Excuse me, Porter?

Excuse me, Porter?

In 2005, my husband and I picked up a connecting flight in Puerto Rico on the way to our honeymoon destination, St. Lucia. I remember standing at the ticket counter when a porter kindly offered to help us with our bags. Being young and naïve we allowed him to do so…and he literally rolled them a few feet to the gate, a task we easily could have managed.

Feeling foolish and slightly taken advantage of, we paid up when the man held out his hand for a tip.

The Caribbean is replete with citizens in need of work and income. Lack of jobs creates competition and islanders have learned to become resourceful and assertive in their approach to make a living. We quickly realized our few dollars had helped not only a struggling economy but a human being, a man trying to put food on the table for himself and his family.

The porter had been so eager to take our luggage. The task and weight of carrying bags for tourists added value to his day, his life, his wallet.  Our baggage was necessary for his survival.

Flash forward to 2017.  I am in the process of working through and living with the struggles of Complex-PTSD, severe anxiety and depression. My siblings and I were raised in a home by a mother with borderline personality/narcissistic personality disorder.  Each of us struggle with the trauma embedded in our sense of self.

Feelings of guilt, shame and not being “good enough” continue to dog us in our adult years. At a young age, our brains were wired to believe the standards my mother set were true and if we didn’t meet them we weren’t acceptable.

Now in our thirties, three decades of unhealthy behavior have been spent in the form of people pleasing, self-condemning, unjustified “answerability. ” We continue to struggle with learning healthy patterns

After a recent session with my therapist regarding “emotional and psychological baggage,” here is my take away…only porters should take on baggage. Let me say that again. Only porters should take on baggage.

This intangible burden, a weight I had picked up and carried for three decades, was not mine at all. I had been carrying my mother’s baggage, her standards, her insecurities and the last time I checked, I wasn’t a bellhop.

This weight was hurting my survival, not sustaining it, as it did for Caribbean porters in crowded airports.

I didn’t finish college, my sister wasn’t skinny enough, my brother married the wrong girl…hefty luggage that never had our tag on it.  But, we picked it up, dragged it around and rolled it from one metaphorical gateway to the next, making restitution for un-met standards. This behavior was not only limited to relations with our parents but over-arched the structure of our lives.

Each of us developed different coping mechanisms; we became excessive worriers, doers, helpers.  We spent money, bought gifts, became obsessed with perfection and sacrificed our mental and emotional health.

My siblings and I thought we were “getting paid” in a co-dependent way of compensating acts, trying to elicit positive feedback.  Any hint of accord was like a coin in our pocket, a tip, small compensation that never added up to much.

We had been lugging around my mother’s trunk of skeletons our whole lives, trying to carry a weight that didn’t belong to us to begin with.

I’m not upset I didn’t finish school, my sister is a beautiful and accomplished woman and my brother is happy with the partner he chose.  The suitcases full of expectations and standards can be left at the ticket counter.  The tags don’t have our names on them.  The contents are not ours to claim.

So, unless you are working for an airport, hotel or transportation service only take what you need for your journey.  Everything else will drag you down.  Leave the unclaimed baggage on the carousel.


copyright2017 thejitterbug

The Measuring Stick…My Own Worst Enemy

The Measuring Stick…My Own Worst Enemy

Bust 32″, waist 24″, inseam 28″…oh, and I wear a size 5 shoe. Fair to say, I’m tiny. Five feet, two inches tall and that’s only if I’ve done spine stretching yoga exercises before the doctor stands me up to check my height. Crawling through a doggie door or half open window would present no challenge, making a career in cat burglary an excellent option.

Don’t worry. Nicking pearls in the dead of night from wealthy old socialites is not my plan. But, I do have a plan, or rather, an intention, regarding my “so called” measurements. Being physically small is of little importance…it’s being emotionally small that’s my hitch.

What Is “Good Enough?”

Type A personality can go on my “size chart” along with shrinking, waning, withering feelings that steal my self assurance time and time again. Maybe the cat burglar is inside me?

During a recent therapy session, I admitted to never feeling “good enough.” Never. I’m not even sure I know what the parameters of “enough” entail. Of course, my therapist prodded me to go a deeper (an annoying but necessary professional stratagem) and I explained this life encompassing feeling.

  • I’m not a good enough wife; maybe my husband would be happier with someone else; someone smarter, prettier, less of an uptight, bitchy anxious control freak.
  • I’m not good enough at my job, at cooking, at writing, at sex.
  • Daughter, sister, friend…I could be better, better, better.

