“I love him so much - so much - that I want to - to become him!”

I delivered this line with unbridled enthusiasm when I played 17-year-old Maggie Enright in Brian Friel’s touching, serio-comic play Lovers.

Twenty years later, an intuitive counselor warned me about my pattern of going so far into people and their feelings that I lose myself and “become them.”

From the age of five to nineteen, I carried a secret fear that one of my parents would die at the hands of the other.

Not your typical childhood concern, is it?

I grew up a witness to domestic violence. I think that pretty much eliminates my childhood from the “typical” category.

No wonder I fell in love with him.

I say this to myself a lot, often followed by a long, drawn-out “duhhhhhh.”

And why?

Because whenever I’m tuned out, dismissed, or disrespected by someone, I immediately recall how amazing it felt to be, well... NOT tuned out, dismissed, or disrespected. I go back in time, to those past moments when someone made me feel,,,

They hurt you.

Badly.

And they never apologized.

But because you’re soft-hearted, understanding, sweet (on a good day), and were taught by Sister Mary Margaret and Father Monahan that “... they know not what they do,” you forgave them.

Dear Toxic Shame:

I'm sorry, but we're through. It's not you; it's me.

Sincerely,

An Old Friend

A year ago, I wrote a post about the shame I felt over my cat scratching furniture that didn't belong to me. I was unaware of the significant damage until someone brought it to my attention.

I get annoyed with people who won't call a thing a thing.

I get doubly annoyed with people who won't call the physical violence perpetrated and experienced in a domestic violence incident what it is: violence. 

My annoyance extends to myself. 

Do you live your life with a wide-open heart? Or is yours heavily guarded?

For me, it's nothing but open all the way. My heart is so open I've been accused of taking it out of my chest and handing it to any random passerby on the street.

I'm a huge proponent of following your heart.

But right now, sadly, I can't.

The minute perky Ryan Seacrest dropped the giant ball in Times Square, and the year 2022 made her sassy debut, my life went every which way but up.

Ryan forgot to mention the things that could—and did—go wrong in the new year…

You know when someone rips your heart apart and leaves you sitting in a big ole puddle of grief?

And then you come across some self-help advice from an all-loving guru, who is wayyyyyy more spiritually advanced than you (it says so on their website), and they say don't ask why he or she did what they did to you, but rather ask what is the gift?

Discarded.

I don't like that word.

But sometimes, I feel that way.

Discarded. Like I'm some kind of superabsorbent, throwaway paper towel.

Toxic love feels so good.

Until it doesn’t.

You gotta love Amber Heard and Johnny Depp's stressed-out, vaping-in-his-car doorman. (With these two, who wouldn't be stressed-out and vaping in their car?) He testified that "everybody's got problems." Ummm, yeeaahh...

Are you always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I am. Actually, I'm always waiting for the first shoe to drop and then the other, which invariably follows. And when that second shoe hits the ground, with a Thud heard three floors down, I can say, "See, I told you so."

I have a trust issue.

Repeat after me: I made a mistake, but I am not the mistake.

I found out recently that my cat scratched some furniture that doesn’t belong to me. Mea culpa, mea culpa, sorry, please forgive me—my bad. I can’t be sorry enough. And yes, I have been beating myself up about it.