Worth A Read Absolutely Length 272 Quick Review Elissa Altman and her mother have always had a trying relationship. Altman explores their history in order to come to peace with and understand it.
Mother daughter relationships are hard under even the best of circumstances. When someone puts pen to paper about it, you know it is even more fraught. And usually the mom is dead, but Elissa Altman writes while her mother is still living. Motherland is, at its essence, an exploration of addiction and recovery and living with it.
Moms are hard. I probably have a skewed perception because I have struggled with the mom relationship since I became a cognizant person. Motherland resonated with me on a very visceral level. I finished it in a few hours without getting up to even refill my teacup.
Elissa Altman is a lesbian woman raised by starlet mother in New York City. (Her father was supportive and present and seems like a really good dad and person, but this story isn’t about him.) Her mother had a career in entertainment before meeting her first husband and having a child, Altman. For the rest of her life, she would remind everyone of who she used to be, all while reminding her daughter what she had given up for her.
From the start, it is wildly apparent the relationship between Altman and her mother is unhealthy under the best of circumstances. Her mother never made the shift in her mind that her days on TV were no longer. She lives as if the idea of her past self is all she was, is, and ever will be to the point Altman states, “She was a myth I searched for and never found.” Oh my god that sentence cuts me to the quick.
“It was not the alcohol to which I was addicted; it was she…” About going to AA without an alcohol addiction.
A lot of I loved you the most did everything for you what has anyone else done that I didn’t and couldn’t do for you
It feels like my mother
“The belief that whatever she was dishing out. I somehow deserved.”
Memorable Quotes “Like the Centralia Mine fire, my mother and I have been burning for half a century.” “It had been a choice: my mother’s life, or my own.” “No family likes having a writer in their midst, says a close friend. … No family ever says Yay. A writer.”
I never wanted a military relationship. On a technicality, I never had an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship from start to finish.
Shortly after Alex and I started dating in the winter of 2011, he told me he wanted to go into the military after graduating from college that spring. I knew I didn’t want to be in college while my boyfriend was off being a soldier or whatever. If he wanted to be in the military, then we would be friends. I wouldn’t do it with him.
Alex was never supposed to be anything more than a fling. He was a senior. I was a freshman. Neither of us were looking for anything. But he was cute; I was awkward. I made a move; it worked. Instead of flinging it, we fell in love. The kind of profound love that can only come about when inexperience combines with true compatibility, honesty, and dedication. I was raw and broken emotion, and he didn’t turn away from my pain. I saw through his façade to the man I still see today. It was and is the kind of love which reaches deep within two souls. Alex is written on my DNA. There is not a part of me remaining he has not touched. I am the person I am because he took the time to see me. I used to think he made me the person I am, but that’s not true. He did not make me; I made me, but he pushed.
After five years, I finally have pictures of this sign.
Love is an extraordinary force. The love we found made him decide to put his military aspirations away so we could be together. A year and a half after he chose me over the military, we were laying in bed. He stared at the ceiling as he said, “I think, I still want to go into the military.” I loved him, and I knew this was something he needed to do or he would resent the what ifs. He met recruiters from every branch. As a couple, we met with the branches he was most impressed with. Together, we decided on the Marines. It took almost a year between interviewing recruiters to sending him to boot camp. OCS was the first choice, but the political climate and a paperwork fiasco made that process long and unreasonable. He didn’t want to wait any longer, so he enlisted in October 2013. By that time, we were no longer a couple, but we were still committed to each other, sharing a home, bills, and responsibilities. I watched him swear in before the bus took my Alex to become a Marine. I heard boot camp changed people, and I had no idea who I would hug at graduation in three months. I’m convinced nothing can change my Alex because he was exactly the same willful, messy, smart, inquisitive, sarcastic, quirky, goof of a person. He did have abs, though.
Six years. Five birthdays. Four ranks. Three deployments. Two quals. One extension. Sergeant LeFebvre.
It may not have been an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship. I have been there for him in every way that I could. I have showed up for ceremonies and a homecoming. I have gone to balls and family days. I have written letters. I have made phone calls. I have planned and replanned trips. I have waited and wondered. I have sent care packages. I have attended weddings. I have made friends. I have bought plane tickets and driven over night. I have whisked him away and staycationed. I have been there.