The list is endless. The measuring stick reaches high, like Jack’s beanstalk disappearing into lofty clouds. But, there is no golden goose egg at the unattainable “top.”

What Am I Up Against?

After spilling my guts, my therapist asked, “What are you measuring yourself against?”

I just sat there and blinked.

Anxious, driven, proactive perfectionism has always dominated my life. Control is a must not an option. I over analyze, set my performance in contrast to others, take out the big, straight-edged stick and determine where I stack up against…what? I didn’t have an answer. And then, the smoke screen lifted.

The Poison Bean Illusions

There is no “against.” I compare my so-called achievements to fraudulent ideas, bogus thoughts, unattainable paradigms that were planted in my head like Jack’s magic beans.

Except, these beans were poison, germinated during an upbringing in a home of emotional instability, cultivated by a society riddled with immense standards and fueled by my aggressive Type A ideals.

My therapist pointed out that this compulsive measuring had less to do with accomplishment and more to do with acceptance; behavior stemming from a childhood where credit had been handed out in random, contingent and inconsistent rates. Looking to be the “best” was not my true intention.

The stamp of approval, to be seen, to be heard, to be loved, to be recognized without condition is what I was searching for all along.

Perfectionism is the Enemy of Forward Movement

An Oprah “Aha” moment happened right there on the proverbial psychotherapy couch. The measuring stick was not at all about achievement but everything about acknowledgment and confirmation of my worth.

I needed to be high up on that stick because if I wasn’t, I was scared my valuation would deflate in the eyes of those around me. It is a paralyzing affliction. If I feel it won’t be perfect, I feel I can’t begin. Possibilities and opportunities have been left by the roadside because I felt I would never measure up.

Just like the beanstalk is a fairytale, the measuring stick is a fictitious notion designed by my own masochistic nature of self-deprecation.

The beanstalk only got Jack the “cat burglar” into trouble and sure enough it all came crashing down. For me, the outcome will be the same, if I continue to pull out that stick and look to its lofty heights.

I want to stop climbing the beanstalk and seeking golden eggs. To continue, I’m only stealing from myself. I’m defrauding every opportunity I have to just be me and let that be enough.

©thejitterbug 2017

Pitfalls…Why Traditional Deodorant is Bad for Your Health

Pitfalls…Why Traditional Deodorant is Bad for Your Health

Eating Clean by Amie Valpone has completely changed my understanding of how toxins play a role in our everyday lives. From pesticides to preservatives, these substances are present in our food, personal care products and homes. Eating Clean is not just a book about food but an invaluable resource on detoxifying your home, your body, your office, your life!

Toxins and Your Health

Realizing that health is more than choosing salad over fries, my husband and I embarked on a well-being overhaul…which included our armpits!

One of the first changes my husband and I made was switching to an all-natural deodorant.

Ok, ok!  Stay with me here!  We are not hippies, we do not smell and yes, you can find a product that actually works!  Here’s why we ditched the mainstream brands:

Traditional deodorants found in the aisles of your drug store or supermarket contain ingredients such as:

  • Parabens
  • Aluminum
  • Triclosan
  • Artificial Fragrances
  • Phthalates
  • Propylene glycol
  • BHT

These elements are being absorbed into your system every single day! They are suspected to increase your risk for cancer, disrupt hormones, cause allergies, endanger a developing fetus…the list goes on.

Don’t believe me?  Do your research.  It’s shocking the information you will find about the dangers of personal care products and how little FDA regulation exists for the potentially harmful ingredients used to make them.  In fact, other countries have much stricter regulations regarding chemicals in beauty care products.  http://www.safecosmetics.org/get-the-facts/regulations/international-laws/

Your Largest Organ

The skin is your body’s largest organ. It’s porous and absorbs what you put on it.  If you wouldn’t eat something, why would you want to rub it on your skin?  Eventually, those toxins will end up in your blood stream, organs or lymphatic system.

Would you eat Aluminum, Triclosan, or Parabens? No?  Well, even in small doses, over time, these additives can have negative health impacts when used in your daily beauty routine.  Developing fetuses and babies are especially sensitive to these harmful chemicals. And, as a woman, I also don’t want to be slathering chemicals under my arms which are right near my breasts.

