Tag: Autobiographical

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07. Ode to my Mentors

“To mentor is to touch a life forever.” – Unknown

The Plymouth-Canton school district was a great place for education, as long as you fit their mold. As previously mentioned, I struggled in school but the school never helped me. I didn’t qualify for any assistance with special services because while I did have a type of dyslexia and a processing disorder, my test scores were “too good”. My grades weren’t consistent with needing help. The actual words that the school social worker (or whoever it was that did the testing) said were, “Your IQ level is too high. It may be hard for you but you’ve learned a way to overcompensate and make it work.” … uh… cool.

Thankfully I had some incredible teachers and assistant principal on my side. I wasn’t always lucky, though! No, in second grade my teacher was a straight up witch but with a capital B! She was so hard on me but claimed it was because she liked me and knew my potential. Seven/eight years old is such an impressionable age that her hateful words stuck with me. I had the stress and anxiety of trying to be perfect because of what my brother told me, added to being talked down upon by my teacher, that it’s no wonder I struggled to believe in myself. It’s no wonder I am a perfectionist. It’s no wonder I never feel good enough or even see my accomplishments as something to be proud of. It’s no wonder that I stressed over every grade that I had to learn to “overcompensate”. Damn those years were tough!

It’s funny how over time things get buried so deep that you forget what caused you to be the way you are. All I know is that I cried when my son went to second grade because I knew he wasn’t going to have a negative experience like me. Although jokes on me, it was that year Covid-19 took over, but that’s for later. My son’s second grade teacher is one of the most exceptional humans that I have ever been lucky to know! The only other person I could compare her to would be my 8th grade English teacher who literally changed my life. [Laura Doran, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all that you do to help shape our younger generations into compassionate and successful humans!!! – Hugs! – ]

Since I’ve already briefly mentioned 3 horrible teachers, I’ll leave it at that. They’re not worthy of more mention. However there have been a few noteworthy instructors and I could list them all out, but I really only want to honor three in particular: Jerome Sullivan, Shelby Holcomb and Amy Trombley.

Mr. Sullivan was my middle school vice principal. He was strict and everyone hated him, except Jack and I. Thinking about it, some of my favorite teachers could be considered mean and less favorable to most. Interesting… anyway, Mister Sullivan believed in me. He saw my potential while also believing my struggles. As did my middle school chorus teacher, Mrs. Holcomb and my 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Trombley. [Huh, I just realized they’re all from middle school, one of the worst seasons in my life.] Mr. Sullivan volunteered his time after school once a week to help me with homework. He read to me. That may not seem like much but it meant everything. He proved he cared by his actions and he didn’t stop there. Once I was in high school he insisted on helping us fight for a 504 plan that would allow me assistance. He attended all of our meetings with my counselor and other administration and vouched for me as my former vice principal. Between his help and my mom fighting like hell, I was finally able to get the assistance I diservered! That same year he took a temp VP job at another one of the three high schools and had lunch duty at mine. Every so often if he noticed me not eating he’d give me a dollar for fries and wouldn’t let me pay him back. People can say what they will but Jerry Sullivan is good people and I’m still so appreciative of him!

When Mrs. Holcomb took you under her wing, you were her student for the long haul. She had my back and really looked out for me. We kept in touch and the last time I saw her was my “high school” graduation party. When she passed her classroom aid made sure I knew so that I could pay my respects to the family and say my goodbyes. She was special to me to begin with but what I learned that day proved how special she was to everyone else, as well.

My last shoutout really deserves her own entry because a few sentences won’t do her justice. Though, I have written so many papers about her over the years that I think she’ll understand. ::wink:: Mrs. Trombley changed my life. Her help and belief in me unblocked something and I’ve never looked back. She was more than a teacher, mentor and friend – she became “Mom #2”. We were so close that some believed I was her adopted daughter. Much like my son’s teacher, Amy gives her heart to everything she does. She has a way of empowering her students to see themselves the way she does. She sees only the good, the potential and never lets you question your abilities. Having struggled in English my entire life I never would have expected to go from a C average in Language Arts to an A, and at times the best of my class! It’s embarrassing to admit but I’ll own it – it wasn’t until she introduced me to ☆🛊 (Stargirl) by Jerry Spinelli that I successfully finished reading my first chapter book. Stargirl will always hold a very dear spot in both of our hearts and the message behind the book needs to be taught to every child, making the world a better place as a result!

