Mom guilt is a real thing. I suffer from an acute case of dog mom guilt. Particularly when it comes to my original love: Beau.
She is so beautiful
I adopted Beau six years ago. So she spent more than three years living her best life as the sole proprietor of double-income parents. Then her mom—that would be me—had to go fuck shit up for her by bringing home a very pregnant tiny tot of a dog, and by tiny, I mean, Tessa is 35 pounds.
Poor Beau. Her home had been invaded, and now, she is the proud matriarch of five underlings. She does love the fear she strikes into all their hearts. She also loves having built in playmates to torture. I will never know how my eight year old dog runs the shit out of four three-year-olds. She is aging well.
I realized last week, Beau is in fact aging. My once energizer bunny who would zoomy all across the beach and any free space, preferred sitting on the beach, watching Mommy and a friend play in the water. She ran around, digging and playing, but she was calmer and far better behaved than she’s ever been in her entire life. As proud as I am, I hate it. She’s getting older. She’s far from old, but her age is starting to show. She used to bound into the ocean, sticking her entire head under water. She would dig a huge hole and roll around in it. She would leap to catch sand, yes sand, in her mouth. She would run as the waves came in and chase them out again. When I would run out into the ocean, Beau would be on my heels. At one point, I was standing a ways out, about knee deep, for ten minutes or so. Eventually, Beau decided I’d had enough deep water time, so she swam out, poked me with her nose, and made it clear I was to come back to the safety of the shore.
The mom guilt comes in because, well, it’s always there about everything. Yet, I hadn’t taken Beau to the beach since before the pandemic. She loves it there so much, and I forgot to make time. Three years is such a long time in a dog’s life, and I deprived her of a great love for three years all because I forgot to make time.
There is no one more precious in all the world.
What in the actual fuck, RaeAnna?!
I am an absolute failure of mother. Absolute might be a bit extreme. They’re loved, healthy, sheltered, and well-fed. Feeding my girl’s soul? That’s also important, and I forgot. I’ve forgotten to feed my own, but that’s my fault. Beau doesn’t have a voice or a choice. It’s my privilege to make her life the best it can be. Pre-pandemic, pre-puppies, Beau was on the go 24/7 as we traveled the country together. She has lived an adventurous life, but her life got small in the last three years, and that’s on me.
So I’m going to do better by Beau and all the others. Unfortunately, Beau has less time. It’s the reality of dogs’ lives, but it’s the reality of her being the oldest. The days are ticking. They always have been. Going to the beach last week reminded me just how precious every single moment with her and her siblings is.
I feel most myself in nature. At the top of a mountain, there’s a sense of possibility and belonging. From a high vantage point, the world lays itself out to be seen as it is, and in that raw existence is the truth that it can be changed. It can get better. People deserve to live vibrantly in this beautiful world rife with chance. I am overcome with a calling to exist, to be a part of the global landscape, to create enough ripples to spread far enough that eventually someone will be affected in some way and the world will be a better place for one, for many, hopefully, for all.
Standing with my toes in the water on the beach has always been one of my happiest places because it is devoid of hope and utterly isolating. It’s how I feel all the time. At sea level, my view is stunted. I am still overcome with possibility and beauty, but my ability to see past what is is impeded by being in it.
Sometimes, I walk. Sometimes, I stand.
Maybe it’s not even nature that makes me feel like myself, it’s that I’m almost always alone in it. I travel, do life alone. Even when I’ve been in relationships, I almost always exist in the world by myself because no one can keep up, I’m a lot, I don’t want to let people in, so many reasons. I’ve never really had a partner. Not a real partner. So maybe it’s just the fact, I can breathe because I’m not being anything for anyone other than me. Except I’m alone far more than I’m around people, and I can only truly take a breath when I’m surrounded by nature.
