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The Final Nail in the Coffin of my Civility.(Who’s Afraid of Little old me, Heather’s Version)

In my life I have tried always to be understanding and kind. I am the poster child for “You never know what might be going on at home.” I have given my fair share of grace and more to situations where I was grievously injured and spent years trying to figure out why I was constantly being used as a doormat for everyone’s poor choices. I was always made to feel so ashamed about my situation when it wasn't my situation to be responsible for to begin with. This is about to be really uncomfortable for a lot of people, but I need you all to understand something. I am passionate about women’s rights, affordable housing, police accountability, and support programs because of my mothers story, and then the story I heard from my own grandmothers lips during my divorce, and then my story which is a collective of not only my own trauma, but the generational trauma I have experienced through the limited choices of the women in my life. If you are a traditional spouse and that life is everythin...
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In these Unprecedented Times : Surving Healthcare Post Pandemic.

  Hello again. It seems he keyboard has been calling for a few weeks and today I finally - after days of rolling around the juices in my brain - I think I have finally figured out how to say something that has been on my mind for several months now. This post is dedicated to all my friends in healthcare, the unsung heroes of everyday. Not just the days when we are all over the news during pandemics, but in those moments while we are getting spat at, and kicked by grannies and grampies, and cursed at, and denied breaks in the interest of capital gain. We are heroes on the days when we cry on the way to work and sit in our cars in the driveway blasting some song when we get home. We are heroes as we sit there in that driveway for 20 minutes because we need to shake off the energies of the shift and take off the mask we wear to hide our inner gangster in front of our charges. We are the heroes who showed up. We continue to show up. We are terribly insane, but I love us. Thank you....
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New Years Promises and Invisible Strings

I’ve been obsessing over Taylor Swift these days, in fact I’m probably a little more invested in her relationship with the guy on the football team than I really should be, but I guess it’s a needed distraction for all the other works in progress in my life at the moment. I started listening to her last album Midnights  because Anti-Hero was all over the radio and I thought it was catchy so I tried the album out . After listening to it a few times i found myself fully immersed in all things Swifty. I started really digging into her discography and found myself surprised at her brilliant lyrics and songwriting. Now is Taylor swift my normal genre…hell no. Im more of a classic bohemian rock girl. I mean I have my more modern obsessions like blue October and Prince, but on any given day your gonna find me grooving to Fleetwood Mac  and The Doors. Im an old soul. So what is it about this girls music that drew me in, in one word, storytelling, she has a way of placing you in the ...
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The Area Under the Curve

She lost her mind and moved to west Texas and found her happily every after dancing across the lavender sky like the tumbleweeds blowing in the wind. It’s a beautiful end to a scenic tour of ground zero. It’s a page in the annuls of my history, or an epitaph on the stones where my body will lie in the earth when this great experiment comes to an end.  The area under the curve is the plasma concentration we need to reach with chemotherapy in order to drive out the cancer.  It’s a weird comparison to life but as I find myself to understand it, so much of our life is really lived in the area under the curve. It is the point of saturation, when we find for ourselves the right medicine  to heal what ails us in perfect concentration.  It’s the amount of space that we live in while trying to find the right curve and flow. It has been a season of having been rolled about and tossed over by the tide. A few years ago when we found ourselves standing on the threshold of our dre...
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Thank God For Government Cheese

These are interesting times we are living in. I think a lot about the state of our country and what it may look like in five years, or hell, next month. I've talked a lot about my upbringing on my social media to raise awareness to people who may not have any idea at all what it was like to be raised in the projects by a single mom. When I talk with people about that my favorite phrase they say is , “Well, your mom was the kind of person those programs exist for.” If you say this to people, I want you to please do me a favor and stop. It's insulting.It insinuates that my mom was some how more valuable than everyone else in the neighborhood. My mom did however have more support from her parents and she was white, two things that made a big difference  in the outcome of our story.  I guess I'm glad I had the right kind of mom. I guess people would be totally okay letting me starve if my mom was a so called welfare queen. I hate to burst your bubble, but there were no welfare ...
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