not all that nice, either. It looks like crap on the outside, though my fall wreath on the door helps. On the inside it’s cute – I’ve decorated with everything geeky and as much purple as I can manage without it looking like Barney threw up in the place.
The problem is, the living space is small. I have two children, and there is just no space for all their toys and clothes. My son can’t clean his room because there’s just nowhere to put everything. There isn’t even room for a dresser in his bedroom, so his clothes are in a hanging contraption in his closet, and they’re constantly falling out of it.
I separated from my husband a little over a year ago. We filed for bankruptcy two years ago, so I didn’t think home ownership would be in the cards for me anytime soon. Especially since I have zero money for a down payment, and living paycheck to paycheck means no way of saving.
But a realtor friend made it happen for me.
She got me an …

Fat and Anxious

I was once one of those skinny bitches who thought she was fat.
I know now that body dysmorphia is real, because I was convinced I was chubby even when I was only 112 pounds. I’ve always had plenty of junk in the trunk, and when I sat down I had the smallest roll over my pants. I’m pretty sure it was all skin. My rolls now laugh at my tiny skin roll back then.
I was one of those people who could eat anything and not gain weight. But in my mid-twenties I started getting heavier. I chalked it up to aging and metabolism. My mom was a bit chubby, so I figured genetics had something to do with it as well. I tried diet, exercise, and diet pills, but nothing helped. I figured I was just doomed to be chubby.
I gained 70 pounds in a year. I married a man I didn’t really love because I figured I’m fat, this is the best I can get.
I decided I wanted babies, but after a year of trying and my periods completely stopping, I was forced to seek medical help. It was then, at 25, that I discovered …

What if I get what I want?

Photo by Cindy Tang on Unsplash

Pictured above - the sort of house I'll probably end up with. 
My family moved around a lot throughout my childhood. We didn’t have a lot of money and always rented, and would end up having to move for various reasons. I always thought that when I grew up and got a house, it would be one that I love – not just one that I can afford.
Well, I’ve purchased two houses with significant others in my adult life, and that held true. Splitting up with those significant others and having to leave those houses was hard – especially last year when I had to leave the house I picked out and had raised children in for 8 years.
I’ve rented a trailer for the past year. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived on my own, and I love living on my own. What I don’t love is having to cram myself, two children, and all of our crap into this trailer. I’ve gotten to the point that I avoid doing housework because there’s just nowhere to put everything. My son doesn’t even have r…

Men's Mental Health

Today we have another guest post from our friendly neighborhood guest blogger, Elijah Greenwood. Men have been taught for too long that they're weak if they show emotion or have poor mental health. This only leads to worse mental health! Men, it's okay to feel what you feel, and get help when you need it. 
Yes, I am indeed a man. And yes, I do have mental health issues. These two things are not, in fact, mutually exclusive - as most of the world seems to think they are. As a man, I am allowed to have anxiety. As a man, I am allowed to have depression. And who are you, society, to decide that my masculinity is altered by these things? Who are you to tell me that I can not possess and express my feelings and emotions? Or that I cannot possibly break down or go into a mental spiral? Who are you to decide that my gender defines my mental status?
All throughout my younger years, I was told by both society, and professionals, that I couldn’t possibly have mental health issues based o…

The Cost of Independence

Turns out being a strong, independent woman is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s resulted in being broke, depressed, too proud to tell anyone I need help, and too terrified of rejection to let anyone know I need someone to be with me while I cry. Not that they’d be there, because they’ve gotten used to me pushing them away.

The Spectrum of Suicide

Today we have another guest post from Elijah Greenwood. As always, his words hit close to home. 

The grey area that no one talks about. Most people don’t even realize it exists. Then there are those that know it all too well. Those that live it day in and day out. It’s that small section of suicide that we struggle to understand. It’s when you want to die so badly, but you don’t want to kill yourself.

No, I’m not going to harm myself. No, I don’t have plans to do anything. Yes, I’m safe. I just don’t care if I live or die. If I got in a car crash today, I wouldn’t fight to live. If someone wanted to kill me, I’d let them. I want to die. I just don’t plan to do it myself.

Often when we think about suicide, we think about people so depressed that they plan out their death and attempt to take their own life. All too often, no one realizes that suicide is a spectrum and a person can fall anywhere on it.

The problem with this grey area is that people in it are often scared to talk about it o…

Why Haven’t You Unfriended Them? #MeToo

I have written this and rewritten this. I just don’t like telling this story. It makes me feel dirty, stupid, and worthless. Let’s not forget ashamed, because I’m rooting for all those women who stand up for themselves – all while I’m sitting back and being a coward.
We are in the days of #MeToo. I’ve written about this before. I have my stories, as do most women I know. Mine aren’t as bad as some, though I’ve learned that every woman’s story of sexual harassment or assault is valid, no matter the extent.
I’ve dealt with these situations since high school and a boy on my bus made comments about my breasts often. Then later in high school another boy actually grabbed my breast one night at work. I did nothing. I laughed it off, changed the subject, and never mentioned it again.
Decades later, I still handle those situations the same. All those people who say that women who wait years to say something shouldn’t be taken seriously – they don’t know what they’re talking about. I under…