I love traveling with Beau, but sometimes she has to stay home.
So I cheat on her.
I can’t help it.
I NEED my puppy loves; I’m an addict.
I will cheat on Beau even if she’s at home and I’m right outside the door. If there’s a dog in my vicinity, I want to pet it and love it and hug it and kiss it until it tires of me or the owner calls the cops. Dogs bring me joy, and I pretend I bring them joy.
Luckily, most of the people in my life have dogs. My parents didn’t have a dog for two and a half years, but they just caved and rescued Barneveld Wout Bose von Rekemeyer. I named him; you’re welcome. He’s a cutie. I got my dog cuddles with him.
My brother has the cutest pupper!!! Frank. Frank is in the pictures. My brother and sister-in-law just moved to Chicago with their dog and cat. I’m lucky and got to spend last Sunday with them. I spent the entire time chatting but also giving Frank all the cuddles. I made my brother take a picture of us because Frank has a pumpkin costume. We’re obviously related.
I’m currently at my surrogate parents’ house in the Chicago area. I lived with them for three years before moving to Houston. As I write this, I’m cheating on Beau with Dexter and Anna. Dexter is a 150 lb. Great Dane. Anna is a 20 lb. mutt. My lap is full. I am happy; even though Beau is far away from me for a few more days.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna & Dexter & Anna & Frank & Barney
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“Just another career-obsessed, nail-biting, manophobic, hell-bent feminist she-devil.”
I hate the title survivor.
I’m not a victim. Not anymore. I was a victim when it was happening. But after…
There isn’t a word I’ve found to resonate with my broken pieces. And I’m a words-person. Silence. Nothing. Guilt. Solitude. Shame. Numb. Lost. Broken. They’re not titles I can put on a shirt or a sign to identify myself as one of many in a march. They are feelings. The feelings that have never left me from the moment his hands first touched me with violence in their intent.
I never say, “I’m a survivor,” or “I survived.” I can’t. It feels like a lie. It would be a lie. I didn’t. I did not stand up as the same girl he held down. I didn’t survive. Rape is murder. He murdered who I was. Every time killed a part of me.
The closest I’ve ever come to finding a way to describe myself is “raped,” but people don’t like that. If people have to face humanity’s ability for violence and destruction, they want to see someone strong and owning it or broken and hiding it. Survivor. How happy. How uplifting. What a positive spin on a tragic epidemic. It’s ignoring the actions that were survived. Focusing on the survivor having survived. Past tense. It happened. It’s done. Let it go. Move on.
Survivor. It’s a bow to wrap up a present we don’t want to open. We know the gist of what happened. Some hazy sort of violence. No specifics needed; that one word says it all. It tears down the facade we’ve so diligently constructed, letting people in just enough for them to know there’s a dark past but not enough they actually know a damn thing. Survivor: say the word. People get a sad look in their eyes, “I’m so sorry.” But stop there. It’s a bow to wrap up the story people don’t want to hear.
Ignoring the story, the nitty gritty of it, is its own kind of violence.
Putting people at ease, letting them remain in their comfort zone is easy, kind. It does not facilitate change. If people are comfortable, they’re complacent. Change comes from agitation rooted in pain and suffering. I don’t write about this because it’s fun to dwell in the dark pain of someone’s choices to destroy my mind and undermine my identity. I write because I was raped. I was raped for years. I was beaten. I was abused. I was shared. I was torn. I was hurt. I write because too many people can say the same. Some say it. Many do not. Silence is a virtue. I don’t have that virtue. I had no voice for so long, but I have one now. I tell my story to make people uncomfortable. I tell my story because it is time for change. I tell my story because it has helped people, opened minds, changed minds, softened minds, and made people angry. I tell my story because I can. Many are not able to because of pain or circumstance or they’re no longer alive to tell theirs. I am still here. A broken, tired, angry, hurt version of who I used to be. I did not survive, but I am still here.
I have been writing and blogging and processing in various ways for almost a decade. In college, I wrote under a pseudonym about being a stripper to pay for school and food and a roof not because I was ashamed but because I didn’t know what my future was uncertain. After college, I started a blog to talk about my life and how I struggle to pick up the pieces of my soul. A few years ago, I started …on the B.L., and it quickly grew into something real with a following. I haven’t kept my past or advocacy separate from this, but I haven’t focused on it either. It’s been present by quiet. But no more. This is the driving force behind everything I do. Creating change. My story, as painful as it is, keeps me going.
I hate the word survivor. I don’t feel like I survived. I feel like I just didn’t die; though, there were years I wished I had. I like the word servivor. I’m using my story to serve others by creating change in whatever way I can.
I am a servivor.
I will stand tall. I will stand firm. I will tell my story. I will serve.
Having a gourd time at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas. | Skirt | Bralette | Blanket |
These photos were taken at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas, where there were lots and lots of cute pumpkins, so I took some pumpkin pictures.
I love autumn. It’s my favorite season. Pumpkin spice isn’t my jam, but apple cider sure is. After moving to Houston, fall is one of the things I miss about my Northern life. Fall here in humid Houston regularly visits the 90s. Yay.
