Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Love is the most motivating factor in everyones life, isn't it?

I've decided to interview all the women in my family-- in part because i want to open up conversations i don't often have. About emotions. I want to learn about my family, about how others see and use and work with their emotions, what things I've learned or picked up from those around me.

I intend to record them for myself, and maybe I'll share them with others, too. Maybe I'll share them on this blog or maybe I'll make another thing, or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll love doing this and will keep interviewing people in my life- or maybe I'll get bored and won't even finish the initial goal of women in my family (which, for the record, is a lot of people...). Who knows.

I'm asking about Love, Grief, Anger, and Joy.

As seems obvious, I started with my mama.

We talked for about forty minutes and here are some segments i randomly strung together... about five minutes. Listen here!

There are so many ways I see myself in my mama-- some of the answers here feel like i could have said them, or i would have said them at certain points in my life, or maybe i will say them later. I'm curious if and how this will change our relationship, and what others around me will have to say about Love, Grief, Anger, and Joy.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

rose colored glasses

I just pulled out tomato plants from my garden. It's mid November. It was sunny and I worked with only the sun warming my back. I've waited to pull them out-- keep thinking, well, they could ripen still. It's oddly warm and I'd be so sad to pull a plant if there was still life in it. I decided I'd pull all of them today, and let things ripped off the vine, make fried green tomatoes, and let this amazing fall day sink in while I kiss my summer garden goodnight.

but then, there were tomatoes that were almost ripe. really trying to be red (or yellow, or orange, or purple...). And there were flowers. The plants were still flowering. I did pull most of them, but I left three plants. What's the harm in that?

It served as a reminder, that even in times of resting, dying, changing... there is still growth and hope. This is almost certainly my last tomato pull from the Midden garden. The last time I'll call it mine, I'll bring in tomatoes to share, to cook with in our kitchen. To share with my housemates.

I'm moving out. The exact timeline is yet to be set, but I'm house searching. Finding a place to call my own, for the long haul. A kitchen that I clean, and I messy. A living room where I can dance naked or read a book. Where I can open my home to friends or loved ones in need, without a process or discussion to get a stamp of approval. I home where I will  know who has been invited in, who is roaming around while I try to sleep, who is standing in my living room when I come home from an exhausting day at work, at the hospital, or from therapy. A home that is mine. 

 I've had the intention of shouting about how great this place is, how much i've loved it and it's loved me. About how it provided me stability and warmth during years where I didn't know I needed that if I was ever going to grow. A place that has taught me about others, about living in a city, about ways care does and does not happen, about myself. Recently, i've had an itch to get out and get out fast. Some things, some relationships, have changed and I've felt hurt. Pushed. Gross. Uncomfortable. That's still true, I still feel those things. But I also feel reflective of the good, of the magical, of the loving. Today, I'm wearing rose colored glasses.

      In this home, I've shared my life with others, and they've shared theirs. I've shared money, food, kitchen space, responsibility, roofs, and bills. I've let go of control (and I've been a stickler to keep control). I've met fascinating people traveling through. I've seen extreme closeness and care (and extreme lack of care). I've learned to grow food for others and how to do it reasonably well. I've hosted birthday parties for friends, been part of craft, movie, and game nights. I've made huge pots of food and scrubbed toilets to get ready for potlucks. I've had friends over for quite dinners and super porch coffee in the sun.  I've been moved to tears by musical friends sharing their talent, and I've been forced into a ball of anxiety by it, too. I've learned how to fix things and how to maintain them. I've gone away, and I've come home. I've felt hot tears of despair and uncontrollable gitty excitement. I've had time to grow and learn, to do yoga in the sun, to let shit burn, to accept the patience and love of those around me, to give more then i knew i could give. I've retreated with folks to gather our strength, and I've retreated from them to gain my own. I've been part of political projects, been challenged to dig deeper into my moral compass, and learned lessons from those around me. I've given a peaceful bed to friends from afar and warmly accepted gifts of gratitude. I've gotten creative as I work to create a comfortable and functional home-- making things cute, making sure folks know where to find the rosemary in the garden, what the heck to do with lovage, and how to flush the toilet. I made a quilt and sewed more curtains than I can count (though, actually,  probably could. It's not that many...). I've been inspired by the ways folks live their lives and in shock and awe of it, too.