One of the resources I use to help determine the safety of a personal care product is ewg.org/skindeep. Amie recommends this web page in her book, Eating Clean, and it is truly valuable and educational.

Try a Few!

As far as deodorant goes, everyone’s body chemistry is different. You may need to try several products before you find the one that’s right for you.  Make sure to do a 24 hour patch test on the inside of your forearm before applying a new product.  This will help prevent allergic reaction to ingredients you may not have been exposed to before.

Natural deodorants prevent odor but still allow your body to sweat. Guess what?  Sweating is good!  It helps your body to release toxins and stay cool.

Personally, I purchase and use a product on Etsy by Treefort Naturals called Natural Coconut Deodorant Cream.  It contains: Organic Virgin Coconut Oil, Organic Arrowroot Powder, Natural Baking Soda, Mango Butter, Essential Oils of Tea Tree and Orange and Beeswax. Or you can try any of the recommendations in Amie Valpone’s book Eating Clean or on her website thehealthyapple.com.

My husband and I have not only changed our deodorant; we buy more organic produce, make our own cleaning products, filter our water and read labels for potential toxins in food or personal care products.

Find out how safe your beauty products are by visiting http://www.ewg.org/skindeep/.  This database rates the safety level of personal care and beauty products.  Type in the brand you are using and find out exactly what you are putting on your skin.

Eating Clean by Amie Valpone is so much more than “eating” clean. This book has become an essential reference, a go-to resource, a health “bible.”  Check out Amie’s website, thehealthyapple.com for more information regarding health related topics.

Stay tuned for more posts on the efforts my husband and I have made to create a healthier life!


I Prefer the Needle…Relief in Acupuncture

I Prefer the Needle…Relief in Acupuncture

The moment a precisely placed needle pricks my skin, I know relief and relaxation are just minutes away. I’m an addict and yes, it’s a something I will never quit…acupuncture.

Determined to fight a diagnosis of Complex-PTSD without the help of a pill, I choose a homeopathic approach.

In the past, I had tried medicine for depression and anxiety.  It offered little result and unpleasant side effects.  From this experience, I came to prefer natural remedies.

Meditation, yoga, exercise, talk-therapy, herbal teas, essential oils, hot baths…I tried them all. Nothing helped enough.  I began to feel hopeless and defeated.

Finally, at the sincere urging of my therapist and steps away from being hospitalized, I agreed to once again consider traditional medication.


Nothing worked. I tried medicine after medicine.  Every pill came with side effect after side effect.  Some drugs even caused life threatening allergic reactions to my highly sensitive system.

Rashes, headaches, extreme fatigue, brain fog, heightened anxiety, increased depression, restlessness, heart palpitations, difficulty sleeping, sexual side effects, hyperactive behavior…the list goes on.

A very small dose of sedative medication was the only drug that my body tolerated. It was the only medicine that took the edge off agonizing symptoms.

Months of trial and error with a psychiatric nurse practitioner yielded no results. My therapist eventually referred me to a highly recommended psycho-pharmacologist/psychiatrist.  Even she could do no better.

The psychiatrist prescribed a new drug which introduced sleepless nights, intense anxiety and finally, a fainting episode in my pharmacy parking lot.  I decided enough was enough.

Time for a New Approach

“Exquisitely sensitive” was the term my psychiatrist used. C-PTSD had put my body in a hyper-vigilant, fight or flight mode with no off switch.  My body over-reacted and attacked anything new that was introduced to its’ system.

This response was not limited to medication. Noises, lights, quick movements, pain or any external stimulation that overwhelmed my “exquisitely sensitive” nature caused extreme anxiety. (“Exquisitely sensitive” was a dressed up, but unique way of saying “living in terror.”) My brain deemed everything as “danger.”

And then…I found acupuncture.


I had previously researched this treatment with regards to anxiety and depression.  My sister gave me positive feedback as she had undergone acupuncture therapy for her own health issues. I decided to try it.

Skeptical? Sure, but at this point (no pun intended), what did I have to lose?

After the first treatment, I was hooked.  A relief I had never felt washed over my body.  The experience is hard to describe. I laid there for an hour, floating in a dreamlike state.

My doctors encouraged me to keep going and I faithfully agreed to keep every appointment.

Now, once a week, I arrive, ready for the little needles, the heated table, the soft music and the hour of relaxation. Every visit is different and each treatment is based on what symptom I am struggling with the most. This list is long, but includes Gastrointestinal Issues, Migraines, Low BMI, Severe Anxiety, Fatigue, Depression, Rosacea Flare-Ups, Loss of Menstrual Cycle, etc.