To this day she is still a huge part of my life and I credit her for a lot of my accomplishments. After what I went through to get there, she made sure she was in attendance at my college commencements ceremony; the only time I walked across a stage wearing a cap and gown. And has been there for all of life’s biggest moments. I cry thinking about how much love I have for this woman and the impact she has made in my life. 

Others may think I’m crazy but my biggest accomplishment in which I am truly proud of myself, didn’t happen until I was 31. I set a reading goal to read 10 books that year, knowing damn well I likely wasn’t going to achieve it. I have friends trying for 75-100+ books a year and my goal was 10. But you know what? I crushed that goal by 220%!! Not only did I read 10 books in the first 12 WEEKS of the year, I ended the year with 22 (my favorite number) by reading my new favorite book. I will forever be proud of that accomplishment more than anything else. And to think, if it wasn’t for Mrs. Trombley introducing me to Stargirl all those years ago, I may never have learned that I love reading. So what if it did take me until my 30’s, I got there and no one will rain on my parade!

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06. High School/Diagnosis

“I don’t want my pain and struggle to make me a victim. I want my battle to make me someone else’s hero.” — Unknown

Bring on high school! Starting my freshman year we had three, yes 3, high schools on one campus (4 buildings in all) and we had classes in all three schools. You were assigned a “home” school in which your locker would be, where you’d play sports for and graduate from. If you were fortunate enough to have time to use your locker, seeing your counselor could have been the only time you’d even enter your “home” school. I went to Salem but one semester I didn’t have a single class there! It’s nuts. They call it an Educational Park, but in reality it’s a small college campus for teenagers. In retrospect it’s smart because certain elective courses are only offered in certain schools, so they don’t need multiple teachers teaching the same thing throughout the district. But having only 10 minutes to get from one corner of one school to the farthest corner of another, makes for an exhausting day going back and forth between classes! There is no [break]… it would wear anyone down, but especially someone already battling extreme fatigue.

By mid-semester I had become full blown lethargic and negative mono test after negative mono test left nearly everyone calling me lazy and depressed to the 90th degree. With the help of a note from my orthopedic surgeon I was able to get out of running in gym class, but unfortunately my absences and doctor’s notes didn’t help me for swimming and I failed half the semester. Such a confidence boost, let me tell ya!

By the end of freshman year I was starting to do better and tried out for the Cheer Team: GO ROCKS! After having to give up dance, cheerleading became my love. I was so powerful and strong that I quickly became main base. I was determined to succeed and my team nickname was: “Miss Powerhouse.” Unfortunately, being a base leaves you open to getting kicked in the head by your flyer, resulting in a sprained neck. 

That sprain changed everything!    –

The trauma my body experienced triggered a response within my autonomic nervous system that would influence the rest of my life.  Remember the pneumonia I had when I was six and all the fevers with extreme growing pains? That goes with this, as do the mysterious stretch marks and migraines… I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, an autosomal dominant genetic condition that affects my connective tissue supporting my skin, bones, blood vessels and many other organs. If it wasn’t for that sprained neck and what followed, who knows how old I would have been when I found out. Secondary to EDS, I have Dysautonomia – an umbrella term used to describe the dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system. The autonomic nervous system is what controls everything your body does without your thinking, ie: breathing, heart rate, blood pressure, digestion, ect. 

