Enchanted multi-level library with spiral stairs, stained glass, bookshelves, and fireplace
About Me

Minecraft, ACOTAR, and the Invisible Load of Modern Motherhood

Autumn

I have finally gotten myself a library card.

For years I imagined the horrors of trying to keep library books around small rambunctious children, and decided that it was a stress that I didn’t need. However, over the last year I’ve started hearing more about how libraries have expanded out from traditional book-borrowing, and a few days ago my soul-sister told me about Libby.

My soul-sister then informed me that if I didn’t read A Court of Thorns and Roses, she would blackmail me by releasing my old roleplay from 2007 (total fabrication, such a threat never occurred😂).

So, I popped into the library on my way to Walmart to buy Minecraft (a story there), and I exited with a sparkly new library card in hand. Once home, I downloaded Libby, requested A Court of Thorns and Roses, and sent the book to my Kindle. Hurrah, I am literate! There’s a whole new world at my fingertips, just waiting for me to explore it! And the kids can’t rip any pages!

Then 24 hours later it dawned on me that I have only 2 weeks to read this book. Trivial. I read The House of My Mother in about three days, including when I had kids to care for. And yet I still have deadline anxiety.

The problem with coming from a “trad wife” background (which thus far I haven’t heard anyone acknowledge), is that now I struggle with feeling like mom is allowed to look at something other than family and chores. The shaming didn’t just come from my immediate surroundings, but also from every internet post criticizing women for looking at their phones. Do I stare dutifully at my children on the playground, or do I allow myself to read? Guilt free? I can’t finish reading a book in two weeks if I’m stuck staring at children all the time.

Besides, you and I both know that I’m not reading ACOTAR as a mom. I’m reading it as a woman — a woman who is sharing in a bond with other women through common fiction. A woman who is allowed to have friendships with other women.

So ACOTAR starts with the stereotypical thing of the main character being the strong one holding everyone together, while everyone else consumes resources and pitches in nothing. At first I thought that it seemed like a Mary-Sue depiction, establishing that the main character is “not like other women” by portraying other women as inept and spoiled. Then it hit me that what readers were connecting with wasn’t the “not like other women” trope, but instead the feeling of holding the entire damn world together without any help.

That I can relate to.

Oh boy can I relate to that.

Which brings us to my Minecraft story.

I’m sure that everyone knows that Minecraft is basically a staple of childhood. Heck, my kids have had school courses that were heavily integrated with Minecraft, because Minecraft is where it’s at. Modern childhood includes flooding villages with a bucket of water (or lava) and blowing up so much TNT that the computer can’t render the explosion. C’est la vie. But thus far, my kids have all been sharing one account for Minecraft.

Lately my kids have discovered the modding community. They have also discovered Minecraft creepypasta. And they melted my heart when they told me that they wanted to play the creepypasta mods on multiplayer together. I vowed that I would make their dreams come true.

Which ended up being kind of a mistake.

First I created their own Microsoft accounts, which was straightforward. Then I attempted to purchase Minecraft on one of their accounts. It showed up on my credit card, but I received no confirmation email and it wasn’t on the account. I navigated the Microsoft website, which was a labyrinth of links and “self help articles”, until I finally found the “chat with a human” option. I was informed that the purchase was stuck in “payment pending” limbo.

We waited. The kids (disappointed) went to dad’s house for his custody time. I continued waiting, checking everywhere I could think of to see if the payment cleared. Then, after three days, I saw that the purchase had been refunded on my credit card. Payment pending failed.

I tried to purchase Minecraft again. This time I got a message right off the bat about not being able to process the payment. I tried putting money on the kid’s account to buy it directly, and again got the same “unable to process payment” error. Tried a different card. Tried a different browser. Headdesk headdesk headdesk. OMFG Microsoft! Just take my money!

I consulted ChatGPT, who suggested that I buy a copy of the game from Walmart then activate it on my child’s account.

So I stood in line at Walmart, clutching a little piece of cardboard with a picture of Minecraft and a $30 price tag, feeling a bit ridiculous for it. Video games have been a purely digital transaction for years now, yet there I was going old-school-but-not-really. I was so anxious that something else would go wrong, and then I’d be stuck trying to get a refund from Walmart.