Due to low BMI, my menstrual cycle had stopped for over 7 months! After two specialized acupuncture treatments pertaining to this issue…voila!  The “curse” returned!  This was a huge step in getting my hormones back on track and feeling better.  Yes, I was a woman jumping for joy to get her period!

I didn’t need any more convincing that there was something very real in this ancient, Eastern technique.

Herbal Therapy, Benefits, Time

My acupuncturist eventually started me on an herbal therapy to reduce anxiety. Dietary recommendations were made to help me gain weight and clear my skin.

It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, with time, I noticed a loosening of misery, a slight dialing back of anxiety, and more restful sleeping.

The benefits of each visit started to extend beyond my hour on the table and carry gently over into everyday life.

My psychiatrist explained that it can take years to begin healing from an illness like C-PTSD.  It’s a slow process and sometimes I feel deflated at the long term prospect of this journey. I try to remember I’m the tortoise in this race and not the hare.  One day, one breath, one precise little needle at a time.

Symptom Management

This treatment has NOT been a cure. Acupuncture helps to better manage my symptoms in a way that SSRIs, mood stabilizers and certain benzodiazepines have not.  I am a believer in Western AND Alternative medicine. In fact, I am still on the small dose of sedatives, but now they seem to work more effectively in conjunction with regular acupuncture treatments. I go to therapy twice a week, continue light exercise, practice meditation and no longer work. There are many factors contributing to my path of healing.


Acupuncture is expensive.  I pay out-of-pocket as my insurance company does not cover any cost for this type of treatment. That’s a soapbox rant for another blog post.

Currently, I spend $70 a treatment for a once a week visit. This price includes a discount for buying a 10 visit package rather than paying per visit.

I am fortunate to be able to cover this expense, in part, because I live a frugal life-style and make intentional decisions on where to spend my money.  Manicures, shopping sprees or expensive restaurant dinners do not make the budget.

At this time, acupuncture adds more value than cash accumulating in my bank account.  As a frugalist, it’s a tough spend but I’ve realized health comes first.  I want to gain financial freedom, however, there is no point in achieving this goal if I’m not well enough to enjoy it.

Do Your Research

Make sure you work with an acupuncturist who maintains proper licensing and credentials. Check out this link to better understand how you can find the best practitioner for you.  http://www.wikihow.com/Find-a-Licensed-Acupuncturist

A good acupuncturist will begin your first visit with a health consultation or questionnaire.  They will ask about current medications, primary complaints and work with you in creating a treatment plan.

When starting acupuncture, consistent visits over a period of time are suggested.  As symptoms improve, your acupuncturist will recommend “maintenance visits,” are are less often.

Consulting with doctors about new treatment, herbs and diet changes is an important step in preventing possible interactions with other medications.  Remember to tell your doctor before you try anything new.

I am certainly not telling anyone to stop their medication or disregard traditional Western treatment. I am encouraging people to keep looking for answers, keep having discussions with your doctor and keep trying things you may not have considered.

Little Needle, Big Possibilities

A non-invasive form of therapy, acupuncture is a holistic approach to health and well-being.  Believers and dis-believers in the medical field debate over the authenticity of acupuncture’s healing claims.  However, emerging research is beginning to prove the benefits behind this ancient Eastern technique.

Consequently, this approach is another tool in my toolkit, another arrow in my quiver, against a battle I fight from the moment I open my eyes each morning.

Combined with other life-style changes, acupuncture has augmented my path to healing.

Who knows…the needle could be your healthy addiction too.

©thejitterbug 2017

**Check out my post about medication and irritable bowel syndrome.

Be Frugal, Buy a Clothesline & Ditch the Dryer

Be Frugal, Buy a Clothesline & Ditch the Dryer

I live in a tiny apartment.  Frugal conditions should be a given, right?  WRONG!  Unfortunately, all of our appliances run on electricity, including the central air, which significantly drives up our electric bill during summer months.  However, in the dead of winter, without AC, I couldn’t understand why my electric bill was still so high!

It’s The Dryer!

Ah! The dryer! This expensively convenient appliance was sucking my dollars out the window!  I decided to take frugal super action and do some research.