I keep it real. My Instagram is a reflection of my real life, and my real life takes place in Houston. Instagrammable fall doesn’t exist here, so unless I’m traveling, I would be lying to you if I posted all the autumnal vibes.
Beach photos almost never end up looking anything but warm and tropical.
Other Houston bloggers, mostly of the fashion variety, are posting fall outfit inspo pictures, and I feel like I’m going to die for them. It’s hot. I’m not putting on a sweater for a picture. Nope.
Changing of the leaves is beautiful, but non-existent here. If I find myself somewhere it’s occurring, you’ll see it. Until then, you’re gonna see skirts, green grass, tank tops, pools, and bright blue skies.
I hate pumpkin spice. I took a taste of the Starbucks drink when they first came out with it or I first became aware of it, and I hate it.
Pumpkins are amazing. I have nothing against them; other than the spice capitalism and consumers have forced upon it. The pie is delicious. Roasted, soup, puree, and stuffed is all up my alley. I just don’t post them because everyone else is, and I’m here to be different.
Mood often sways the way my pictures turn out, and it’s hard to be in the autumnal, sweater, scarf, and cozy socks kinda mood when it’s 90 degrees and as humid as Satan’s crotch after hot yoga.
Houston winter feels like a casual fall to me, and it doesn’t come until after the new year, so you’ll see cozy from me for three weeks in mid-January or February, then it’s back to your regularly scheduled shorts and tees.
Being uncomfortable in a sweater or scarf in Texas is not worth a cute picture. I’ll do a lot for pretty photos but not that.
Houston
Houston
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Taking a bow after being after being a weirdo.Stopping to smell the flowers at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas.Queen of the mountain… rock… batholith!
Early in the summer, I was telling my bestie, Amanda from Amanda Bee’s Floral Design, how I’ve lived in Houston for almost three years and haven’t seen or done much in Texas outside of the city and Galveston. She decided to fulfill my lifelong dream of planning a weekend trip to Fredericksburg for me. Did I mention she’s amazing?
A few weeks ago, we loaded into the car and picked up our friend, Judd, in Austin on our way for a three day galavant to Texas wine country, I mean hill country. Fredericksburg has become a destination for girls’ weekends, bachelorette trips, and couples’ getaways. It’s a picturesque little town an hour outside of Austin full of shops, wineries, restaurants, history, and outdoor activities.
Watching the bats go out to hunt.
Where I Stayed Peach Tree Inn & Suites is cute and within walking distance of downtown. It’s not like a hotel, it’s more like a bunch of teeny apartments with bathrooms, kitchenettes, and seating areas. The three of us stayed there very comfortably. It’s also pet friendly, but we didn’t bring Beau.
Getting into the fall spirit surrounded by pumpkins at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas.
What To Do Enchanted Rock is pretty awesome. It’s a granite, dome batholith. It’s definitely worth the $7 entrance fee and the climb. The view is terrific. I mean, it’s amazing. You can see for miles. You’re also in Texas hill country, so the hike is a little bit of an adventure. Old Tunnel State Park is home to bats. Twenty minutes outside of Fredericksburg is an old railway tunnel inhabited by a gazillion bats. At sunset, they fly out to go hunting. You can watch this amazing, natural spectacle from a high platform for free or from a closer perspective for $5 admission fee. The bats are worth the trip, but the view is also worth it. You can also hike and enjoy the outdoor activities. Shopping abundance will greet you in downtown. From pet stores, candy shops, restaurants, kitchen stores, home decor, jewelry, artisans, and more. You can find just about anything. Wildseed Farms is great if you love plants or you’re looking for a really cute and unique Instagram spot. This nursery is huge and has tons of flowers, seeds, decor, and a butterfly garden. There’s even a vineyard on site. I was traveling with florists, so we spent a good amount of time here. Not that I minded. Wineries I’m not a drinker, and we didn’t hit any up this trip. But most people don’t visit Fredericksburg without getting their wine on. Vineyards are truly everywhere. You can find one without trying. Promise.
Practicing my jumping skills on top of Enchanted Rock.
Where To Eat Fredericksburg Brewing Company has all the brews you could want and a menu full of authentic German food. It’s pretty delicious and has huge portions. Pasta Bella makes their own pasta, and I loved it. We all got different things, and I definitely had a fork full of each. The back room is decorated with old bicycles, which was cute and unique. Old German Bakery & Restaurant will definitely have a waiting list for breakfast, so I suggest getting there early. They don’t have a ton of authentic German breakfast options, but you can find German pancakes. Sunset Grill has a great American brunch menu. We went there right after climbing Enchanted Rock, and we were starving. The inside is cute, but we comfortably sat on the shaded outdoor patio without dying of heat. Java Ranch Espresso Bar & Cafe carries their ranch theme throughout their decor. They have decent coffee and a relaxing atmosphere if you need to put your feet up after a hard day of shopping….
So many gorgeous nooks to Fredericksburg.