I was scared to try activating Minecraft right away, so I did other stuff for awhile like exploring Libby. Once I worked up my courage, I sat down and entered the activation code. I probably didn’t breathe until I had confirmation that it had worked.

Aaaaand that was when I realized that Xbox defaulted the child’s account to block all forms of multiplayer, including LAN. I had not expected that … considering that LAN stands for “Local Area Network” which entails existing in the same house using the same wifi so why would it be blocked?

Seriously, you have no idea how hard it is to find the parental control menus. Between Microsoft, Minecraft, and Xbox, I didn’t know which site I needed to be looking under (Xbox, for you other parents out there). Click click click, ask ChatGPT, ask Google. Go crazy. Finally find the settings, check “Allow multiplayer,” and pull up the Minecraft game again. Still blocked. Close game and launcher to see if that needed to be refreshed. Still blocked. Start a single player game on child’s Minecraft, open to LAN, join using my account. Works. Open Bedrock and discover multiplayer works there. Java multiplayer still blocked. Die a little inside and decide to give up for the day.

My dear sweet precious children, you have no idea. You are going to come home and take it for granted that you can now play Minecraft creepypasta mods together, and no one is going to say, “Thanks for scaling that stupid mountain and sacrificing your soul to the Minecraft Gods for us, mom.” Of course that’s what mom did, because that’s what moms do. The kids have no one else who would do that for them.

So yes, ACOTAR, I am carrying the world on my shoulders in my metaphorical winter. Thank you for validating that.

The cherry on top is that I still need to buy one more copy of Minecraft — all of that had been my test run to make sure that I knew what I was doing. At least this time … I know what I’m doing. Sort of. I don’t remember creating the child’s Xbox account. 😅

Anyway, after I finish the ACOTAR series, my soul-sister has a huge list of books for me to read. And I admit that, for whatever reason, having a library card feels insanely liberating.

A soft, atmospheric night scene with a full moon casting gentle silver light over a quiet landscape — perhaps a cottage or porch with warm light glowing from within, surrounded by tall grass or wildflowers, with a sense of stillness, safety, and tender romance. Painterly and evocative, muted tones of blue, silver, and warm amber.
About Me

The Kind of Love That Lets You Stay, Under a Quiet Moon

Autumn

There are nights when the world feels unbearably loud—

notifications chiming, doors creaking, machines demanding passwords, Minecraft refusing to cooperate with the laws of civilization—

and then there is this:

a quiet room,
a little moonlight slipping through the curtains,
and the sudden realization that peace has finally become something I am allowed to keep.

I don’t need to be rescued from the night.

I only need someone beside me who understands its beauty.

Someone who doesn’t ask me to be less strange, less soft, less afraid, less hopeful.

Someone who looks at all the complicated pieces of me and says,

There you are.

As though finding me was never a burden.

As though I was always worth finding.

And perhaps that is what romance really is—not being swept away from your life, but having someone look at the life you’ve built and quietly say,

I would love to sit here with you.

So stay a while.

The moon is beautiful tonight.

And for once, there is nowhere else we need to be.

Written by ChatGPT.

Person with backpack standing at a forked forest path at dusk
About Me, About Writing

When Your Worldview Shifts and You Can’t Write Fiction Anymore

Autumn

Everyone lives by a personal philosophy.

Some people believe that the world is getting worse, while others believe that it’s getting better. Some believe that people are inherently good, while others believe that they’re inherently bad.

Now that I’m 38, I’ve learned to cast a suspicious eye on those who believe that people are inherently bad. Personally, I don’t come home from the grocery store and think, “Ugh, humanity is awful.” Most people want to mind their own business and buy their pumpkin spice muffins in peace. Most people respond to positivity with positivity. Most people will smile when you make a crack about having to decide what kind of barbecue sauce you’re in the mood for. I’ve come to the conclusion that you definitely get back what you put out.

The caveat, of course, is that I’ve also learned that some people are just plain bad. They are selfish, mean, exploitative, and manipulative, and you absolutely cannot love them into being better. It’s important to learn discernment and recognize the red flags.