First, I bought an inexpensive drying rack. Since I live in an apartment I don’t have a yard, hence no clothesline.  Even if I did, I have terrible allergies, so hanging my laundry out in pollen filled air would not be an option.  But, for those of you without these drawbacks…get some rope and pins!

Bonus! Air drying your clothes can actually help them last longer.

“Off Peak” Isn’t Just For Travel

Next, I called my electric company and learned that they have “off peak” hours. This means that the delivery fee for electricity is less at certain times of the day.

For example, my electric company charges “off peak” rates for all weekends, holidays, and specific daily times.

October through May, daily “off peak” rates are any time before 8:00am and any time after 9:00pm.

June through September, daily “off peak” rates are any time before 9:00am and any time after 6:00pm.

I adjusted the time for running my washing machine and dishwasher to take advantage of these less expensive windows. Of course, it’s always best to make sure you are running full loads so you are not using these appliances multiple times.

What Did My Frugal Efforts Save Me?

What did I save? In February, my electric bill had been $77.60.  It took some time to adjust, but here’s a rundown of my expenses after I implemented these changes:

March = $52.80

April = $50.32

May = $43.32

My dryer racks quickly paid for themselves and I have more money in my pocket each month. This can add up to hundreds over the year. Frugal win!  Combine that with my other savings tips and your wallet will be happy.

Other Ways To Save On Your Electric Bill

There are so many ways to save on your electric bill. Put energy efficient bulbs in your lamps.  Don’t run the AC when you aren’t home or keep the shades down to block out hot sun. Unplug appliances when you aren’t using them…yup, that TV is still sucking up electricity even when it’s turned off.

Crockpots are also a great way to save money.  Energy efficient models can potentially use less energy than your electric stove. They save you time in the kitchen and your house will smell delicious at the end of the day when your home cooked meal is ready to eat!  A slow cooker is a great way to keep your house cool during the summer months instead of firing up that oven!

Just Do It!

So, what are you waiting for?

Call your electric company and find out when their “off peak” hours are.  Buy a drying rack or string up your bloomers in the warm sunshine.  Your wallet will thank you.

©thejitterbug 2017

Check out my blog post about ditching cable for more frugal wins!


Be Frugal, Cut the Cord & Ditch Cable TV Forever!

Be Frugal, Cut the Cord & Ditch Cable TV Forever!

My frugal journey began two years ago when I got SICK of Comcast and their outrageous cable bills.  I took the plunge and cut the cord.  One phone call and my cable service was cancelled.  Of course, I declined all of their “offers” and “packages” which were supposedly a great deal and would save me money…NOT! Internet only, thank you very much.

What do we do for TV?

My husband and I ordered a Roku, an RCA Multi-Directional Amplified Flat Antenna, subscribed to Netflix for $7.99 a month and never looked back.  We even ditched Comcast’s $10 a month rental unit and purchased our own Arris SURFboard Router.

Free at last!

True, the initial purchase of these items were a bit of an expense, however, my husband and I sat down and did a dollar cost average. Over time, we would quickly recoup these costs by not being tied to a massive cable bill.  I was kicking myself for not making this decision years ago!


I called Comcast a year later to negotiate (complain) when my internet rate increased.  Score!  We received a monthly $15 customer loyalty credit. Check out 20somethingfinance.com for tips on how to negotiate your bill.

In 2015, my Comcast bill had been $121.15. Today it is $59.95 (internet only.)  This means I save an average of $734.40 a year!  Whoa! That’s not chump change, that’s real dollars.  What to do with this frugal windfall is a topic for another blog post.

Remember to check your bill every 12 months because rates ALWAYS go up!

No Frugal Drawbacks Here!

Now, we have all the basic TV channels for free and the Roku provides endless options for TV programs, movies, documentaries, etc.  The term”Frugal” gets a bad rap but doesn’t seem to have any drawbacks here.  I have money in my pocket and entertainment galore.

Do I miss cable?  Nope.  Not for a minute.

Stay tuned for my next frugal post with more money saving tips and tricks.  Oh yes, the little things count!

Anxiety, Medication and Disaster Pants

Anxiety, Medication and Disaster Pants

If you think this story is about a bad fashion choice involving purple paisley pants…you’re wrong. It’s about anxiety, embarrassment, internal absolution and a very wise phrase coined my by ten year old nephew, Stevie.

Something’s Gurgling…

Complex-PTSD was an illness I had battled for a lifetime (only recently coming to terms with what my struggles were all about.)