I remember being on a deserted beach on the coast of North Carolina in front of a lighthouse with the one person who knows me best in the world. It was an amalgamation of my literal favorite things: solitude, beach, North Carolina, lighthouse, this one specific human. It was a beautiful day. The thing I remember most was standing in the ocean. The waves wrapping around my legs, and the sand burying my feet deeper and deeper. Time passed me by, and I just stood there. Overcome by the senselessness of it all. I don’t know if I would have ever left that spot if he hadn’t come up behind me, putting his chin on my shoulder, hugging me out of my head. He let me stand there for over an hour because he knows me. He knows the despair in my soul and my need to honor it, but he also knows the need I hate to admit exists to feel connected, and for so long, he was the only one I was connected to. The only one who saw, accepted, and loved me.
I am so many muches. I am aware of it. Even masked, I am a lot. Once I get comfy with someone, I’m even more. If the trauma and true thoughts and feelings come out, well… there’s like three people who truly know how fucking much I am.
The best feeling.
I am well past existentialism and have found myself knee-deep in nihilism since I was about 20. Most people would not call it a happy mindset; however, I find it to be the most comforting. I can’t make sense out of it. Try as I might. When anxiety takes over, I just remind myself: The Big Crunch doesn’t care about my credit, my love life, sexism, or any of it. Theoretical Astrophysics… that’s what keeps me from spiraling into utter insanity. Not that billions of people deserve better than this shit show, and I’m trying to do my part. It’s: eventually, all of this will disappear, I will be forgotten, and the universe will start again. I am so fucked up. Whatever keeps me balanced, y’all!
Anyways, I need to take a trip to the beach. Until then: Here are some thoughts I’ve had while standing in the ocean. A lot of these have been recurring since before I was ten, but now I have the words to articulate those feelings. And also, my parents can’t commit me for not being happy 24/7.
Flannel at the beach since 2017… Gay.
I am the most forgettable person to ever exist.
No matter how hard I work, how exceptional/smart/cunning/knowledgeable/talented I am, I will never have the kind of systemic impact I so desperately want to have.
The world is a dumpster fire. No one cares. Knowledge is so accessible and people are still not trying. They have all the world’s information and solutions in their pocket… hand right now because I doubt you’re reading this on a computer or tablet and you sure as shit didn’t print it out to read it on paper. There are solutions to all the problems. Yet no one wants to take the first step of educating themselves. FUCK! Google that shit. It’s easy.
There is nothing unique or special about me.
I am nowhere near as talented as I once hoped I would be.
Why try? It’s futile. I’m one in eight billion people. Someone else can be known as the girl who got cyclically raped into social justice advocate.
My writing is selfish, narcissistic, and steeped in martyrdom. Also it’s boring and not a single person gives a shit.
All of everything I’ve ever done with my life, career, advocacy is done just so I can have the moral high ground because I don’t want to be seen as the truly bad human I know I am.
I’m making it all up. I am, in fact, the liar my parents decry.
I am only as valuable as my beauty.
I am alone because I deserve to be alone. Everyone sees the truth: I don’t deserve kindness, love, respect, dignity.
I read Kate Chopin’s The Awakeningtwice in high school, but I haven’t touched it since.
Normally, I write book reviews, but this is more of a book forward, a book impression, a book remembrance. I read it for the first time and fell deeply in love with this classic, feminist triumph of a novel, but I’ve been scared to return. As a young woman, it came to me while I was in the midst of my own battle against the patriarchy, man, and family for freedom of self. My uncertainty to open its cover once again is out of fear. Fear of what I will find it would do or maybe what it wouldn’t do. Would it mean the same thing it did to sixteen year old me as it does to twenty-nine year old me? Not only am I stronger and more broken, I have been of this world longer with its misogyny, laws, patriarchy, double standards, abuse, and more. I’m also a more experienced reader. So of course The Awakeningwon’t mean the same to me today as it did a decade ago, but I was scared it would mean less.