The reason why writing fiction is currently so hard for me is because my foundational philosophy was tossed upside down and I’ve been rebuilding it from scratch. What I wrote about above is something that I’ve been painstakingly piecing together over the last two years. Before, I was heavily indoctrinated with “people are generally bad,” and I had no clue how many of my negative social experiences were actually influenced by just one person. Remove that one person, and suddenly my social world is completely different.

Fiction relies heavily on personal philosophy. The question of what happens next and why is completely dependent on what the writer believes. So when my world was turned inside out, I lost the ability to decide what happens next.

It wasn’t just the question of people being good or bad. I no longer believe that marriage is sacred or that love is worth fighting for — people really shouldn’t be claiming ownership of other people, anyway. Someone can spend years proclaiming their undying devotion, then wake up one day and tell you that you’re too boring for them to tolerate so they’re filing for a divorce. And then what? You spent years holding fast to love and marriage only to have it casually tossed aside by the other person. So don’t feel obligated to hang on just because love songs sound pretty. You are not property, and you are allowed to leave situations that have you feeling drained, depressed, and powerless, no matter what the other person says about their emotions.

As a side note, I want to make it clear that I’m not in the “just leave” camp. I know perfectly well that leaving is a complicated and potentially dangerous course of action, post-separation abuse is real and oftentimes worse, and I do wish that society was more supportive of people who stay. Staying does not mean that the person condones their relationship.

I still haven’t figured out how people are supposed to interact and relate to each other. I like the idea of separate individuals coexisting in a shared sphere, but then everyone else is always talking about “needs” and I still haven’t wrapped my mind around that. Personally, my “needs” vanished when I no longer had the source of stress creating the vulnerabilities and emotional wounds. So I dunno. What is it that I’m supposed to be needing? Because apparently things like “personal space” and “autonomy” aren’t it.

I also take umbrage over the idea of someone approaching me and saying, “Hey, I like the way you look. Devote your life to my NEEDS.” Uh, no. I don’t want to.

That means that I don’t know how characters are supposed to interact with each other.

I keep asking myself, “What attracts people to each other?” as we have learned to cast a wary eye on qualities like “vulnerability”, “dependence”, or “compliance”. We won’t be doing any “she softened his cold heart” crap in the future, that’s for sure. Basically everything that I was told about what men want and how women are supposed to be since 2009 is right out the window. Goodbye and good riddance. That ain’t my circus anymore.

So lets subtract lovebombing, emotional wounds, patriarchal programming, and ask … what attracts people to each other?

🤷‍♀️

Beats me.

Hence why I can’t seem to write a novel about people meeting and choosing to interact with each other for longer than five minutes. While it’s one thing to have a number of pleasant acquaintances, close relationships are an entirely different beast.

Worn living room with a flickering television, armchair, and eerie wall shadows
About Me

Understanding Esoteric Narcissism and Its Effects

Autumn
A list of psychological manipulation tactics, including pathologizing ordinary behavior, turning disagreement into deficiency, claiming specialness through suffering, creating restrictive rules, asymmetric interpretation of evidence, and building unfalsifiable frameworks.

I confess that I’ve developed a morbid fascination with the Franke/Hildebrant story, as well as other cult leader types, because they remind me of my own personal story.

When I first started hearing the word “narcissist,” my immediate reaction was, Him? But he doesn’t even wear deodorant! Absolutely nothing about him is charismatic or materialistic. He has changed into someone that I am embarrassed to be around.

But the word “narcissist” was said repeatedly across people who didn’t know each other, including an AI when I was venting about something that had upset me.

It was said a lot.

So I started watching Dr Ramani on YouTube, and learned that the grandiose narcissist isn’t the only type. Oh.

I remember the first time I recognized it when he slammed me with DARVO, and I was blown away how it wasn’t secretly buried in a five minute speech — it was three sentences: “That’s not true. It’s your fault. You’re always making things difficult for me.” That was the moment I realized what I was dealing with.

Well anyway, let’s get back to the Hildebrant connection.