Known For German Heritage Fredericksburg was settled by Germans, and their influence is noticeable from the architecture to the names to the German bakeries. Pecans You can find pecans and pecan paraphernalia all over the place. I honestly have no idea why other than they’re a Southern and Texas thing. But I’m not complaining because I am obsessed with pecans and always have been. Peaches I’m not a peach person. I love the way they smell, but I don’t like eating them. If you’re into more than just the emoji, this is the place to be during peach season. They’re everywhere. Dedicated peach stores line the roads, no joke. Wine There are a ridiculous amount of wineries and vineyards here. You can find automotive, German, Tuscany, horse, and more themed vineyards. I don’t drink, but I wish I did.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Three years ago last Tuesday, I moved to Houston. I knew zero people. I knew almost nothing about the city except: NASA and it’s an hour away from the beach. Dylan and I were very, very poor. We didn’t even have a couch at that point in time. We were saving money in every way we could, which means we didn’t get out and do much at first.
There are tons of perks to being in a big city, especially one as international as Houston. Food is my favorite part of a diverse cities because of the access to obscure and unknown foods. The problem is food costs money. When I moved here, there was very little money and a lot of food to try. It was easier not to tempt myself. I did go on the hunt for gelato. I love ice cream a lot. I love gelato A LOT more.
I found Sweet Cup shortly after moving to Houston. I fell in love with them for their gelato. I liked them even more when I found out they are a female owned business. The owner is even sweeter than her gelato! Sweet Cup was the first Houston business to follow my blog on Instagram. Actually, they were the first business to follow my blog on Instagram. I had no following and no real direction. Although currently, it could be argued my direction is no direction. I bop in literally whenever I’m in that part of town. I’ve even been known to drive across town for a cup. It’s delicious.
Houston has been home for three years, and I love it. I wasn’t sure if I would that first year because life was hard; I was poor. I couldn’t enjoy the city to its fullest or tastiest at first. Over the last two years, I have fallen more in love with the city, met friends, explored, and tried new foods. But for me, Sweet Cup tastes like Houston. In the beginning, it was all I could afford. Now, it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come and the dreams I’m still chasing. Three years have come and gone in a flash. So much has changed, but some things are just as sweet.
Worth A Read Yes Length 400 Quick Review A librarian stumbles across a puzzling part of history in the Berachah Home, where erring girls went for a fresh start.
Home for Erring and Outcast Girls by Julie Kibler is a much better novel than I expected to encounter. There are so many ways Kibler could have gone wrong, but she didn’t. Diving into complex women’s issues and how society dealt with the women in question paralleled by a century of “change.” Based on a real house in rural Texas serving real women, Kibler builds a world full of sorrow and empathy.
In 2017, Cate is a librarian working in a Texas University Library’s archives and becomes fascinated looking through documentation of the Berachah home after stumbling upon a cemetery in 2017. She has a penchant for running and running away; she lives a solitary life aside from making a connection with one of her student workers. Dealing with a mysterious past, flashbacks to 1998 as a highschooler slowly reveal insight into her troubled past. In 1904, Lizzie Bates, Docie, and Mattie Corder are escaping the evils of a patriarchal society by finding refuge in the Berachah Home for Erring and Outcast Girls. They find solace surrounded by religion and other fallen women and their children as they are taught skills to fend for themselves.
Kibler touches on everything from drugs to rape to incest to abuse and more in this raw historical fiction about loss and friendship. Home for Erring and Outcast Girls drives home the fact that women take a backseat to men, always. Their plans. Their dreams. Their reputations. Their futures. This has been a truth for the majority of societies for as long as history can document. As much as things are changing, much remains the same. Including Cate, as a contemporary woman, shows the parallel between the two eras and how little has changed for women. How little choice there is.
The Berachah Home really did exist outside of Arlington, Texas and was founded by James and Maggie Upchurch. They had a revolutionary idea to keep the children with their mothers. At the time, mother’s were separated from their children without a choice, more often than not, when the children were born out of wedlock. There are real excerpt from The Purity Journal, which went out to graduates of the home and donors.
Abuse is a central point in Home for Erring and Outcast Girls. Kibler makes a beautiful statement I and many other survivors of abuse, loss, abandonment, addiction, rape, assault, and more have felt: “Or how I maybe didn’t fight hard enough, or say no the right way, or at the right times.” Guilt and shame are a raw undercurrent in this book about being helpless and reclaiming an identity in the after. Everyone survives their own hell, but so many of the emotions and recovery processes are the similar.
Religion is a character in its own right in this novel. It plays a role of savior but also demon. Kibler is not afraid to show the church in the light of benefactor and evil doer depending on the point of view of the character. Religion is not one size fits all, and everyone has different experiences. Even in the most positive of lights, the church do not do right by women. Women are often depicted as temptresses “because churches, in general, are still bastions of judgement masquerading as refugees of grace and acceptance.”
I was utterly surprised at how much I enjoyed this book. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Julie Kibler captured my interest and respect with her cutting and insightful novel Home for Erring and Outcast Girls.
Memorable Quotes “A room filled with people can be lonelier than solitude.” “Her ma had done what she must to survive, and that was how it was for women.” “It was always the man who took what he wanted, and the woman who lost everything.” “Devastation was a pain you thought would never go away, and sometimes it didn’t.”