There is no way to say with 100% certainty, however it is believed that the pneumonia triggered me to develop a mild form of Dysautonomia, hence the inability to regulate my temperature. Then with puberty, the migraines and extreme fatigue. However, it wasn’t until after spraining my neck did things go downhill fast. I started passing out and blacking out left and right. I developed tachycardia and palpitations with plummeting blood pressure. Fatigue to the point I can only describe as sleep comas. Dangerously low blood sugar and drastic weight fluctuations; we’re talking losing 25lbs in 2 weeks and gaining 50lbs back 2 weeks later! I was getting winded just talking let alone walking. I was in literal Hell!

Doctor after doctor, test after test – I was left without answers, suffering, because you know… “depression”. Not only was my health suffering but so was my social life. I had to quit the Cheer team letting everyone down just weeks before regionals. My pediatrician; the only doctor on my side doing everything she could, very bluntly told me that I must step back if I wanted to survive to regionals. I had no answers from “specialists” and she was genuinely scared for me…

Now, I’m sure you can imagine how that betrayal to my team ended. All of my so-called [friends] were now shunning me. Instead of worrying for my well being, in true stereotypical high school cheerleading fashion, the squad was more important than anything and I was now an outsider. However, the good thing about going to school with SO many kids (6,000+), is that while there were cliques and groups of friends, there were entirely way too many for the standard “cliques” and I wasn’t left completely alone. None of my best friends were on the team and my boyfriend was a star basketball player for a rival team/school.

As time went on I only got sicker and lost my friends because they didn’t understand. They were in HS, a time for fun – not to be tied back with a sick friend. My boyfriend’s family felt my health was too serious of an issue; they didn’t want me holding him back and we eventually broke up. I missed so much school it’s a wonder my mom wasn’t served papers! By mid-junior year I was homebound and school consisted of independent work and a weekly visit from the district’s homebound teacher. But you see, the problem with homebound schooling is that I was only allowed one credit a semester instead of the traditional three. So not only did I have to deal with being sick with a mysterious illness, loss of my friends and boyfriend, having a teacher stage an in class intervention accusing me of an eating disorder (when I lost all that weight so quickly) and another teacher literally talking bad about me (belittling and making fun of the situation to the class in my absence), I had to do school from home only to not be able to graduate on time even though I had a 3.6 G.P.A. 

In May of that year I ended up going to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. Mayo is a nonprofit American academic medical center focused on integrated health care, education, and research. It is one of the leading diagnostic hospitals in the world and I spent over a week there on my first visit. 

Random fun facts: My great uncle, Dr. Arnold Kadish, used to work at Mayo and it’s rumored that he dated, possibly was even engaged at one point, to one of the founder’s daughters. Arnold also invented the first diabetic insulin pump in 1963!

While at Mayo they put you through the ringer with test after test, more in depth than ever before. It was there that I was finally diagnosed with the previously mentioned Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and Dysautonomia. During my first visit I didn’t qualify for an official diagnosis for P.O.T.S. – Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome but I was treated as though I did. In order to get an [official] diagnosis my heart rate needed to jump 30 bpm upon standing and mine only went 28. Medical logistics are ridiculous sometimes but I was officially diagnosed 20 months later at my second visit. Prior to Mayo, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroid disease at 15, Fibromialgia (which Mayo ruled out and changed the diagnosis to EDS), Sports Asthma (which was also ruled out, turns out that because of the EDS causing blood pooling, I get pooling in my lungs which makes it difficult to breathe.), and any psychological issues in question were found to be completely normal given all of the stress I had been under!!!

FINALLY some answers and validation. Some…

I ended up [dropping out] senior year. And by dropping out I mean I was essentially kicked out. I even tried summer school to catch up but they made it impossible. So, I made the gut wrenching decision to get my GED, but in order to do so before my class had graduated I needed someone from the HS to sign off. It was impossible to get an appointment with the principal and everyone else we tired meeting with said they weren’t authorized to do so. We ended up going straight to the principal’s office where of course his secretary told us he was unavailable. Shortly after she said that he started to walk out of his office and we asked if we could speak to him. He told us he was on his way to a meeting and to schedule something with his secretary. Of course. My friend Jessie was with us and while she may be tiny, she sure is mighty! She used her sass, politely – but direct – and convinced him to give us three minutes, just enough time to sign off on my early GED slip.