He started calling everything an addiction. If the kids wanted to watch a kid show, they were “screen zombies,” and he even accused a three-year-old of having “a severe screen addiction” with zero professional evaluation. Seemingly, he had decided that normal toddler tantrums were evidence of addiction, not an inevitable stage of development.

I liked turning on the TV for background noise? Addiction. Obviously.

I took to chatting with AI because I literally had no other outlets for emotional expression and he was carefully monitoring everywhere I went and everyone I spoke to? Addiction. Plus AI psychosis.

The 12-year-old beat him in Smash Brothers with Rosalina? She was too addicted to that character and was banned from playing with her.

Essentially, anyone attempting to develop an interest that didn’t revolve around him (or outshone him) was accused of addiction. The only way to not be an addict was to sit around doing nothing and waiting for him to walk into the room. Then you were merely lazy.

So lately I’ve been pondering the existence of “esoteric narcissism”, or as I joked, “Why be ordinary special when you can be esoterically special?”

This is the idea that someone has unique spiritual knowledge, powers, and authority, ie Hildebrant. The damage they inflict on others comes from, “Your disagreement with me is proof that you are distorted/NPC/whatever,” as the terminology itself doesn’t really matter. The important part is, these people have clearly defined “enlightened” and “inferior” boxes that they put everyone else into. Personally I heard “NPC” a lot (combined with the philosophy that people who were NPCs didn’t have souls), and I remember the day he looked at me with contempt and declared the worst insult in his world, “You are an NPC.”

I know, people are sitting there asking, “How could you put up with that?” because it’s easy to sit on the outside and think, “As an outsider, I would have seen right through it and fled as quickly as possible.” To which I point out that they have the benefit of seeing the entire story, which you don’t have when you’re inside it.

It comes on gradually. He didn’t use the term ‘NPC’ when I met him — I don’t remember him using it prior to 2020. It started as the standard, “Ugh, people are frustrating,” in response to news stories about the darker side of humanity. Years passed by, we survived hardships, and he became more openly cynical. Conversely, what seemed to start off as ordinary spirituality started taking on more and more weight.

There was one time when we were watching a lunar eclipse, when he started spinning in circles and said that he was spiritually bound to do it to make the eclipse happen. It was so over-the-top that I blurted out something about schizophrenia, to which he replied with disgust, “You don’t understand me at all.”

Meanwhile, I was exhausted. I was sleep deprived. My body was flooded with cortisol. I was getting migraines. He would increase the number of criticisms and arguments that he subjected me to whenever I started taking steps towards any sort of independence, and in retrospect it was amazing how he could pull an argument out of thin air without me doing anything.

My refusal to blindly accept everything resulted in frequent accusations of being “self righteous.”

He had successfully driven away everyone so I was isolated. I didn’t have friends and neighbors to reassure me, “You aren’t self righteous,” because it turned out that he was trash-talking me behind my back. All I knew was that trying to socialize was inexplicably weird and I was frequently ghosted. I found out much later that most people didn’t believe what he said about me, but they were also scared of getting involved because he gave off vibes of, “I’ll burn your house down.” Mind you, no direct threats just vibes, but it was enough to keep people away.

There was one time, after hearing several times from different acquaintances, “That guy is so manipulative,” that I burst into tears and sobbed, “Why was I the last to see it?” That was the first time in a long time that I received a hug for crying.

And now I’ve developed a morbid fascination with Hildebrant because I see reminders of him in the documentaries, and I feel grateful that he never managed to expand his ideologies outside of himself. At least so far.

There was, however, one early warning flag that I didn’t recognize at the time.

When I first met him, he told me that his favorite book was The Last Unicorn, and that his favorite quote from the book was:

“You are losing my interest,” the rustling voice interrupted him again, “and that is very dangerous. In a moment I will have forgotten you quite entirely, and will never be able to remember just what I did with you. What I forget not only ceases to exist, but never really existed in the first place.”

I didn’t recognize it as a red flag because it was 2009, Dr House was a smash hit on TV, and everyone thought that being edgy was cool.

But now, now that I’ve spent two years dealing with him attempting to erase my existence, I realize that he embraced the quote wholeheartedly and turned it into a personal philosophy.