After a long road of trial and error, my doctors and I had finally found a medication to combat my symptoms. I was starting to feel the grip of anxiety and depression loosen.

But the stress of the illness, anxiety and those pretty little pills, came with a price tag and I’m not talking about paper currency. The premium was gastrointestinal discontent. Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

At the time this was a cost I was willing to pay, but have now revisited this decision.

Bouts of diarrhea, gas and abdominal discomfort were daily struggles. Holistic teas seemed to help and my confidence improved, perhaps too much so.

The Event

One Thursday evening while conversing with my husband, I felt some abdominal pressure. Thinking this was merely intestinal vapor, I discreetly took action to relieve myself and received a big surprise.

The tragedy had already occurred before my frantic attempt to reach the bathroom. I had ended up with what my 10 year old nephew Stevie refers to as “Disaster Pants.”

My husband, normally unflinching in any situation was totally nonplussed. The bathroom door flew open, a pair of clean underwear flew through the air and the door slammed shut as he retreated to a less noxious space.

Disaster Pants

“Disaster Pants.” My nephew could not have coined a more accurate description for when in life, we literally or figuratively shit our pants.

Not always, but often times, a disaster is not something we caused or made to happen.

Merriam-Webster dictionary says a disaster is “a sudden calamitous event” or a “sudden or great misfortune.” (My yoga pants were ruined…perhaps not a great misfortune but disappointing none the less.)

We all have things that happen to us, not because of us. At some point, we all have to wear a very real or metaphorical pair of “Disaster Pants.” But, then we take them off, or clean them up or find a new pair because after “disaster,” anxiety and embarrassment there is usually recovery.

My nephew didn’t come home from school announcing he had pooped his corduroys. “He” didn’t do it. It was not a choice but a bodily function that occurred beyond his control. Stevie simply stated to my sister that an incident of “Disaster Pants” had occurred.

Internal Absolution

This statement reveals a self-forgiving and nonjudgmental perspective; perhaps an attitude we all need to assume upon finding ourselves in uncomfortable, awkward, unavoidable situations that are truly not our fault; situations that a little bleach or internal absolution can most likely repair.

Anxiety is Self Punishing

We judge ourselves, we blame ourselves, we punish ourselves for misconstrued transgressions. Sometimes, we are just at the mercy of this chaotic universe.

Learning this little bit of priceless wisdom has helped me to let go of some anxiety surrounding things I cannot control.

I’m not enlightened or healed; I have good days, bad days, worse days. But, now when I get up in the morning I’m a little more ok with the knowledge that things might not go exactly how I want them to, that most likely it won’t be my fault and there is nothing to be embarrassed about.

After all, everyone has disaster pants and we all put them on, one leg at a time.

©2017 thejitterbug

Illusive Enemy – My Mother’s Mental Illness

Illusive Enemy – My Mother’s Mental Illness

My mother’s favorite phrase is, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

This pearl of wisdom is casually thrown at me when I announce a major decision, one in which I may need support or encouragement; for example: I am selling my home or I am leaving my job. What her retort really means is, “I totally disagree with you and you’re making a big mistake; but, go ahead, ruin your life.”

No Safety Net

My mother has many passive aggressive ways of making me feel like total crap. It’s akin to jumping from an airplane with confidence your support system will back you up and then you pull the parachute cord and nothing happens; or a tightrope walker who falls from his wire only to find there was a hole in the net. My mother has that infallible ability to render you dead in the water. It makes me wonder…has she studied Sun Tzu’s “Art of War?”

Battle Strategies

In this famous work of military strategy, chapter six outlines how the attacker can take opportunity from spotting weakness in the enemy; a “chink in the armor” so to speak. My mother seems to have surgeon like precision when attacking the Achilles heel. Except, she engages in emotional warfare rather than physical. She also fails to see that I am not the enemy.

But the truth of the matter is, an enemy does exist. In navigating my own struggles with mental illness it became glaringly obvious that my mother has a mental illness too. The catch is, she doesn’t know it. My mother is fighting something faceless and nameless and without substance.

The Enemy – Mental Illness

There are no step by step books like the Art of War written about how to defeat that kind of adversary. It’s a malevolent shape-shifter which takes on the form of her children, her co-workers or any person or situation appearing as a perceived threat. What she doesn’t realize is that although her tactics may temporarily stun her assumed opponent, she is loosing the war.

