Posts Tagged ‘super hero’

Stood Up

July 17, 2016

But not angry about it.

In fact.

I was rather relieved.

I sort of expected the guy to stand me up.

And since.

I had spent the previous half hour slowly sobbing into a puddle at Tart to Tart with my person and doing some inventory.

I was indeed relieved.

I was a hot mess.

Fact is, I still am.

Which happens, I forget, despite my exhortations to the universe to have a magical and amazing Saturday.

Instead it was just tender and raw, or it wasn’t, I was, I am.

I just have to change some stuff and I don’t feel comfortable with it.


Fuck everything and run.


Face everything and recover.

I got some big prideful pants on right now and they are not serving me at all.

I have been having some issues with work, not being able to set a boundary, hoping that instead it will magically happen.

That somehow my employer will read my mind and know that I need a break.


Nobody’s a fucking mind reader and people are too busy thinking about themselves, hey, look at me, I’m thinking about myself right now, and nobody knows what I need, except.





I’m not getting the kind of break I need at work.

And I feel appalled to admit it, that I’m not some fucking super hero who can do it all.

I can’t.

I’ve been trying.

I know that I am owed a break and I don’t know how to ask for it or to express that I need a break from the whole family, not just the kids.

It’s something I keep going back to and feeling this horrid shame that I need something from my job other than the paycheck.

That to do my job well I have to get more of a break.

That being in the house with any kind of responsibility to it is not a break, it doesn’t matter that I have done it in the past, rolled along, taken my break when the kid is sleeping and sometimes the nap is long and it is lovely and sometimes the nap is short and hey, as a nanny I just roll with it.

But the family I work for, work’s from home and I feel like I have to be on at all times, that I am always being observed and it’s fucking exhausting.

And I keep saying.

Everything is fine, fine, fine.


It’s not.

See, I know my job’s hard, and the people I work with, not my employers, but the people I do do the deal with, know it’s hard, a lot of friends and my school cohort know it’s a hard job. But the parents, they don’t see it that way.

Or maybe they do, I mean, I can’t read their mind either.

I just know that being in an environment in which the parents are always there is like being constantly supervised and scrutinized and I’m just not in a good spot with it at the moment.

I didn’t get out at all from the house this past week, except once to the farmer’s market with they boys, I didn’t go for a walk, I didn’t get to take them to the playground, I didn’t have respite or the relief that I find when I am out of the house and not under the eye of the parents or the monitors and camera’s.

I also know, acutely, that so much of this is also of my own making, that I need to speak up.

I have once.

It was really hard and the parents had a hard time hearing what I said and I got what I asked for, but it went away, slow and sure, and now I’m back at that point where I wonder if it’s just not time to go back to working with babies again.  Or have the conversation once again, I need a break, that I’m not getting enough structure to allow myself the flexibility to the job as well as I could be.

“There are so many jobs out there,” she said to me today, “so many.”

I have to do some more writing.

She suggested I write out exactly what I want and then just say it, regardless of consequence.

Fear says, oh conflict, oh confrontation, oh shit, you’ll lose your job and wind up being abandoned and alone and homeless in the park with a cat.

Fuck off.

I am so sick of that fear and I am so tired of doing this same fucking work.



I have to change.

My employers don’t have to change.

I have to change.

I also have to lay off the beating myself up about it.

It doesn’t help.

I hate feeling tender and vulnerable and asking for what I need leads to those feelings.

I suspect because I had a lot of denial around my needs during times when I needed to have things met.

The basic things, shelter, food, clothes, love, nurturing, unconditional support.

I got what I got and it was good enough.

I am good enough and I don’t have to look to my job to be my joy or my identity.

I also get to practice in this relationship whatever it is that God needs me to be working on.

There is stuff here.


I’m in the job until I learn what I need to learn.

I am in the job until I fail to be of service to it.

Ironic that I can’t be of good service if I’m not taking care of myself, so the uncomfortable task of self-searching and being open for something new, whether it’s a new attitude and approach to this job or it’s looking for a job that will fit my needs better.

I need to know what my needs are.

I can surmise that the discomfort of not asking for a break is rapidly becoming harder to bear than the discomfort of not taking said break.

I am not a super hero.

I can’t be a super nanny.

I don’t want to burn out and I can’t be the best nanny if I’m nursing resentments.

All of them pretty much aimed at myself.

I’m a sitting duck.

I’m tired of shooting at myself.

I give up God.

Got some guidance?

I’ll take it.

Thanks man, I’m tired of learning this lesson.

I surrender.


In some circles is considered going over to the winning side.

I rather like the way that sounds.

The winning side is where it’s at.



I Still Need Help

July 13, 2014

I think I am all self-contained again.