 In so so many ways, I think I'm ready. But, there will be things I miss, things I regret doing or not doing anymore. I'll miss having long conversations about how folks are over coffee every sunday, I'll miss being able to cook food for others when I can't imagine eating (but want to make food), hearing of the challenges and successes, having more folks to share the burdens of homeownership with, knowing my health is being supported in a financial way by folks around me, seeing the creative process of 'art,' workshops, political projects, and life unroll before my eyes, having an easy ability to leave for long stretches- knowing I'd come home to a secure place (though, perhaps a bit dirtier then i left it).

I can't imagine not caring about this place, this house, this community.
I can imagine caring about if as a cheerleader, off to the side, impacted less directly then the players on the field, but more so than those in the stands. I'm cheering for this place, but I'm also not willing to play the game anymore.

goodnight, midden.

Friday, May 22, 2015

me, me, me, me, me

Enjoying the moment.

When I started this blog, I titled it that because I realized I want that. I want to be able to enjoy the current moment. To let go of what lead up to it and to release the worry about what might come next. More then a reality for me, it's been a goal. A goal that's been really hard to achieve.

In the past year, I've turned a little inward. Ok, maybe a lot inward. I've been doing lots of 'me' work, really focusing on who I am and how I can be my best self. Some days, my head spins with how focused on me i am... i talk about my life as the Molly Shea Show. I even have a theme song (if it's not obvious, it's a way i've come to taking myself with less weight. shit's not easy right now, but i'm also growing into being able to take myself a little less seriously... at least some times). While much of my life has been internally focused, I've also been learning and pushing myself to share with others, to reach out for support, and acknowledge I need that. I've turned to books, friends, therapists (oh so much therapy!), yoga, groups, reflection, listening to music (anyone whos been around me knows Jessica Lea Mayfield and First Aid Kit have been on literal repeat all year. Give those ladies a go, they are magical), and walks. I've thrown books across my room when I decided I didn't want to read it anymore and I've cried while doing dishes at work.
 I've had what felt like weeks where sleeping for more than 3 hours at a time just wasn't possible and days where twelve hours of being in bed felt too short. I've drank ridiculous amounts of coffee and started eating out with friends more often. I've been lucky enough to have an amazing friend teach me to quilt (look at it! are you looking!? I made that!), and have come to refer to my sewing machine as my favorite therapist (sorry to all my 'real' therapists, but ya'll got nothing on that beauty). I have goals about how often i want to do yoga, go for walks off the sidewalk, and see friends. I keep a series of jars by my bed to help me take a moment for gratitude and help seal up thoughts that are keeping me up all night. I have a fucking app on my phone to encourage meditation.

I've delved head first into therapyland, and for the first time am taking on 'self-care' as something real and worth doing. As part of that process, I've also started up a new wave of meaningful work in my life. Or maybe, feeling a need to do that work made me realize I needed to do some of that 'me' work. For the first time in my life, I've picked up work where I have a (direct) dog in the fight. That's by no means to diminish the work i've done and ways i've contributed to other realms of social justice, or to say the fight for environmental justice isn't connected to me. It is, but now, the work I'm doing is much more personal. More direct. Much, much harder (for me).

I've started teaching self-defense with a righteous organization, IMPACT safety. I'm still learning, but have already learned a lot. Working with teenage girls is where it's at for me, it's what I want to do most. All people deserve to be able to protect themselves, but it's that age group that lights a fire in my belly and makes my heart break into tiny little slivers. Working with folks with developmental disabilities has also been a striking reminder of why i stopped working at a day center for adults with development disabilities- the ways that folks who need support, love, and care the most are also the most susceptible to abuse. The ways the world we live in is not ok, where manipulation, power, and control allow for sexual assault to be commonplace. Where one and three girls and one and seven boys are abused before they are 18.