The military has kept him away from me. He hasn’t been able to support me or show up for me. That’s not his fault. It’s not my fault. It’s military life. We signed up for it. We agreed to it. We knew what that contract meant. It never made his absence less painful. Agreeing to something and dealing with something are not the same. I graduated college, which was largely due to his existence in my life. I hoped he would be there to surprise me. He didn’t. I moved and got a job. I wanted him to celebrate with me. He didn’t. I ended up in the hospital and almost died. I prayed he could be there to hold my hand. He didn’t. I had surgery. I wished he could take care of me. He didn’t. I moved across the country. I wanted him to move me. He didn’t. I got sick and spent months trying to figure out what was wrong. I needed to hold his hand. He didn’t. I made friends, who I wish he could meet. He hasn’t.
Seriously. This is a great sign. Also, taking pictures without a tripod and only a phone… difficult.
I have been a part of Alex’s life for six years, but he has not been a physical part of mine. It’s not that Alex is a bad guy or doesn’t want to be a part of my life, but the military makes it difficult if not impossible. We have done what we can, but now, we’ll be able to do more. Alex missed so many things in my life, and we can’t get those back. The future holds possibility.
As of today, an era has ended. With DD 214, he’s on his way home. For good. He’ll always be a Marine, but he’s no longer active duty. A new journey is unfolding for him. One that will more easily allow him to be a part of my life. As happy as I am, it is bittersweet saying goodbye to our years in the military and being military adjacent. We both grew as people. He’s a better man, and I’m a more self-sufficient woman. I don’t know how our lives will look, but it will be different.
Dear Alex,
I am so fucking proud of you. I didn’t want this to be my life in 2011. By 2013, I had accepted this would be part of my life for an indeterminate amount of time. Six years is shorter than twenty, so thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life before the military, during, and after. Being your partner has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I don’t know who I would be without your constant presence, pressure, and reassurance even if it was in an email from a boat in the middle of somewhere. You have been worth every tear and worry crinkle but mostly laugh lines.
There is so much I won’t miss about the military. I will miss the balls, obviously. I will miss getting breakfast at the cafe downtown. I will miss the Marina. I will miss dragging you to lighthouses. I will miss the barracks in a masochistic sort of way. I will miss the idiots doing idiot things. I will miss your friends who I adore to tease. I will miss buying t-shirts that say Marines. I will miss the hanger and hearing helicopters over head. I will miss the lotion in the base hotel. I will miss the Aviation Memorial. I will miss driving through base. I will miss hearing acronyms. I will miss listening to you talk about your zingers and all the ways you annoy your peons. I will miss seeing you in uniform. I will miss the Pardon Our Noise; It’s the Sound of Freedom sign.
Most of all, I will miss walking next to you on Onslow Beach on Camp Lejeune. We have walked up and down that beach so many times over the last five years. We’ve walked it in July’s scorching sun and in December wrapped in sweaters. It was one of the first things we did on my first trip to Jacksonville and one of the last. I have collected the memories along with the rocks and shells you’ve given me on that beach. You never loved it as much as I did, but you always walked with me, no matter what.
I’m smiling so hard because I’m sucking in a lot.Tiptoes makes my legs look good. Posing so hard.Playing in Galveston! | Bikini Bottoms | Bikini Top
It’s swimsuit season. Although, I live in Houston, so swimsuit season lasts ten and a half months. This summer is a little, lottle, less comfortable for me.
I’m self conscious. I didn’t wear bikinis much or at all until the summer before I went to college when I was 19. I was always a one piece girl. Partially because of my mom, and partially because that’s what is easiest to dive and jump and slide in.
I was a late bloomer. I didn’t really hit puberty until I was 17. I was also very active and genetically super thin. For a very long time, I was a ballerina and built like it. The majority of my life, I was teeny-weeny. Then, I hit puberty, grew boobs and a butt, and gained weight. The things that happen when a girl becomes a woman. From the time I was 18 to 25, my weight fluctuated a lot. I’ve never been heavy, but when you were a size zero for a decade, anything resembling curvy was rough to wrap my head around. Right before I turned 25, I went through a huge health crisis and almost died. It’s a long story. I ended up losing a decent amount of weight and stayed there for the last three years.