Literature with a capital ‘L’ arrived on my bookshelf when I was eight. I was an overachieving priss of a child; children’s literature did not speak to me. I love Literature because I didn’t get it right away. It demanded an understanding of the vocabulary, history, culture, and more in which it was written and set. I yearned for knowledge. Literature made me do the research; in a time before Google and the internet, it was an interactive experience as I read one book surrounded by a dictionary and encyclopedia. As much as I loved Literature, I craved more. I craved seeing myself on the page. Even as I kid, I knew I was not being represented in the pages I so loved. There is very little written by women. More exists than meets the eye, but even as an educated reader and researcher, finding older works by women takes effort outside of Dickenson, the Brontës, Alcott, and Austen. It was years before I found Woolf, Morrison, Eliot, Shelley, Wollstonecraft, Duras, Wharton, Cather, Plath, Lee, Stein, Beauvoir, Angelou, Gaskell, Lennox, Stowe, Hurston, and of course Kate Chopin. All of whom have shaped me as a reader, writer, and most importantly as a woman. Chopin was my gateway into a world of writers writing about me, my plight, my pain, my existence in a world not meant for me. Even a hundred years later or more, the words these women wrote represented my place in the world. Chopin wrote in the late nineteenth century, and she rocked society with her daring works about the internal and external lives of ordinary women daring to live.
The Awakeningwas the first book I ever felt a deep connection with. I was a young reader beginning to understand the importance of Literature, representation, feminism, activism, and more. I was starting to come into my own as a thinker with a vagina. I was beginning to grasp at what it meant to walk this earth as a woman. A lover of Literature and history, I was probably more aware than most fifteen year old girls of women’s historical lack of autonomy. Historical being the key word. I did not feel equal, and I wanted equality, but I knew it wasn’t mine. Even with my fundamentally better understanding of history, I had yet to grasp the whys or the hows or the history or the culture or any of it. I just had a feeling. This book came into my life when my life was changing from bad to worse to what I would eventually title “Hell”. As I read The Awakening, I was struck by the realization that I knew very little had changed for women. I could wear pants like the boys, but I would never be like the boys. I was a girl. America had never been the land of the free.*
Four months after I experienced my first sexual assault in the lunch room by a school administrator. Four months after I told my mother. Four months after she told me to keep quiet and see if it would happen again. Three months after my first kiss at the Winter Formal because my mother told me I had to or I wouldn’t have a boyfriend anymore. Three months after I realized no one would protect me. Two months after I realized I was only worth something connected to a man. I was a freshman in high school. I was experiencing my first tastes of being a woman.
It was the summer I turned sixteen. I had new boyfriend because that’s what sixteen year old girls do. But I had no faith in men. No faith in women. No faith in family. No faith in people. I felt utterly alone. With no one to protect me, to understand, to hold my hand, I was accepting that to be a woman was to be alone.
What I had read in history was not at all in the past. Nothing had changed really. Being a woman meant being an object for male consumption. Some took gently. Some did not. It would be another year before I learned how much they could and would take without permission, without waiting, without caring I was human. And if I turned to women, they would not protect me if they believed me at all. My mother taught me that.
At sixteen, the next seventy years looked like a lonely, losing battle. What was the point? Did all women feel this way? Why weren’t they do anything about it? I was years away from understanding the nuance of internalized misogyny and all the culture shit we are taught to swallow, believe, conform to, and uphold as women. But I already knew existing like that in this world was not for me, and so I already had a few suicide attempts under my belt. I had very little desire to live even before the first of many men took what he thought was his right.
And then Edna walked along a Grand Isle’s beach and dared to yearn for more than motherhood and wifedom. We were separated by a century. We were separated by experience. We were separated by so many things, but I understood her. She didn’t save my life, but I felt seen. I felt validated.
I reached out to my fellow bibliophiles asking for their opinions on The Awakening, on Edna. The few who had read the book hated Edna. They found her shallow and selfish. The ending was completely unrealistic. What woman with a life of leisure would walk into the ocean? What wife would leave her husband? What mother would choose death over her children? To me, it was the perfect ending to her story. I was frustrated by the vitriol. How could they not understand? She was alone and desperate, leading a meaningless life.
The Awakeningwas the first time I saw a female character with any emotions or internal life I could comprehend and identify with; probably because she was the first woman written by I woman I had read. Edna was the first, but many have come after her.
My concept of womanhood has evolved over the last thirteen years. I am no longer the optimistic sixeen year old, but I’m no longer the devastated sixteen year old. All is not completely lost, though I have a dismal view of the present and near future. My world view is complex, and I know I am on a lifelong search for my place and role in society. Not all share my view of womanhood, nor should they. But I will continue to fight for every woman. As a twenty-nine year old, I know my life has seen challenges many have never and will never seen, but it has also been blessed in many ways. Pain is not a competition. I acknowledge my many privileges and disadvantages. Pain is not the only thing I have known, but pain is still central to my experiences as a human and as a woman.