As I delved into IMPACT, I got trained up by the amazing humans of SARNCO (sexual assault response network of central ohio). In the middle of their 40 hour training- about trauma, about PTSD, about societal norms, about oppression, about empathy, about care, about the medical system, about abuse, about support services- i realized i felt deeply called to volunteer with them. Every day, 24 hours a day, there is a human ready to talk to you, to a survivor, to a co-survivor (someone, like a mother, friend, or partner, who is impacted by the abuse of someone they love), to anyone who needs help with sexual assault. Also everyday, 24 hours a day, there is someone ready to show up at a hospital and advocate for a survivor- let them know what the heck is happening, listen to them, watch their children, give them resources. That's about 1,440 hours a month that people are volunteering to support survivors in central ohio, through SARNCO alone (let alone the many other ways people give support). While it is heartwarming to know so many folks do that work and they do it so well, it's also a heartbreaking reminder that work like that is needed, because abuse is so common.

I can't say what will happen next. If i'll keep doing this work, if i'll find something new, if i'll ever make another quilt, if meditation will ever make sense to me. It pains my heart deeply, actually, to not know what tomorrow will feel like. But, some days, I'm able to sit with where i am. Let today sink in, and on rare occasion, even enjoy it.

Sunday, July 27, 2014


Sometime last month, or maybe even 2 months ago, I was walking out of a therapy session (more on that-- maybe. but maybe not) and for some reason happened to look at my tire on my front driver side. It was wicked bald and on the inside the wires were starting to pop out. Same thing on my other front tire. With a drive up to Detroit the next day, I wasn't sure they'd last another 24 hours. Literally. My therapy mind quickly jumped to problem solving-- and before too long I was driving up Cleveland Ave looking for a used tire place.

I found one, but it wasn't the one I was looking for. I doubt it would have popped up on google. It was small, dirty-- and open. They had the tires I needed and the price was the same as the bigger googleable shop further down the road. As one of the fellas switched my tires out, I sat watching a world cup match on the oddly nice television-- inside the terribly build addition to the garage- that was now the office. Next to me on the chairs that were once white, three women chatted in a language I didn't understand. They were wearing clothing I couldn't imagine wanting to wear. A young woman (a teenage perhaps) wandered in and out of the door in the office-- seeming both confident and a bit on edge. The shotty addition, the dirty chairs, and the unfamiliar women were honestly part of what made me glad to stop by. The place wasn't comfortable to me- but I appreciated it. 

My tires were replaced, I paid in cash (another thing I liked), and I drove on back home. 

Just the other day, when I finally decided to pay attention to my car, I headed back to that same tire shop to replace the back tire- that somehow had an oddly flat spot on it that thumped every time it rotated. I was glad to see the shop was once again open, but with a little less hustle and bustle. It seemed quiet. As I pulled in, the same mechanic who replaced my tires last time remembered that back tire (which he told me at the time needed replaced). Once again, I waited on the dirty chairs, this time watching the ever disturbing news by myself.

As he came in, I got up to walk out and pay him. But he stopped and sat on the desk in the corner.

Wait a minute...

(pause) mhm?

You Married? 


You married?

ha- no.

You have a boyfriend?

i've got a partner... do you have a boyfriend?


I'm looking for you.


You. I'm looking for you. 

Oh. uhm, no?

Through his thick accent, I actually couldn't understand him that well. He said something more-- maybe two or three things more... as i lowered my gaze to the ground and slightly shook my head no and backed out of the office. Once I was in the parking lot, I was able to catch myself. I asked how much I owed him, and handed him cash. I felt relieved my keys were in my hand.

I don't know what he was saying- but the answer was no. no. I've never really been afraid of strangers. I know-- deep inside my body as well as from statistics- that men I know are much much more likely to assault me then a stranger. But everything inside of me screamed no, yelled at me to get out. Oddly (or maybe not so oddly...) I could barely shake my head no and back out of the room. It's like I couldn't physically do it. 

It took me... a while... to shake the feeling. To let it go, let it leave and for me to.. rebalance. That's also unusual-- that sorta shit rolls off my back (again with the strangers...) within short moments. But it felt hot and full in it's suffocation. That place where feelings sometimes come from-- some folks call it intuition-- was confident i needed to escape. 

Today, several days later- I still have an intense feeling from that interaction. I still don't really understand it. I wonder what role racism played in my reaction, and in what ways i felt more afraid because he wasn't white and because enlglish wasn't his first language. because he was 'other'.

Unfortunately, I suspect racism did tint that-- and created something where those feeling felt... so... big.