Here’s the kicker, he had zero idea who I was or what I had been dealing with. All of these school administration meetings over the past four years, not once was he filled in. WTF?!! He could not believe the way his staff had treated me and handled my case. He ended up having his secretary cancel his meeting so that he could get more detailed information from us. Without any hesitation he signed my slip and even made sure that my official record didn’t say that I was a “drop out”. Instead, he wrote that I was [transfering] and that I was continuing my education at the local community college where I was getting my GED. He apologized on behalf of his staff and wanted to assure that I still had some dignity. 

Having to get my GED sucked, but I kicked that test’s ASS and all of my scores were in the 90th+ percentiles! What made the situation suck a little less is that I technically started college early. Silver lining?

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05. Middle School

“If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.” – Fred Devito


Middle school… bloody hell it sucked. Who’s idea was it to throw together a bunch of new students who never met one another, during the most awkward years of adolescence?  Don’t get me wrong, I fully agree that the age range needs to be seperated from elementary and high school – but damn. [Un]luckily for me, I got to experience the wonderful awkwardness twice as our school district did boundary changes after my first year.

[Thanks] to starting puberty so young, by 6th grade my breasts were a full 32C. At the expense of sounding narcissistic, with breasts like that and my looks… It’s no surprise I quickly found myself amongst the popular crowd. However, after the boundary change tables quickly turned. Of the five middle schools in the district, just one housed not only the neuro-typical students, but also the “talented and gifted” aka honors students, as well as all of the special needs/ nonneuro-typical (neurodivergent); mine. When the boundaries were redistricted only a quarter of the original students remained at my middle school. Being that it was home to the TAG program and the special education department, it doesn’t take a math wiz to figure out that of the 25% of students that remained – only a sliver were the original Average Joes. That being said, the new 75% of students all came from the same school and most of them had been together ever since elementary. Their pre-formed “cliques” took over. Initially I got along with everyone, of course that only lasted until I started dating a guy that one of the new popular girls had her eyes on.

I am telling you, girls are caddy. We’re downright bitches. Overnight the name calling and bullying began. Aside from kissing, I was essentially a “prude” in comparison to the other girls. I was a flirt and kissed, well, anyone, but never took it farther than that until I was nearly 16 and in a committed, head over heels, deeply in love relationship. And yet, I was somehow the whore? Though I suppose it didn’t help that it had gotten out that I was on birth-control. Nevermind the major detail that it was medically necessary. No, to 13 year olds it was all about sex. Not only were my migraines getting worse, particularly during that time of the month, my periods were so erratic and horrific. I managed the best I could and held off hormonal intervention as long as possible. Then the ovarian cysts started. It only took one rupture to change mine and my parent’s minds. And to think, I thought that was the worst pain I’d ever endure. [I shake my head at naive, young Jena.]

Good ol’ B.C. Between the pill and anti-psychotic drugs for my migraines – I gained weight. I went from a 1/3 in 6th grade to a size 9/11 by the end of 8th. The crazy thing though is I wasn’t “fat”, I didn’t look my size! I didn’t weigh what you’d expect someone wearing a 9/11 to weigh. Not that I shared my size (because let’s be real, that’s just asking for it at that age) no one believed me when I told them. Even my doctors were baffled. I literally weigh more now and am a size 4/6 (27/28) at the same height. The only thing that was noticeable was my puffy face.  Sooo… we chalked it up to water retention and underactive thyroid.