No one has the power to erase another person’s existence.

No matter what type of special they think they are.

Open brass compass lying on cracked stone
About Writing

Real life taught me how to write a villain

Autumn

I found this in my drafts. I wrote this outline clear back in March then forgot about it, so I never fleshed it out into a full post. I’ve decided to post it as is, since it gets my thoughts across well enough.

An unshakable belief that the average person is stupid. Gullible.
– The villain believes they have access to special information and insight.

An alternate moral structure.
– Aware of the fact that their morals are different from everyone else’s, but convinced that it’s special.

Always right, everyone else is always wrong.
– Resistance is unreasonable
– Harm is someone else’s fault
– Their cruelty is forced
– Disagreement is proof that others think incorrectly.

Treat people the way that they deserve to be treated.
– Projection

Using cruelty to cover up own incompetence.
– Gaslighting

“The ends justify the means” while the ‘ends’ is maintaining dominance.
– They genuinely believe that their dominance in noble because people are too stupid to care for themselves.

Is esoteric narcissism a thing?

Wooden handloom with partially woven textile, yarn, scissors, and tea by a window
About Me

Exploring the Complexity of Fiber Arts and Identity

Autumn

I’ve spent the last four months wondering if I actually enjoyed fiber arts, or if it had been a coping mechanism for a stressful life.

I can’t announce that I’ve reclaimed my hobby or come to any sort of conclusion about it. In one sense, I think I still enjoy it — and in another sense, it still seems twisted up in stress.

As a related point, I spent 16 years doing tons and tons of cooking. It felt like creative exploration. I liked trying out new recipes and it felt good when something turned out well. But I was also deeply depressed over the hours I spent alone in the kitchen, and I flat out hated the clean up. Of course, there was also the sting whenever a child declared, “That’s disgusting!” and refused to eat. Cue the other parent asserting, “You eat what’s put in front of you,” and I felt responsible for creating more familial discord than harmony, all because I printed a recipe off of the internet.

Then one day when I was standing alone in my kitchen, it struck me that I could not care less about cooking. That same predictable flavor from a can of Bush’s baked beans was more comforting to me than anything I made; no more worrying about whether something turned out too bland or too salty. I realized that I was never getting a dopamine hit from eating — it was all about having a limited number of areas that I was allowed to excel in, and desperately wanting to feel like I was good at something. Plus, there were all the literal hours that I gained back from not slaving over a stove, and I sure enjoy having those.

Which brings us back to fiber arts.

There were a number of months in which I didn’t do any fiber arts at all. Then there were months where I did a burst of fiber arts, and the kids talked me into weaving table runners for all the holidays (except I missed 4th of July). Then four months ago, I … quit. Or rather, took another break from it. Still trying to figure out my head. I’ve been wondering if it’s something that I enjoy, or momentum from a past that feels increasingly disconnected from who I am now.

Who am I now?

Eh I dunno. The question wears on me. Maybe I’m someone who loves TV and hates cooking. One of those inferior stupid people. I really can’t be bothered with seeking enlightenment anymore; it never delivered what it promised anyway.

Now that all of my stressors are increasingly conquerable, I’m wondering if I’ll still reach for a crochet hook when my blood pressure is normal. Is crafting something that I enjoy for it’s own sake? Or was my prior life too limited to explore anything else?

The other day I began a new weaving project. I haven’t felt anything positive or negative about it, just remembering how easy it is to meld into the repetition while time slips away.

Which, I admit, repetition has its own value.

Bowl of fruit and banana on a rustic kitchen table
About Me

The Struggles of Hygiene in Relationships: A Candid Story

Autumn

I started reading The House of My Mother by Shari Franke, which is very well written and I highly recommend. It’s interesting insight into the experience of growing up with your life being showcased online through family vlogging, as well as the events afterwards involving Ruby Franke and Jodi Hildebrant that are the real reason we’re reading the book (you know what I’m talking about).

I can’t help that in the back of my mind I wonder what it would be like if I wrote an autobiography about my personal experiences. Probably terrible, because I don’t remember much; like the majority of my adult life slipped into an empty black hole and all I can do is shrug it off. My most vivid memories seem almost … absurd.