Kate Chopin, The Awakening, and Edna gave me validation. Someone understood. 122 years ago, a woman knew the pain I knew and dared to want more.
I am not going to review The Awakening. For so many reasons, one of which being: I don’t want to. Another being: It would be a very long review. My fears ended up being unfounded. The book means more to me as a grown ass woman than it did as a teenager. I found the nuances, narrative, and storytelling far more enthralling than I had thirteen years ago. Not only did I fall more in love with Edna, I fell out of love with her husband, paramour, and female companions. What had seemed like a love story years ago is anything but today. It isn’t romantic but deeply depressing. I could identify the tragedies with the eye of an analyst and the heart of a woman and the mind of a partner. I saw the craft in Chopin’s work and the soul in her story. The Awakening spoke to me in new and more powerful levels.
Edna is very much alive.
bisous et обьятий, RaeAnna
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*This is being written from the perspective of a white woman as I look back at the views I had as a teenager exploring my own place in this world as a woman through the knowledge, resources, and books I had at my disposal. It would be several more years before I learned the term “intersectionality” and began applying it to my own life, views, feminism, and activism. Up until that point, feminism and racism were uniquely separate issues because that is all I knew. Black women suffered racism. Black women suffered feminism. I wanted equality for everyone: men and women, Black and white and Asian and Hispanic and everyone in between. I was more apt to identify as a humanist than a feminist. My fundamental beliefs have remained the same, but my terminology has expanded to better encompass and express my desires for intersectionality, equity, and advocacy.
When you rescue a dog, you never really know how old they are or when their birthday is. Beau was about a year and a half when I adopted her, so we decided to choose a day for her birthday because everyone deserves a birthday. May is my birthday month as well as many other people I love dearly. She was most likely born in 2015. I have a thing for numbers with a pattern, so I picked the 15th as her birthday. 5.15.15 is her birthday!
Today is Beau’s fourth birthday! I love celebrating people’s birthdays and that extends to my very favorite breathing entity: my dog.
Yesterday, I snagged a cake from Three Dog Bakery in Rice Village. It’s even customized with her name on it. Beau loves yummies, and Three Dog Bakery makes healthy and dog friendly treats. Peanut butter is a favorite flavor, so that’s what she got in the shape of a bone. I also picked out other dog treats because it’s not a birthday without presents.
Beau and I laid in bed for a good bit this morning getting our cuddle on. She didn’t know what the afternoon would bring, but it was definitely a celebration of her life. She loves the ocean. I love the ocean. We love the ocean. Luckily, Galveston is an hour away. Beau was very nervous as I packed clothes and food and blankets. I even wrangled up birthday balloons in her favorite color. Yes, she has favorite colors: hot pink and teal.
We were at the beach by three. She got to spend the afternoon running after birds, leaping in the waves, and chasing her favorite peoples. I even managed to get a few pictures before she chowed down on her cake. I would lie to you and say she only had a piece, but nah. She ate the whole cake in a matter of moments. I don’t think it even lasted two minutes. By five, Beau was exhausted. We spent another hour and a half just laying in the sun drying off enjoying the last bits of sunlight on her fourth birthday. Honestly, it’s the perfect way to spend a day. She had a blast, and now, she’s laying on my feet snoring. She may not know it’s her birthday, but I hope she felt extra special love today.
I couldn’t be happier to be this girl’s mama. She makes my heart happy and probably makes me a better human being.
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Lickin’ her lips after scarfing down the whole cake. | Hat | Shirt | Shorts |
Worth A Read Most Definitely Length 352 Quick Review A deep dive into gender, race, relationships, and what it means to grow and be human. Jodie Patterson confronts it all when she realizes her daughter is her son, Penelope.
The Bold Worldby Jodie Patterson is wonderful. Honestly, I loved it. I had never been heard of her before reading the book, which is nice because I don’t have any preconceived notions. All I really knew was it was about being a mother to a trans son. Yay! Supporting women and the LGBTQIA people! It’s what I’m all about, plus I love reading and educating myself about these things.