Over the last two months, I have been dealing with a lot of stress. I’m also in the midst of an anxiety induced existential crisis perpetuated by OCD. Kidding, kind of. When I’m stressed, I gain weight. A lot. And quickly. In the span of twelve days, I gained 18 pounds. Believe me, it’s possible. I’ve lost eight of those pounds, but I’m hovering ten pounds over where I’m comfortable. No matter what I do, I’m not dropping them. Ugh.
So it’s swimsuit season. I’m in the midst of an ongoing emotional roller coaster. I know I don’t look bad. I’m still on the thin side of normal for my giantess height status. I’m just not as comfortable with where I’m at in comparison to where I’ve been the last few years. I’m still going to wear swimsuits and bikinis because I’m not going to let ten pounds keep me from the cute suits I’ve spent good money on.
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Raise your arm. Suck in. Point your toes. Your waist looks thin!
Worth a Read Yes Length 256 Quick Review Chelsea Handler’s never been afraid of the truth. In her latest memoir,she sits with personal trauma in a way she has not before. Laugh out loud funny with a serious edge.
I love Chelsea Handler. I have read several of her books and watched her TV show fairly religiously. When I saw she had a new book coming out, I had to have it. Life Will Be the Death of Meis still laugh out loud funny, but she tackles her mental health in a serious way.
Chelsea Handler has made her living making people laugh. I think it’s easier to make people laugh in person than on the page, but I have always been giggling with my nose in her books. Life Will Be the Death of Medeals with death in a serious way. Her brother died when she was very young, and that experience changed her and her family forever. Throughout the book, she talks about her grieving process several decades after his death. She visits a psychiatrist, who helps her work through her issues.
We can be cute. I had to hide a treat in my cleavage….
I love her writing style and voice in Life Will Be the Death of Me. She’s one of those people whose voice shines through anything she touches. It’s probably one of the reasons she is so successful. I think for the first time in her books – I have not read all of them, don’t quote me – she spends more time being serious than being funny. Her honesty and self reflection are brilliant.
She’s not eating the apple. Treat in my hand. She’s eating my hand.
My two favorite parts of Handler’s memoir are this quote: “How can it be that a swab of saliva can determine a dog’s genetic heritage yet there isn’t a more precise way to determine the age of a dog at this juncture in modern society?” We are both rescue dog moms. As the proud mama of a rescue dog, I identify this on a very deep level. I wish I knew the age of my dog, but I do not. Also one running theme throughout Life Will be the Death of Me is her anger towards Trump. There is a lot, a LOT of anger being funneled in his direction, and I love it. I personally think almost all evil is his fault, at this point in time. Darth Cheeto sucks donkey balls.
If you want some laughs and some insight. I say check out Chelsea Handler’s latest book Life Will Be the Death of Me. If nothing else, you’ll giggle a few times, and there are really cute pictures of her dogs and family.
Memorable Quotes “Having an older brother is a lot like a crush – in fact, it is a crush.” “No person is just one thing.”
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Title: Life Will Be the Death of Me Author: Chelsea Handler Publisher: Spiegel & Grau Copyright: 2019 ISBN: 9780525511779
Worth A Read Yes Length 288 Quick Review A meandering memoir. Shalmiyev talks about the dark side of growing up with an alcoholic mother and the scars that never go away.
Mother Winterby Sophia Shalmiyev is one of the most interesting memoirs I have ever read, and I have read a lot. I’m drawn to memoirs because life isn’t defined by a single event or truth but the culmination of all experiences. Everyone has their own ever evolving truth, and memoirs are a beautiful exploration of that. Sophia Shalmiyev looks back at her life and how so much of it was affected by her alcoholic mother even after leaving the country and starting a new life.
Mother Winterreads like poetry. It doesn’t necessarily make sense at first, but in its entirety, it is a beautiful story. Shalmiyev was born in Russia during the communist years. Her parents divorced, and her father raised her due to her mother being an alcoholic and unfit to parent. Even so, Shalmiyev never stopped looking, thinking, or yearning for the mother she lost. In her youth, she left the USSR to make a home in the United States.
I speak Russian. I have a fairly vast knowledge of the history, literature, and culture because I studied it in college. For me, the language and culture was very accessible. It’s interesting to know the history of a country and government juxtaposed against the personal experience of a young girl. I love how Shalmiyev transliterated some Russian words instead of translating them; it granted a more insight into the culture.