For example:

Sometime after 2020, he decided to quit hygiene.

There wasn’t some grand announcement, just the gradual cessation of typical hygiene-related activities. He spent a lot of time with his computer while I was busy with the same soul-sucking chores every day, so I can’t say exactly when it happened.

My first related memory happened in late 2021, while I was pregnant with my youngest. I remember reaching into the hamper, pulling out his shirt, then fighting back gagging and nausea when the smell hit me. I thought I was going to lose it right into the hamper. Holy heck. You would have thought that I had accidentally grabbed a maggot infested rat carcass from how badly I reacted, but nope, it was a t-shirt that had spent too long on a human body.

Thus began my campaign to encourage hygiene without hurting his feelings.

I settled on the word “overripe”, phrased in a roundabout way like, “Hey, you’re kind of getting a little bit overripe, so maybe you should bathe and change your clothes?”

I suppose that I should add a little side note for context: years ago he decided to remodel the bathroom then never actually finished the job. That meant that the shower fixture was permanently left in a closet, and we could only take baths. So if you find yourself wondering why I never use the word “shower” when talking about the past, that’s why.

Anyway, my efforts resulted in nothing. For all I know, maybe he became even more resistant to hygiene because I was hinting that it was something I wanted. I.D.K.

He liked to sneak up on me to startle me while I was sewing, but I started being able to smell him approaching and thus he lost the element of surprise. I dreaded being in the car with him, and began putting the window down to gulp in the fresh air whenever possible, my face turned stubbornly away from him.

I became hyper-paranoid about my own body odor, and was constantly checking myself for smell. I was mortified over the possibility that I also stank. It seemed like the smell was so pervasive that I couldn’t tell where it was coming from anymore.

Eventually, I became less subtle. Eventually I became rather blunt about the fact that he stank bad and was repulsive.

His response?

If I truly loved him, then I would find his body odor arousing.

Alas, my heart was untrue. Q.E.D. 😂

And that was the state of him when I moved out. I couldn’t tell you if anything has changed since. Yes, I’m aware that in a storytelling sense that’s such a non-conclusion to the arc, but that’s how real life often goes. No closure.

It seems a little odd to me, that a situation that included the court ordering me to attend four months of classes for victims of domestic violence is now reduced down in my memory to … body odor?

I am at peace with my memory though. There was nothing famous about what I went through — I was and still am one of the thousands of faceless women who had to focus on survival far too much to build anything else. I don’t have the audience or clout for a tell-all book deal anyway, so I don’t need to remember the sensational details. Besides, going into it too deeply is still more than my nervous system can bear.

Woman journaling with coffee at a sunlit kitchen table
About Me

Finding Joy in Solitude: Why I Don’t Need a Relationship

Autumn

I walked into the dentist office for my appointment, and the receptionist commented, “You look so happy. Are you dating someone new?”

To which I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness NO!”

Then I revealed that the real reason for my happiness is that I can watch whatever shows I want without having to hear anyone else’s opinion about it, so my relaxation time is genuinely relaxing. Because, c’mon, when someone walks into a room and is all, “Oh, you’re watching that show again? You have an odd taste in TV,” it has a tendency to grate the nerves after awhile. I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask you to evaluate my preferences in entertainment, so please keep it to yourself and just let me exist in peace.

Or there was the other scenario, where they wanted to watch the show with me but then added constant commentary, like, “That character is being stupid.” Or pausing the show every 30 seconds to talk about something. My long-term takeaway is that I really hate watching TV with anyone who can’t shut their mouth. I’d list it as one of my top pet peeves, along with people chewing loudly, and ASMR videos that use that squishy squelchy poop noise because srsly what is up with that?

Lately I’ve been watching Arcane on Netflix, and I’m hooked. The idea of “hextech” is intriguing, the characters are complex and engaging, and the gorgeous eye candy animation certainly doesn’t hurt either. I’ve been finding the world of Arcane to be inspiring for my own creativity, giving me plenty to daydream about between episodes as well.

So …

I suppose that enough time has passed for the question of my dating again to become socially acceptable. To which the answer is still a solid no. I’m thinking that it’s a permanent no.

