Strength

I've never wondered what people see when they look at my life because I've never cared.
I still don't care, because it's my life and the only people in it who matter are the ones that I love.
But not everyone can see reality through their own perceptions, their own fallacies, their own rose-colored lenses.
Some people used to think we had a lot of money because we lived in a big house. A big house that was very affordable because of our location in relation to the Twin Cities. Affordable because when we bought it Andy's job paid well, and I saved money wherever I could, between grocery shopping at multiple stores to get the best deal, with many coupons to save as much as possible. Shopping for clothes at Goodwill, because you could get designer clothes for almost nothing on $0.99 day, but you had to be willing to walk away empty-handed sometimes.
That big house was affordable until it wasn't. Until our great city kept raising property taxes for their own stupidity. YMCA paid for by the city anyone? New ice, and new ice, and new ice for the hockey community but screw everyone else?

That big house was affordable until the Teamsters Union screwed everyone in the Twin Cities automotive industry. Screwed each and every one of their auto techs out of the bulk of their pay by taking their money hand over fist and then bailing on them when they were up for new contracts and the dealerships wanted to screw them even harder. No money for a lawyer? What happened to the $100-200 every member paid in dues every single week? They went on strike for weeks, without being paid, only to be thrown to the wolves with a 40% pay cut.
Many of those men and women lost their homes; many of them went bankrupt.
But nobody cared. Nobody listened. Nobody did anything about it. Nobody went to jail for fleecing thousands of union members. And of course, now, the men and women who are still in that shit union have no idea they are still paying into a union that will give them nothing. Because those poor bastards don't get the letter that those who aren't in the union anymore receive every year. The letter that tells them their pension fund will be empty as of 2025.

That big, beautiful house was affordable until it wasn't anymore. Until it was just a struggle to keep our lives afloat. A struggle to decide which bills to pay and which ones to let lapse.
It's summertime, gotta pay the electric bill, let's say goodbye to the internet this month. It's winter, and Minnesota can't legally turn your power off in the winter, or your gas, so let's let those go another month because the kids grew again and need new winter boots and coats, and we need to replace the refrigerator that just died a week out of warranty, and it's cheaper to replace than repair now.
No sports for the kids because soccer is insanely expensive and I can't afford to pay the also insane athletic fees the public school charges for other activities, on top of having to pay for supplies that should be provided by the schools: band music, art supplies, technology fees? Isn't that what my exorbitant property taxes should be paying for?

It was a struggle to live in my home to the point where I no longer saw it as a home, but rather the albatross hanging around my neck, trying to pull me down into the water and drown me.

People looked at my big house and made their own assumptions, but only ever made asses out of themselves, not me. People judged me based on what they saw when they ignored reality to look through their deeply scratched and tinted lenses.

I've always been an honest and open person. What you see is what you get. But only recently did I realize the power within me to tell those people making assumptions based on their skewed perceptions, to go get fucked.

I gave up a full year of my life to other people, just talking and listening and learning and getting to know them because they were important in my life. I listened to their stories, I heard their fears and their dreams; I heard them and I loved them regardless of what I heard and saw because life is life and we get through it how we can. The less judgment the better.

What I didn't allow myself to dwell on were the lies coming in with the stories. The lies about who and what they were. The lies that rolled off their tongue like sugary sweet syrup. The ones that struck my ears and I could hear them but swept them aside anyway. The jealousy rolling off of them in waves because of what they thought they saw, because they simply refused to see the reality I showed them.

They made up their own stories in their minds about what I said and did, no matter the actual truth. They ignored what I said, and did what they wanted. They got mad at me for standing up for myself, and my family. They lied about themselves and their families and were surprised when I saw through it all. They blamed me for their failures in life and love and never once had the strength to be honest or true.

Something I was reminded of by coming back to Minnesota was that they weren't the only ones lying to me. My family was lying to me too. But…they always had.
Lied about their feelings, lied to others about me, lied about themselves, lied to themselves, lied to each other.

My sister, Jenni, was the only one speaking the truth, and it was a recent development in my life because she had lied to me so much in the past. Lied to hide her own problems, her own fears, and sadness. Lied to make people believe she was ok, to make herself believe she was ok.

When she found her rock bottom she also found herself. She found the strength in herself I always knew she had. She found strength through her faith to climb back up and fight. The strength to fight for herself and those she loved. The strength to look at me, tell me all the garbage and realize that I was still there waiting for her. The strength to be exactly who she needed to be, and the strength to accept her mistakes and what she perceived as failures. She found the strength to realize her failures were simply lessons she so desperately needed.

And…

Maybe lessons I needed too. Because though I was still there, I had disconnected long ago. Disconnected from the lies I heard and the pain I felt. Disconnected from the things she did to my family and couldn't see. I was still there, just not as close, bright, or strong as she needed me to be. What neither of us realized until very recently, though, was that she didn't need me to be any of those things. Nothing I could have said or done would have helped her see, because she wasn't ready to see. I can't even begin to explain how proud of her I am, and how much love flows through me for the woman she has become.

Coming back to Minnesota has been a struggle. In part because of other people's self-biased perceptions of me and in part because of the way I have always seen things here.

Coming back showed me that I wasn't wrong about the things I had felt and endured over the years, and coming back here allowed me to see that through other people's eyes, not just my own. Seeing other people's disbelief at what I was experiencing, and had experienced most of my life. The comparisons, the judgments about who I am fundamentally, at my core and in my blood. The acceptance from some and the knowledge that they always saw and heard me.

Like my best friend Katina, who has always loved me and supported who I was, even though I am quite certain she has seen me at my worst.

Like my oldest friend Grace. She isn't old, for sure, she's younger than me! But she has been there since long before any of my other friends. She has been there since we were children, at first looking in from the outside, then standing right next to me. She has been in and out of my life; in my peripheral, in my windshield, in my rearview, standing right beside me. Always accurately able to see what I couldn't. She recently told me that she has always seen me as being born in the wrong era; as a rambling woman, restless being trapped here with the people who are supposed to love and accept me always trying to stick me in a box, and then getting angry, at me when I don't fit in their box. Holding expectations that aren't realistic to who I am, and pushing me aside because they are afraid of who I am because I'm different than them.

I am proud to be different than them. I would never want to be like them, and I don't need their approval to be who I am.
I just am.

I love. I give. I receive.
I share. I teach. I learn.
I listen. I hear. I hold.

I stand up.

I refuse to be silenced, even when those who are supposed to love me try their hardest to muffle what I say and who I am. Instead, I speak louder. Age has made me bolder and stronger in myself.

Lie to me and refuse to love me based on the lies you tell about me, to yourself, and to others. And then expect me to apologize for your behaviors and your failures, and your miserable life. Anything you can tell yourself so you don't have to be accountable for your actions and decisions.

Getting out of Minnesota has been the best thing that has happened for me, and my husband and kids. It's given me the strength to put my foot down and tell those who are lying to get fucked. That I will no longer accept their lies in my life and if they aren't willing to face their own truths then I have no place for their toxicity in my life.

Fuck 'em.

And I will never, never apologize for my language and the way I speak and write, ever again.
If you can't handle my words without raging like a child or feeling inadequate, maybe figure out why I scare you so much; but you'll embrace violence and bigotry and hate and hypocrisy and lies in a big hug like it's your best friend.

And leave me the fuck alone.