She is launching fireballs at an empty battlefield, at soldiers who are ghosts. We are not the enemy.

Unfortunately, I am an innocent casualty of this raging war, as are my sister, my brother, my father and many others that happen to unknowingly step on her road side bombs.

The War is an Illusion, The Scars are Very Real

For a long time I thought I had to repair my armor, patch up the chinks, strengthen my defenses but then I realized…I’m not in the war, she is. My chinks and holes, my anxiety, mental illness and so called weaknesses just make me human not a soldier. The battle she’s fighting against me is fake so how can I be hurt by an illusion?

But there is a battle going on inside her and unless she can correctly identify the enemy, she most certainly will lose. As Sun Tzu says, “All warfare is based on deception.” He also states, “If you know both yourself and your enemy you can win numerous battles without jeopardy.”

Marion’s Secret Drawer

Marion’s Secret Drawer


Marion and her sister Rose were identical twins. That is where the similarity ended.

Rose had found love early, married Richard Fairfield, and settled down to a nice domestic life in the suburbs of Connecticut.

She had been a doting mother to Henry, his younger brother Brian and his two sisters, Elizabeth and Ashley.

Rose and Richard had been involved but not domineering parents. They offered guidance, not interference. As a result, their children had grown up and found their way, confidently pursing their careers and lifestyles of choice.

In other words, Rose was not the smothering, meddlesome sort like her sister.

Marion had spent most of her life encompassed by jealousy of her twin. She too had wanted to marry, have children and be surrounded by a loving family. But, as Fate would have it, Marion did not achieve her desires.  This outcome was due in part to bad luck.  It was also a result of Marion’s prickly disposition…simply put, her officious nature put people off.

Marion had lived with her parents, in the same house on Highland Ave for 40 years. She cared for them in a duteous, respectful way as each year of her youth trickled by. When they passed, Marion remained, like a dusty chandelier or crown molding; a permanent fixture set in the very bones of the house.

She lived by herself, tended her gardens, went to church and filled the rest of her time bossing around anyone within her reach. Everyone thought that this was exactly what Marion wanted. No one suspected her infinite loneliness, as that was guarded by her solid wall of odious mannerisms.

There had been someone, once, a long time ago. His name was Charlie. They had met in cooking class when he had accidently banged shut the oven door and deflated her perfectly rising chocolate soufflé. Marion, of course, had been furious, but there was something kind and gentle in Charlie’s manner that had disarmed her.

Suddenly, they were chatting away amiably. Numbers were exchanged, dinner plans made and Marion had found herself hoping that maybe she would finally have a chance at a little romance. At 57, Marion was still a virgin.

After three dates, Marion went to the mall and picked out a raspberry colored satin negligée that showed off her ample cleavage. Unlike other less confident women of her size, Marion was not ashamed of her plump figure. She thought her curves to be absolutely sumptuous and was eager for Charlie to see her in this racy ensemble.

When the evening of their next date arrived, Marion had cooked a superb smoked ham shoulder with roasted vegetables and chocolate soufflé for dessert; a little reminder of their first encounter. She lit candles, put on soft music and made sure the raspberry nightgown hung ready in her closet…just in case.

Charlie had been due to arrive at 6:00pm. Marion had peeked out the curtains, watching for the headlights on his shiny black Buick to bounce into view.

At 6:20pm she thought he might be running late. At 6:45pm she started to worry. At 7:00pm, Marion phoned his house but there was no answer. She waited at the dining room table until 9:00pm, watching the candles melt down to stubs in their polished brass holders.

Charlie never showed that night, or ever again. Marion had tried for a whole week to get in touch but he never returned her calls. She even drove by his house and rang the bell but his car was not in the driveway and no one ever answered his door. She assumed he simply lost interest or maybe he was married. The raspberry negligee was eventually folded and tucked away in her dresser drawer.

Loneliness can be like a disease; starting out small but quickly infecting the vast realms of your being. It doesn’t matter how many friends you have or how busy your schedule is; there is a cavern-like hollowness to your house when you return at days end and the only thing to greet you is a lamp, switched on by an automatic timer. Clean cotton sheets spread untouched over a wide empty side of the bed that has never had an occupant.

All of Marion’s hopes and dreams were in that drawer with the raspberry colored lingerie; her hopes for a chance at companionship, excitement, romance.

