If you’d like to keep in touch, you can find me here – JesseBlayne.com.
I hope to see you there.
If you’d like to keep in touch, you can find me here – JesseBlayne.com.
I hope to see you there.
You don’t need to tell your kids. If you tell them now, and it takes a while, they’ll sound a lot like, “Mom? Is it today? Is it happening today? When? Mom, when is the change gonna happen?” You don’t need that kind of pressure.
Depending on the relationship you have with your BFF, you may want to wait to tell her. But … if you can’t tell her right away, she’s not the BFF you think she is.
I have no idea how to predict how a guy responds to anything, so whether you tell him, or not, is up to you.
I do know, though, that if you’re dealing with a narcissist, it’s better not to tell him or her at all. Make the change. See if they notice. If they bring up the change, then be prepared to discuss, or more accurately, listen. Continue reading →
Have you ever stood outside a narcissist’s man cave yelling at him that it’s time he helped with the laundry and took a turn at entertaining the kids, only to be told that that is woman’s work?
Have you stood in front of a narcissist, hands on your hips, telling him that you will no longer be ignored and that it’s time that your dreams were made a priority, too, only to hear him say, “But if you focus on my dreams, we’ll both be happy.”
Have you written the letter that says, “I’m done! I will not live like this anymore! For my sake, and for the good of this family, things have to change around this place,” and he responds with, “Geez, settle down. Did you forget to eat breakfast again?”
Has screaming, yelling and demanding attention ever worked with a narcissist? Continue reading →
Three days into this new year and I’m still wincing. I’m apprehensive, unsteady, exhausted and excited – all at the same time. The holidays took over kicking my butt, where 2016 left off. I spent so much time talking about being glad 2016 was over, that I’m nervous about that energy following me into 2017. You know what they say, “Whatever you talk about, you attract.”
I read a “motivational” post the other day that pointed out that all that complaining about 2016 is misdirected. The writer went on to say that we ought to be reevaluating the choices made in 2016 that led to the messes, and make damn sure to point ourselves in a new direction.
That hurt a bit when I read that. So all that was my fault? Really? Don’t tell me to pull up my big girl pants. I hate that expression. As a single mom, I’ve been the one wearing the pants since day one.
The other night we were watching David Blaine on Netflix. I’m not into magic, but I was humoring Will. It was good, except my overthinking brain churns on trying to figure out the tricks. In one segment, Blaine approached a fellow and said, “Pick a card.” A Jack of Clubs popped into my head. Before I could say, “You guys, it’s a Jack of Clubs,” the fellow on the TV said, “Jack of Clubs.” I told the kids and they were less than surprised, because that stuff happens all the time around here.
We can’t turn on the car radio without one of them saying, “I woke up with that song on my mind, and there it is. They never play that one.” Or, “Hey, I was just thinking about so-and-so and they left a message on my voicemail.”
(Doesn’t mean I don’t love you if I don’t pick up when you call. INFJ, remember?)
Or Jen says, “Hey, we should go to Cafe Rio tonight,” and Will blurts out, “I was just gonna say that!” We do spend a lot of time together, but that doesn’t explain all of these incidences. We’re not reading each other’s minds just because we are always together. Besides, the older Will gets, the less I’m able to read his mind.
Intuition is a big deal to all three of us. It drives our passions. Intuition tells Will where the fishing will be better. Intuition guides Jen as she creates figures out of sculpey. As an INFJ, I’m hard-pressed to think of anything that can’t be enhanced, improved or avoided if I’ve been paying attention to my intuition. Continue reading →
Let’s be real. The only reason you’d read this if you aren’t an INFJ is because you are my mom or my aunt. We know that narcissists wouldn’t read this series, so we’ll rule them out.
If anyone other than an INFJ stumbled upon this series, they’d be saying, “What were you thinking? Why did you put up with that? Why didn’t you leave sooner? Hell! Why did you marry him to begin with? Maybe you are the one with the problems. YOU are the one with the issues. Why would you lose yourself in a relationship like that?”
To the INFJs reading this, I don’t need to explain. You know why I stayed as long as I did.
You, dear INFJ, are here to find some sort of compassion or understanding or an explanation. You want to know that you aren’t the only person (please stop calling yourself a fool) who would put up with so much bullshit. You want to believe that there are people out there who care about relationships as deeply as you do. Continue reading →
Six years ago, when on a road trip, we had stopped for treats and Will took a good 15 minutes to decide between types of beef jerky. (How different can they be?) Jen and I would have used the restroom, gotten our drinks and goodies, and stood by the car watching the sun setting while he was still trying to make a choice.
I remember thinking I’ve got to help that kid learn how to choose without worrying about making a mistake. He’d grown accustomed to having his choices doubted and questioned. He’d pick a blue t-shirt and his dad would say, “Why did you pick that color. You should pick green.” He would order a coke, and his dad would say, “No! You are having lemonade.”
Will had a history of making “bad” choices, as far as his dad was concerned, so any time he was faced with making a decision, he was paralyzed. Even if his dad wasn’t there.
Now, when Will drives up to a convenience store, he’s in and out faster than I am. And when it comes to making the big choices, like his first rifle or a pair of skis, he does his homework. He looks at reviews online. He asks for the opinions of others. He’ll search out a clerk at the store and pummel him with questions. When he feels confident with his choice – and he does – he proceeds.
It’s a beautiful thing to see. Continue reading →
I recently pinned a photo of a darling little girl with a quote: “I am thankful for all those difficult people in my life, they have shown me exactly who I do not want to be.” I can’t quit thinking about it. On the one hand, it doesn’t feel good to label someone a “difficult” person. Heck, I’m a difficult person, or so I’ve been told, and being called difficult does not feel good. On the other hand, I struggle with trying to figure out why I click with some and can not click with others, and calling them difficult gets me off the hook. (Why do I waste so much energy worrying about not clicking with someone? –> Lizard brain.)