The prose in Mother Winteris not straight forward. The chapters weave and jump, backtracking and side-stepping. It is a very complicated organizational system, which could have failed miserably, but instead it is the perfect fit. The reader gets lost and regains themselves in the text, in a way similar to Shalmiyev felt, I can only imagine, as a child in Russia between homes and again as a young immigrant in America. Discombobulated in the best of ways. I love how eloquent and transcendent her prose is; then, suddenly there is a bluntness to her sentence where there is no room for misinterpretation. On of my favorite passages can be found on page 46 and 47. Shalmiyev cuts through the bullshit.
She weaves USSR history into her life giving the reader context and understanding of what she went through. She blends history, science, feelings, memories, anecdotes, adjective strings, third person narration, quotes, directives to her mother, and so much more. The amount of knowledge Shalmiyev includes extends from literature, medicine, philosophy, science, and history – I probably missed some.
Mother Winteris an absolute joy to read. I loved it from a personal stance because of the Russian component, but it is also the story of a mother and a woman surviving. I absolutely cannot recommend this book more.
Memorable Quotes “Yesterday has never ended.” “a book like Henry and June roasted my throat with the fear that tough and smart doesn’t protect you from subservient and used up.” “Goods are damaged often by no fault of their own.”
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I’ve tried writing this in several different ways. None of it feels quite right. Then again, nothing feels quite right about having a miscarriage.
Today was my due date four years ago. A due date that never came. I miscarried at thirteen weeks. My heart broke in a million different ways. I don’t really know how to describe that kind of loss. It is its own kind of grief.
I had never wanted to be a mom. It was something I actively avoided. This pregnancy was a surprise and with the wrong man. When I found out, I was almost in my second trimester and very alone. My life changed in a moment. I went from a recent college graduate to a mom. I didn’t want kids, but I wanted that one very much. I was in a place in my life where having a baby was more than feasible. I had a job and was looking into buying a house. Single motherhood was terrifying, but I was in a place where I could have made it work. I was going to make it work. I wanted everything that came with it.
I never bought the house. I didn’t keep the job. I never became a mom. I lost the baby.
When I found out I was pregnant, something happened. I wanted to protect my baby from the world. My baby would grow up knowing how loved and protected it was. I couldn’t protect it from my body; the thing that was supposed to nourish it, grow it, protect it. My body failed me. Failed my baby.
Standing in the shower has always been the place I’ve felt safest to cry. The morning I miscarried, the water washed away the tears and the blood. It couldn’t wash away my guilt or my grief. It took months to shake the guilt. The grief has dulled but has never gone away.
Being a mom is not high on my list of things I ever want to be. Honestly, I don’t want to have kids. I still want the baby I never got to hold. There is an ache. In the short time I knew I was pregnant, I had so many dreams and plans. I saw a new life. That life never happened. In so many ways, having a miscarriage was the best thing for me. The responsibility of motherhood would have kept me from following the dreams I’m just starting to find. Even though my body knew what was best, my heart still hurts.
Had my body not betrayed me, I don’t know where I would be now. I know I would have done everything for my son or daughter. That baby would have been my life. Instead of writing this, I would be finishing up the plans for a birthday party this weekend. A golden birthday party for my four year old little boy or girl. Paeton Ray. I chose a name the day I miscarried. I couldn’t just think of it as my baby, who wasn’t meant to be. I’ve never said that name out loud. This is the first time I’ve written it. Gender neutral. Similar to mine, RaeAnna Kay.
It’s been four years. I don’t cry every time I think about my miscarriage anymore. I’ll even go days without thinking about it. The pain can still creep in at the oddest times. April 4th has been a hard day the past four years. I can’t watch children’s movies without thinking about watching them with my baby. A year and half after my miscarriage I went to Inside Out with four of my guy friends from college. I ended up breaking down in the parking lot. It was impossible to find the words to explain, to make sense of it. It’s grief. Grief doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t always make sense. We live with it. It’s one thing to grieve a person you knew. It is another thing entirely to grieve someone you love so completely but never knew. I’ll always grieve a life I will never live with the baby who changed my heart.
I was laying on the couch this morning. Beau was on my chest with her head snuggled into my neck. She is the one being I love anywhere close to how much I loved my baby. I had never thought about it, but Beau is almost exactly the same age my baby would have been.