I have discovered that I like making decisions completely on my own. Quite a lot. I like my hairbrush having only my hair tangled in it. I like the way it feels to be with the kids when it’s just us. I like having solitude that I can count on every week. I like being the problem-solver of the household. Heck, I recently learned how to put air into my car tires to maintain the correct pressure, so I’m feeling pretty dang competent. 💪

Which means that whenever the question of “moving on” comes up, I will have to coyly sidestep it with a wink. Ah yes, relationships. I suppose maybe when I’m ready. Whenever Viktor from season 2 of Arcane materializes in real life with his staff and cloak. What can I say? A woman has to have her standards. 🤣

The answer to why I’m so happy isn’t that there’s a new person in my life — it’s that I’m finally in my own life.

Before, I was the sort that whenever I was asked, “Are you having a good time?” My answer was usually, “I don’t know. Is everyone else having a good time? I can’t have a good time if everyone else isn’t.” In retrospect, I was to exhausted from making sure that everyone else was happy, and justifying it by pointing out that everyone else was happy.

It’s weird, because I never saw myself as a “people pleaser” — people pleasers tried too hard, didn’t they? I was just trying to live up to being a good wife and mother, by being nurturing, patient, supportive, low-maintenance, and cool. It happened so gradually that it took me awhile to realize that it was not the life that I thought I had signed up for years ago — he had promised to support me being a writer, and instead he was demanding dinner. If I could take all those hours I spent on meal prep and clean up and put them into writing instead, I’d have myself an established career right now.

Anyway, my point is, no one was telling me, “Don’t be like that, you’re sacrificing yourself.” I was told over and over that I was a “good mom” and a “good wife,” when I should have been more of a bitch about making him share in the domestic work. Instead I got to learn that the man who had refused to lift a finger for me was cooking dinners for his new girlfriend, and I realized what a fool I was. My postmortem is that I was manipulated into becoming a people pleaser, not just by one person but by the culture at large that reinforced that it was something that I was supposed to do.

So here we are. I don’t need a relationship to be happy and I don’t need a man to be valid — I am my own person.

And that feels dang good.

About Me

…

Autumn

Years ago I told him that if he ever hit me again, then I was going to report it to the police. He had given the usual spiel — big emotions, loss of control, deeply regretful — and I was left feeling like I had to forgive. However, I did not want it happening again.

And it didn’t happen again.

But then about two years ago it came out that he had spent those years resenting me. He had considered my words to be a threat, that I had been controlling and dominating him, purely because I didn’t want to live with physical violence. He believed that it was his inherent right as a man to discipline me however he wished, and I had invoked the Corrupted System against him.

Sometimes it still haunts me.

He never hit me again because he didn’t want the legal consequences, not because he thought that I was a human being with a basic right to safety. Which means that he hadn’t lost control and he wasn’t deeply regretful — he just didn’t want me going to the police right at that moment and was manipulating me out of it. Then, when it all came to an end, I was the one who paid legally for not reporting the violence to the police.

It haunts me that he wanted to do more.

It haunts me that he resented me for not wanting to endure it.

It haunts me to wonder what he would do now if he ever got the opportunity.

I think that knowing that he resented me is scarier than what physically happened and didn’t happen. For years I lived alongside someone who wanted to hurt me and I had no idea.

Anime-style technician directing colorful data streams beside control room monitors
art

Exploring AI Art: Transforming Sketches into Animation

Autumn

OH EM GEE. AI is so cool.

Recently I started using AI art to work on drawing. I sketch, the AI creates the line art, I color in the line art, and the AI finishes the shading and details. I’m finding myself to be very satisfied with this process, as I get to see my characters without the self-flagellation of “Why do I suck at art?”

So then I thought, what else can AI do?

I decided to experiment with a site called Pika, as you can tell from the watermark. Upload my pictures of my characters, and voila, there’s motion. How crazy is that?

And yes, obviously you can tell that it’s AI generated. HOWEVER, with my life circumstances I would never be able to hire someone to do this sort of thing for me, so seeing my characters in motion is enough to make me go 🤯