Why I hate feminism.

You may be wondering why I have such a hate on for Feminism. Or maybe you know, or perhaps you don’t give a fuck. Well, regardless I’m going to tell you what I think. 

Basically I have a problem with any kind of activism that pits one group against another and hides under a thin veil of hate. Why does it have to be like that? 

It doesn’t. 

Start acting as if things like gender, race, sexuality don’t make a difference. Because they don’t. If you don’t give the “differences” power then they have none. 

The world is a fucked up place, and the boys will learn that eventually, but I refuse to let other people’s prejudices and apparent activism tarnish their view on things. 

They’re being raised that girls can do anything boys can do and vice versa. They’re being raised that it doesn’t matter what you look like, as long as you have a good heart. They’re being raised that it doesn’t matter who you love, rather how you love. 

According to someone on Twitter, this is disingenuous and irresponsible. I disagree. We aren’t pretending that these things don’t impact the world as a whole, but we’re trying to show our kids that there is a better way to see things. 



Some revelations! 

Today at Counselling, Katherine mentioned something that I said last session and had completely forgotten to write about! 

The Blog is one of my outlets. When I write posts, I’m having a heart to heart with one of my best friends, but I’m also sharing everything with a perfect stranger. It’s like telling everyone and no one at the same time. 


Sometimes I’m so profound that I even impress myself. 


Today we talked about that, and also how telling these deep dark secrets makes them lose their power over me. It’s cathartic, because now other people know what happened; when you share your pain it takes a huge weight off and allows you to move forward. At least it does for me. 

It also lets me be the most authentic me possible. Being so open and honest means I don’t have to hide behind the mask of what people expect me to be. Although with that being said, I’ve never been able to fool Adrian. Right from Day 1, he saw Me and has never been afraid to call me out if he thinks I’m trying to play a part. It’s one of my favourite things about him. 

Enough mush and philosophy for now though. 

Let’s dance! 


Trapped in my own head

Seems the ol’ blog has been about being not-ok this week. 

Since being trendy is at the top of my priority list, let’s continue on; shall we?

My Mom-Guilt is EXTRA loud today, combined with an inexpressible urge for solitude, and a strange rawness that’s basically put me to the end of my rope with everything. 

No patience. Temper flaring at the drop of a hat. Overwhelming shame for feeling like this in the first place. I have​ reached capacity.

Maybe I need a hot bath. Perhaps a book. Possibly some liquor. Probably all three at once, who am I kidding? 

Time to take a break. 



I busted out You Are Here and coloured for a bit, we had a family dinner (with me working every evening during the week it doesn’t happen often anymore) and then Adrian and I watched Why Him after the kids were in bed. 

While this didn’t make everything perfect, it helped. That’s all I needed it to do. 


My extremely confusing Family Bush

What is a Family Bush, you may be asking? Well, it’s what happens when your family does a lot of Horizontal growth rather than the usual Vertical. 

Daddy was​ married THREE times before he passed away, and the first two have since moved on and settled down again. This makes for more parents than any one person should technically be allowed to have. 

The beginning is as good a place as any to start, and in the beginning it was Daddy and The Unit. They had Shauna and I and promptly split up.

Daddy’s second wife is who I think of as my Mom. Joanna has been a major part of my life since I was in the 4th grade, and is absolutely incredible. When I was in High School, she married Mike, who is now Dad; I don’t believe in calling any of my family “step” members, since it feels like that makes them sound inferior and they are absolutely NOT. 

Last, but certainly not least, he married Annie, who is affectionately known as Mom #3 when I was 16. With her also came my younger brother! He can’t be called my little brother because even when we were kids, he was bigger than me; some people just reach perfection sooner than everyone else 😉 

Technically, The Unit has what could probably be called a boyfriend (I prefer to think of him as a walking Mullet) and he has two daughters from a previous relationship, but due to the overall toxicity of that household, I don’t have a relationship with either one of them. If I’m being really honest, that is probably one of the most difficult parts of my disassociation with The Unit; the girls didn’t know or understand what happened, but I’m hoping that once they’re older they’ll forgive their Big Sister for not being around. 

That’s about it. 

Obviously there are extended families that come along with all those parents, but getting into all that is WAY too much effort. 

Carry on my wayward son. 


Breaking the silence

*This post has some pretty serious shit in it. Be prepared, it’s​ probably not something that will make you feel comfortable*

With my little disclaimer out of the way, I should probably also tell you that this is the first post out of several discussing my childhood. It’s not all coming out at once for a few reasons. 

Shall we begin? 

The Unit is loud to start with. Get her angry, and it’s almost to a level that only dogs can hear. She yelled a lot. 

I learned from a young age that yelling was how you made yourself heard in that house. It’s something that has followed me through to adulthood. 

In fact, when I start to get upset my voice audibly changes. It’s like someone flipped a switch in my head and the voice coming out of my mouth is no longer my own, but hers. 

The anger though. That’s the bit that scares me. 

There was one time in particular, I can’t remember exactly what we were arguing about, but in the end, she pushed me down the stairs. 

Not a little half set. 

A full set of stairs. 

Then she threw the vacuum cleaner down after me. You, just for good measure, in case any of my friends watching had any inkling left that she might be a good person. 

Oh wait. Did I mention that 2 of my friends were there and saw this all happen? 


And still. Despite my friends, and everyone else who knew, nothing was done. 

The system failed us (my sister and I) because they listened to the words of a pathological liar over the words of children. To this day, I’m fairly certain she doesn’t think she did anything wrong. 

In fact, if my last bit of hear-say is correct, she thinks that I’m a bad person for not letting her see my kids. 

And on that note, today’s post is done! There is only so much I can rehash at a time before getting overwhelmed. 

Hug each other, love one another, and be kind! 


The ball is rolling

After over a year of waiting for an appointment that has so far not come, we took matters into our own hands. 

Today was our first appointment with a Psychologist​ to discuss Hunter and his struggles. 

We’re a long way from any kind of conclusion, but we’ve got some research to do and some appointments to book. To start with, he’s getting an eye exam as soon as possible and we’re looking into finding an Occupational Therapist who specializes with kids. 

It’s not much, but a start is a start! 



Every parent has their own version of what I call “Mom-Guilt”. Regardless of what you call it, or if you even acknowledge that it’s there, we all have it. 

That little voice inside your head telling you it’s not enough. That you’re not enough for your kids. That you don’t do enough for them, or with them. 

It highlights everything that you’re ​sure you’re messing up on​, and tries to convince you that you’re right. 

Today my Mom-Guilt is LOUD. 

The struggle is real, and difficult, but in the end I know that I love my kids fiercely. And my kids know that they are loved. Which I suppose is the most important part at the end of the day.