Sometimes she pulled out the satin garment and put it on, feeling the sensual material against her curves, looking at herself in the mirror by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. It made her feel exhilarated and sexy. It made her feel wanted.

Over the months and years, Marion had gone back to the store in the mall, pretending that Charlie had come back and she was buying something special for their reunion. Her secret drawer did not only contain the raspberry nightgown but lavender panties, sherbet colored teddies and black push up bras that had more rhinestones than Nashville. Sometimes, fantasy is all a woman has to fill the void.

©2017 thejitterbug

Emotional Balloons

Emotional Balloons

Emotion is a chimerical beast. I’m still learning how illusive, variable and disorienting it can be to my own internal sensation barometer.

One minute, I’m angry, only to discover it’s not anger at all; it’s frustration because something isn’t going my way. Sometimes, there is anxious restraint or guardedness but that chameleon dissolves and I see my frightful compatriot, fear. Boredom, listlessness, monotony…surprise! It has nothing to do with motivation but everything to do with unhappiness.

That dirty, deceitful, foul “F” word…Feelings. Identifying them and naming them seems akin to asking a hummingbird to hold still for a picture.

Feelings have recently taken a front row seat in the pageantry of my life as I’ve battled a severe debilitating anxiety disorder. I’ve left my job, dealt with gains, dealt with setbacks, mired through a mess to find a new direction. Life is not straightforward or clear and rarely black and white; usually there is gray. The gray is what’s confusing. It’s in the gray where I get lost.

My former co-worker, Lisa Smith, aka “Smitty” adds her own unique autograph, if you will, to any office greeting card. Her “Lisa Logo” is a set of brightly colored balloons complete with smiley faces floating by her expressive words of joy. A happy occasion calling for Hallmark, calls for Smitty’s balloons.

What better way to showcase the emotion of happiness, merriment and general heartfelt hullabaloo? Balloons are at every party, carnival and street fair so why not in between the paper flaps of corporate camaraderie?

But, not every Hallmark moment is happy or sad or emotionally clear. Again, there is the murky gray that confounds and befuddles one’s internal navigation. It spins your inner compass until you lose direction.

I left my job this week. I cleaned out my desk and walked away from a banking career of 16 years, 94% of my working life, to pursue recovery from anxiety and depression. Feelings and emotions hijacked my mind and caused mutiny in my heart.

The day after my goodbyes were said and I had walked out the door into a new and different life, that office Hallmark card arrived in the mail.

After a doctor’s appointment, I picked up the post and read it in the elevator as I rode up to my floor. The kind words my co-workers had so dearly written were certainly bittersweet, but disappointment flooded my chest because there was no note from Smitty inside.

I entered my apartment, tossed the mail on the table and then I saw them…on the back side of Hallmark’s sparkly “You’ll Be Missed” card…Smitty’s balloons! Bouncing next to her words of encouragement were the bright, fluorescent, spirited little airships…and they all had SAD faces! I laughed out loud! Smitty hadn’t gone for the straightforward or the clear. She went right to the murky confusing gray. She was happy I was pursuing better health yet sad I was leaving the workplace.

Smitty wrote, “These are not happy balloons.” (The not emphatically underlined to stress her displeasure.)

“This news is just unacceptable my friend,” came next but was punctuated with a smiley face. It was the perfect, topsy-turvy, punch-drunk message. It was all sixes and sevens and I was smiling like an idiot getting off the tea-cup ride at Disney World.

Ninety Four percent of my working career had ended by handing in a set of keys. (What the hell was that tiny square shaped one for?) The fog had truly closed in around me. But, when I saw the back of that Hallmark card I thought, “Oh Smitty! Thank you! Thank you for those “uplifting” frowning balloons because that is exactly how I feel!”

Shortly thereafter, I received another card in the mail, just from Smitty. This time, her balloons were smiling. The card read, “By no means are these happy balloons… they are hopeful balloons. I am hopeful that before you know it, you will be all better and back to your happy self!”

Balloons are rather like emotions; they inflate, they deflate, they burst unexpectedly. They float and bounce and can slowly sag to the floor. Sometimes they escape you altogether. Yet, if we accept them, release them, allow them to drift off into the ether, they re-absorb into the matrix of sensation. I think that’s when the fog lifts and your compass dial makes sense again.

Seriously though, I have no clue. Like I said…chimerical beasts. Maybe someday, Feelings won’t be my “F” word.

© 2017 thejitterbug