Does Size Really Matter?


Get your mind out of the bedroom.  This isn’t about what you’re thinking.

It’s the second day of school and my youngest is already shooting off his mouth…


Two emails in one day.  Really?  Can’t we go a whole week without your mouth getting you in trouble?  Shocking.  I know.  A child of mine who has a mouth that could get him in trouble.  He is the fourth, after all.  His preschool teacher told me that she was worried about his delayed development.  He rarely uttered a word back then.  She advised that perhaps I should hold him back to give him another year to catch up.

Oh, how his verbal skills have dramatically improved!

You remember lining up by size.  Tallest to shortest.  I remember it well.  I was ALWAYS in the front.  But I’m a girl and it didn’t really bother me.  I was and am still short (for my age, anyhow…wink, wink).  Clearly, I’m not surprised that my son is tiny.  He barely weighs 60 pounds and that’s when he is dripping wet.  And 5 of those pounds is his hair.  He does have great hair.  He’s got that going for him.  So, as they line up tallest to shortest, guess who’s in the front.  Yep.  My little Robert.  He felt sure there was a girl shorter than him and made sure his feelings were known.  As the teacher puts him in the front, his indignant response (aka his mouth) got him in trouble.  Apparently, “that’s bullcrap” is not acceptable language to say to your teacher in 5th grade.  At least that’s what his teacher emailed me.  And on day two.    According to him, he said it to himself.   That would mean his teacher read his mind.

It’s going to be a long year.

I just don’t get it.  Why is it we even have to point this out?  Next time, let’s line them up by color?  Can you imagine the backlash that would get?

As the school days would progress, so would the comments about how short he is.  Middle school can be so challenging.  Kids are brutally honest.  I get that.  And, I’m okay with that.  Most of the time.   After being called a midget for the umpteenth time, I asked him how that made him feel.  His response, “Mom, that’s her problem.  Not mine.  I’m okay with who I am.”  Epic win, buddy!  Proud of you.

I always thought being short was different for a girl. I was worried about my youngest being the smallest.  Turns out, I didn’t need to be.

He is confident with who he is.  Sometimes, the best gift we can give our children is confidence.  Material gifts come and go.  But not self confidence.  I think about the 9 year old boy who killed himself last week in West Virginia because he couldn’t take the bullying anymore.  Yes, I said 9 years old.  Robert is 10 years old.  Let me repeat. Robert is barely a year older than the little boy in West Virginia.  He is constantly teased (or bullied or whatever you want to call it) about his height.  His strength and self confidence impress me.  I can’t imagine what that mother is feeling, especially with September being Suicide Awareness Month.

Middle school teasing and bullying and simply being mean probably won’t cease.  I can only hope his confidence will sustain him through these middle school years.  Wish it had for the little boy in West Virginia.

I suppose size does matter to some.  But not my little guy.



I’ve Reached The Bottom…

Of the bottle.

It’s 4am. I’m wide awake. Waiting for the Aleve to kick in. Just another day. Another downed bottle of wine. Another pack of cigarettes smoked. WTF am I doing? Where am I going with all this?

I know much of this blog is about surviving abuse and ultimately thriving because of it. But some days, I’m not thriving at all. I’m barely surviving. If it was all about just surviving sexual abuse, then I could take on that challenge. But it’s more. So much more. I’m a fighter but I’m beat down constantly. Abandonment of a father and constant rejection by him. And a mother who had zero feelings for my pain and told me to forgive her husband for sexually abusing me. Simply Jesus forgave him and so had she. Fine. Forgive him all you want but you could have kicked his ass to the curb. Making me feel like I was loved. Never mind, you may be alone. Clearly, your needs of a man to take you to dinner and make you feel important were far more important than my needs of a mother to protect me when I needed it most. A fucking trifecta of “Fuck you, Wanda.” The selfish needs of your parents are far more important than yours. Let this be your foundation for your life. “You are not important. Our needs come before yours. Period.”

I started this blog 3 days ago after I hit bottom. Again. How many times am I going to hit bottom? Luckily, I have a lot of friends. And a really good therapist. And several friends who are really good therapists.

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