That I have it all figured out, I can go there, get this, do that.

Not so fast, hotshot.

It took me all day long to get to Noe Valley, it seems, and I just did not go that far.

I really didn’t.

I took the N-Judah to 7th and Irving and met a lady for coffee for an hour and tooled around after, like to go across the street and have lunch at Crepevine, and then over to the Haight to run into Mendel’s to get stickers.

I like me some stickers.

I had some fancy ideas about making something crafty too while I was window shopping in Mendel’s, but I could already feel the energy lagging and just the walk back to the train, which I wouldn’t have thought about before, seemed a grueling thing.

I almost took the bus to the train.

I checked my NextBus app and the bus to the train would have been 23 minutes.

I figured I could actually walk the few blocks back to Cole Valley to catch the N-Judah before that happened.

And I did.

But I started to really limp.

That was it.

A few hours out, a few tiny errands run, and you’re done kid.

I caught up on the phone with dear friend of mine and admitted that I had made plans to ride my bike to work this upcoming week, but I decided, right then and there, to take it easy and still use MUNI for another week.

I don’t want to take the bus or the train.

I want to be on my bike.

But I don’t want to re-injure the ankle.

Which is not even healed enough for me to say that it would be a re-injury if I hurt it again.  I have to let it heal.  I have to go slower.

I have to keep taking the humility pill and continue asking for help.

Help carrying my groceries.

Help getting a ride home from Noe Valley tonight.

There was no way I was going to take MUNI back.

I thought if I was unable to secure a ride, I would bite the bullet and call Uber or flag a cab.

Fortunate for me I ran into a friend who I knew I could get a lift back with and asked and of course the answer was yes, sweet dear friends, how I can’t wait to have my own vehicle (that is not a kick starter) to give other people rides to and fro.

Until then.

I get to accept that I am allowing others to get esteem from helping me.

I love helping people and I can forget that its nice to let other help me too.

Give people the same enjoyable experience that I have when I am of service.

It’s all about love and service.

And maybe short bike rides.

Not long ones where I am compelled to commute back and forth to work.

“Why don’t you just go for a little ride around the block,” my friend suggested on the phone.


Start small.

Not just jump straight into doing my ten-mile round trip commuter bicycle ride after just having returned to work.  That might be a good idea. I even have the perfect ride–to and from Noriega Produce.

The market is five flat blocks away from my house on a straight shot.

No hills.

No turns.

Short and sweet.

I can put on my sensible Saucony shoes (in my not so sensible pink and lime green) and wrap my ankle in the Ace bandage and pedal slow and see how it feels.

It feels bad or weird or wonky, I will stop and turn around and walk the bike back.

I may not even take it out tomorrow.

I may opt instead to just walk up to Other Avenues and do my shopping there.  Although it’s more expensive, it’s more convenient, and I have made the walk to and from the market without too much trouble.

Then maybe I will walk down to the beach in the afternoon.

I haven’t been for a stroll on the beach in over a month.

I miss the ocean.

I can still hear it from my studio, in fact, I am tempted to turn down the jazz on my stereo, Coleman Hawkins, and open it up to the soothing smash of the ocean in the dark of the night.

Which if it weren’t foggy would be showing off the super moon tonight, but I don’t believe I will be able to catch a glimpse of it out here this evening.  The pull of it on the waves may increase the sound of the surf though and I will be opening up the back door tonight after I finish the blog to let the sound sink into my bones.

Speaking of sink into, time for the old bag of peas to do its magic.

I just realized that I could use the ice down.

Who knows if it is still helpful to the healing process, but I have to say, it does feel good and as long as I am stationary and the ankle is elevated and I’m writing, why not do something that feels good.

It can’t hurt.

I found myself getting frustrated a few time today when I could not go as fast as I wanted and had to laugh, there is no need to go Speedy Gonzalez anywhere.  I don’t have to adhere to this manic pace that I have gotten so used to.

I am allowed down time.

I am allowed days off.

I am allowed rest.

It facilitates a better way of life, I know it does.

So, I must continue to be vigilant, to be humble, and to graciously and warmly accept the help that comes and when I can realize that by receiving I am giving and vice versa.

I have always longed for intimate relationships in my life, what better way to foster them then to let others see me as a vulnerable human being.

Not a super hero.

I can’t find my cape anyhow, I have it hidden behind my gold crutches in my closet.

I can stay there as far as I am concerned.

I am just a mortal.

Flawed, imperfect, and perfect in that realization.

Thank god for this beautiful body  I have been given to hobble about in.


It could be so much worse.

My life is blessed.

It is.

Flaws and all, it’s pretty damn scrumptious.

I’m not interested in trading it in for a better model, the one I have is doing just fine.

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