About more than just her son, The Bold Worldis absolutely Jodie Patterson’s story. She begins with her early life and family. There is a commitment to family in every page of this book. Patterson allows herself and the people in her life to be as complex as people are prone to being. Never sidestepping the contradictions, feelings, pain, confusion of humanity. Anecdotes are relaid with a matter-of-factness, which leaves no room for question. It happened. She manages to communicate her self-love and mistakes without ever being apologetic for either.
Courageous is how I would describe The Bold World. It takes a brave heart to lay out the complexities of being woman, of being black in America today. To openly struggle with being a strong black woman and a mother of trans son is another level. Opening up about the ups, downs and absolute mystery of mothering well in a world that too often vilifies different is courageous. It is heartbreaking and overwhelming hopeful all at the same time.
The topic of transgender is still such a new concept for so many people. Jodie Patterson is helping to tear down the walls separating normal and other in The Bold World. It is inspirational and necessary. Not only does she tackle trans-issues, she talks about skin color, gender, sexism, family, motherhood, marriage, and being human. It is a remarkable story told with grace and hope.
Memorable Quotes “The South, I knew had the power to fix anything. There was spirit in the soil.” “…sometimes the king is a woman.” “this correlation between money and control, where control is in the hands of men, and women are often excluded, or minimized, from the conversation.”
Three generations sipping on drinks at the poolside bar.
It seems like everyone has been to Mexico. Definitely not everyone, but a whole bunch of people. The closest I had been was Calexico, California, which is literally on the border, but it’s still not Mexico. On my cruise last month – I am so behind on the blog posts – I ported in Cozumel. The thing about cruises is that you don’t really get to experience the destination. I was only there for seven hours give or take.
The ocean was so blue. I can equate it to blue Gatorade. My time in Mexico was spent at a day resort: Nachi-Cocom. Pretty much the thing of dreams. I was ready to move in. I think it was $50 for the day, and it included all food and drinks. I think I drank them out of virgin mango daiquiris. I can’t describe the amount of joy it brought me to sit on the beach drinking a fruity drink and eating french fries brought to me. Joy. The resort had huts on the beach and lots of chairs. There was also a restaurant and bathrooms. A pool and hot tub with a swim up bar was also enticing. There were beds to lounge in. A bar by the beach. Hammocks hanging between palm trees. Really it was fabulous.
I spent the day at the resort with my parents, great aunt, and cousins. I went parasailing for the first time with my seven and fourteen year old cousins. They had both been before, so I’m the old lady. It was quite the experience. Not cheap but super cool. Worth it once, I think. It is a really pretty vantage point to look at the ocean and the island. It was beautiful.
Parasailing was wonderful.
My poor mom had a restless night on the cruise ship because there was a lot of motion. She was exhausted the whole day in Cozumel. I’m so glad she decided to come with us. Growing up, my dad was never a huge fan of the water. I really only remember him getting in the summer kiddy pool once when I was four after a very long bike ride in the heat. My dad ran into the ocean in Cozumel before I did. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. Watching my dad laugh and play in the ocean with my seven year old cousin and 80 year old great aunt was worth the trip. He and I played and waded. It was an amazing few hours in Mexico.
If you’re ever in Cozumel, I would highly suggest stopping by the day resort. On top of the stunning scenery, there are also massages and spa stuff to enjoy. It is a great place to relax and read a book or catch up with friends. They have a cap on how many people are allowed a day, so you will never be too crowded. Though Nachi-Cocom was something full of dreams, I would not consider it an immersive or even real experience of Mexico.
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The bikini I wore is on super sale on Asos. I love it. It was so comfortable. I could eat fries and not feel expose because of the high waisted bikini bottom. There are low waisted version, which I also own. (TMI warning) The bikini top was comfortable and made my boobs look great!!! I bought all three for under $14 combined. I am obsessed with the lavender sunglasses from Target. The lavender backless shirt is amazing and so soft. Perfect for summer, working out, or sunburn. The high waisted shorts are a favorite.