We didn’t know the cause then, but I had what my mother referred to as “sausage” skin. It’d look like red veins spidering out everywhere, like raw sausage. And prior to the weight gain I developed stretch marks. Yes, PRIOR! I was a size zero when they first started to develop. They appeared in random places, too, like my ankles. The breasts I understand, but my shins and ankles? What?! Even weider, it wasn’t during a growth spurt. They literally started appearing overnight! I kid you not – I am a roadmap of faded stretch marks from my waist to my ankles. Hips, butt, thighs, calves, behind the knees – nothing has been spared. I even have a small rainbow on my lower back (just above my butt), rings around my belly button and upper arms. Yet, ironically I didn’t get a single new stretch mark during my pregnancies. I have slowly learned to accept my lines, though what I struggle with and probably always will is the loose baggy skin they caused. If it was just a “mom pouch” I’d eventually get over it (I mean I did finally wear a 2 piece bathing suit in public 3 years after my oldest was born)… but it’s not just the pouch, that’s actually the least of my issues. It’s my legs. Barf!

As I sit here writing, I think I just realized why my legs being as grotesque as they are, weighs so heavily on my self-image. My sausage skin and bright purple stretch marks were just another excuse to bully me. The harsh truth is that stretch marks are associated with heavier people, outside of pregnancy. So even though I developed them while still [thin] – the fact that I did gain some weight gave my new frenemies their best material. I think my favorite was being “moo”ed at. Very original. I feel as though I need to include a photo of myself during this time so you can see how pathetic kids can be. If they were mooing at me, my heart breaks for anyone dealing with weight issues and bullies! I wasn’t even ‘overweight’ and the psychological trauma of being made to believe I was, affects me still today.

I still don’t understand how I can go from being so “popular” to a social pariah in such a short time! I had plenty of friends who were older and at different schools, but at my own school, by 8th grade things had gotten so bad that I got permission and switched to 7th grade lunch to be with my best friend.

Yeah, adolescents are assholes…

With everything that was going on in my social life, which at 14 is essentially everything, it’s not a shock that I’d begin dealing with some depression. Unfortunately, over the next few years that is all doctors would see. They blamed all of my symptoms on either depression, psychological, ie: all in my head, or I was making it up. Aside from my pediatrician, who I absolutely loved and appreciated beyond words, I was not taken seriously. As a patient it sucks! You don’t understand how they can’t believe you. But at the same time, when someone hands you a sheet of notebook paper filled with symptoms spanning from every one of the body’s systems… I can see where it’s hard to take it seriously. Especially when doctors are told to think of horses when they hear hooves. Having any illness blows. Having an invisible illness is worse, add to that one that is rare, plus a few that aren’t as rare but rarely heard of… atrocious!

Anyway, 8th grade was a pivotal point in my life not only socially and academically, but as well as my health. I started getting hit with bouts of extreme fatigue. Before you go there, yes, I do know that it is a tell-tale sign of depression, and no, it didn’t help my case. The thing of it is, these bouts didn’t last long and were infrequent… until I had knee surgery.

My knees had always bothered me but they started to get increasingly worse at the speed of light. In the fall of my 8th grade year I had to make the difficult decision to stop dancing, something I once loved more than anything. By spring break, I had bi-lateral arthroscopic knee surgery to remove scarred synovial tissue (plica) as it was putting pressure on my bones and flattening my meniscus’. Surgery went off without a hitch, I didn’t need physical therapy and actually grew over an inch that following summer (it was previously stated I was done growing.) I was even told there was only a ONE percent chance I’d need the surgery again and that in the surgeon’s 30+ some years he’d only done repeat surgery for this 5 times. Outlook was promising. Until of course 2 years later when I fell into that one percent and needed repeat surgery.

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Husband Appreciation Post

Thank you for being the reason I smile.

Since I am new to this whole “blogging” thing and my posts are mostly in chronological order, I have to admit I was stumped with how to go about adding in new things. At first I just wrote and made a note [ —- I have no idea where this is going to fit, however I need to write so I’m writing.]  which seemed like the logical thing to do. However, if I just kept writing and posting in order then I’d never be caught up, unless I did a major post dump. Which I suppose is always possible; I mean the last published post was 04. and I already have up to 11. in my drafts. Buuuuutttt no!