None of us clicks with everyone, and that’s a blessing. How much time would any of us have if we didn’t naturally filter out some people in order to have more energy to focus on others?
But I liked the pin, and I really liked her dimples. After seeing the message, I realized that I spend too much time trying to figure out why I don’t get on with some. Are they a mirror to me? Are they reflecting back to me the stuff I need to be working on? Are they in my life to teach me some new lesson? Could it be that I am the teacher? Gawd! For their sake, I hope I’m not their teacher.
What does it mean that I don’t click with this person?
The pin told me, “You don’t need to dwell on it. You don’t need to figure it out. You don’t have to understand why you don’t get along. It doesn’t have to mean that there is something wrong with you, or with them. The pin is telling you, ‘Don’t go there. Don’t be that. That isn’t meant for you.'” Continue reading →
She was sitting in the window and I thought, “See that? That looks like one of those photos on Pinterest.” You’ve seen them. They’re all over the internet. Those pics seem to promise a serene life with steaming cups of tea, stacks of good books, four uninterrupted hours of alone time, and a guarantee of enlightenment through stolen moments of self care.
At least that’s what I think they promise.
I assume the people who take those kinds of pictures have all the time in the world to scout around and look for the perfect photo opportunities. They don’t have to waste precious minutes picking up after their messes.
The Quintessential Pinterest Pinner doesn’t have to file a change of address form for the second time in a year, or sift through her storage unit looking for ice skates or home school supplies or a box of embroidery floss. Continue reading →
I’ve consumed the Arnica Montana. I rub on the Biofreeze. I do the yoga, the stretching, the lifting of weights and the ibuprofen. Fifteen minutes ago, I wrestled the tennis ball away from the cat and stood against a wall with the ball centered on the hard lump of accumulated stress. I pushed against that tennis ball with enough pressure to bring tears to my eyes. I released and pushed again.
Some of these remedies offer temporary relief. Most of them just keep me busy with applying and sweating and complaining.
The stresses of the last 14 months set up camp in a muscle on the right side of my spine, just below my shoulder blades.
When I am walking, the pain leaves. I don’t know where the pain goes, but that is the only time that I am without pain, so I walk. Continue reading →
A book doesn’t care if you fold the laundry “correctly.” A book doesn’t care what time you put dinner on the table. As far as a book is concerned, you never have to sweep the floor.
A book doesn’t expect anything from you. It doesn’t get mad at you if you have other projects to tend to. A book contentedly waits for you to find a moment to return to it. You can give it 100% of your attention, or let it set there, by the bed, for weeks, before opening it up again. Either way, you aren’t in trouble.
A book doesn’t get jealous of your friends or your family or your successes or the other books you’ve read. A book doesn’t continually remind you of your failings, unless it’s one of those preachy self-help books, but it’d be healthier to stay away from those books anyway.
A book never gives you the stink-eye, or the silent treatment.
A book doesn’t mind if you eat while reading it. It doesn’t care if you dog-ear its corners, or smear a skosh of peanut butter on one of its pages, although the thought of that makes me cringe. Continue reading →
Cabin fever kicked our butts this year. The gloominess arrived in November, when Thanksgiving turkey and football were replaced by fever, chills, and, well…. I’ll spare you the details.
There were a few bright spots to break up the grey skies, but mostly we hunkered in and crossed days off the calendar until the snow melted and the first blades of grass braved the winds.
Yesterday was the first rain-less day in a week. For six days, we stared at the water rushing down the street as our part of the world accumulated 25 percent of its annual rainfall in less than a week. Some days, the rainwater was peppered with pink blossoms from the surrounding trees. Mother Nature was trying to tell us that even when she rains on our parade, she still provides the confetti.
The soul-crushing dreariness is finally coming to an end, and it’s time for gentle reminders and a list of what’s good and simple.
On the other side of the bar, Hank turned and said, “What? Did you just say ‘high maintenance?'” Hank leaned over the bar, “Uh oh…”
John looked frustrated. “Yeah. I did.” He lifted his pint for a drink. “The last one was the typical kind of high maintenance. She liked stuff. All kinds of stuff. If we got in an argument, I’d buy her earrings. If I wanted to golf for a second weekend in a row, I’d pay for her to get one of those manicures. As long as I bought her stuff, or wined and dined her, we were fine.”
Hank laughed, “And, this new one? Is she high maintenance?”
John shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I can’t figure her out. It’s a whole different kind of high maintenance. She doesn’t want stuff. She doesn’t go for manicures. She doesn’t have 130 pairs of shoes.” Continue reading →
I just walked over to the dining room table intending to write “chicken” on my grocery list. I wrote in block letters and put a box around the word, but when I put down the pen, I realized I’d written the word “convictions.”
Have you heard the one about the husband sitting at the dinner table? He intends to say, “Please pass the salt,” but instead he blurts out, “You’ve ruined my life.”
Those messages rise to the surface for a reason. Continue reading →
This isn’t a plug for my book. (It should be obvious to you, by now, that I suck at self-promotion.) This post comes from an observation that I’m not as evolved as Seeing My Path indicated. I ended that book by saying that I acknowledged myself, that I truly saw myself, and that I liked what I saw.
That wasn’t enough.
It’s not possible to make that declaration and simply move on, just as it’s not possible to plant Early Girl tomatoes, say a few nurturing words, and ignore them until the shiny red globes scream to be picked. Without regular attention, those fruits will be cracked and split and assaulted by aphids.
I can’t say to myself, “Yep, you’ve been through the ringer, but you came out swinging and I like you for that!” and assume my job is done. Continue reading →