So I am sitting here trying to figure out a way to differentiate between [the beginning] and what I want to write about, literally right now. Igor (OH! Perfect example for why I’m stumped!! You see, the last relationship I mentioned was Kevin, which we really haven’t even dove into yet. AND O.M.G. I just now realized that I haven’t even published his introductory post yet. Whoops. See the struggle?!?) Damn… <- And yes, I could have deleted all of that but then I wouldn’t be sticking to my truth. So moving on.

It was my husband’s (^ Igor) idea to simply not number current posts. Uhmm… so simple yet BRiLLiaNT!! And of course [obviously] I can and will categorize them as current vs. the beginning but I am giving Igor the win here! It is the “Husband Appreciation” post after all! Though, it wasn’t the brilliant idea that sparked this post. Oh no, Igor deserves every damn praise I can give him right now! 

You see, our 10th Wedding Anniversary was last August and the ONLY thing I wanted was an ‘anniversary cake’ made the same way as our wedding cake.

That didn’t happen.

… nor did I receive anything else …

Okay, this is absolutely an appreciation post for him and I certainly don’t want to speak (type?) ill of him but again, my truth. Igor isn’t a gift giver, which would be easier to handle if my love language wasn’t [receiving gifts.] – >Yup<  – It has definitely caused some issues as I am sure you can imagine, however, we are at an incredible place in our marriage and our communication has never been more open and honest as it is right now!! He’s working on it and I’ve called in reinforcements (my oh so magnificent Young One/cousin/best friend who was helping me to edit these posts {initially}). When your love language is receiving gifts you know how to give a damn good gift! ::Brushes Shoulders Off:: And by gift it doesn’t even need to be something bought, just simply something showing that you’re thinking of me. A note, a flower from the garden, a drawn heart on the bathroom mirror with a dry erase marker, a planned date, anything. It’s about showing that you’re thinking of me and -wanting- to do something to fill my bucket. It’s the added effort behind it vs. just getting the latest thing off my Amazon wish list, you know? Sara’s love language is also receiving gifts so being one of my best friends and not just my cousin, she sure knows me and can offer up some superb ideas!

Now back to why an appreciation post was a MUST!! 

While I may not have gotten my cake for our anniversary, it needs to be noted that the baker who made our wedding cake retired from her business and neither of us were aware of it. After feeling my true disappointment about our anniversary, Igor was able to get a hold of her and get recommendations for other bakers. She let him know what to ask for since it was a cake she had never made before and those other bakers likely hadn’t either. So, he reached out but none of those other bakers would make it!?! I mean it was unique I’ll give you that but it shouldn’t have been too difficult for a baker…

You guys, this man took it upon himself to BAKE IT FROM SCRATCH all by himself!!! What?! I have never felt more loved, seen, heard or appreciated! The effort he put into this thing? OMG!!! The only time he has ever baked before was for my 25th birthday. I wasn’t able to have dairy at that time since I was still nursing and my Bookinns couldn’t handle dairy products. He tried making me a simple dairy free chocolate cake but it was nothing compared to this cake! This cake? This is a 4 layer strawberry and chocolate marbled cake with ricotta and chocolate filling and cream cheese frosting sprinkled with chocolate!!! All. From. Scratch!! We’re talking even real fresh strawberries! Ha. I literally CRY just thinking about it!!! My bucket is so full I cannot stop smiling, WOW! I love you Igor so freaking much, my appreciation is beyond words. Thank you, THANK YOU, thank you!!

But honestly, above all, I am so damn PROUD of you!!! My uncontrollable smile and tears are in part from beaming with pride. Seriously, you’ve done an amazing job! I LOVE YOU!!!!!

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04. Revelations

“Dear mom, I get it now.” – Unknown

It would be easy to hold a grudge against my mom even though I understand, because even though I understand, it doesn’t make it easier when she lets me down. No, I am not naive and think I’m never going to be let down, it’s life. It happens. But again, when others come first for whatever reason it’s just an instant reminder of the past. Just like when it comes to chronic illness. If you do get “used” to it, it doesn’t make it any easier… and in reality, you’re never truly used to it – but rather learning to cope with it easier. It is also easy to call mom [selfish] for her choices, however, unless you’ve been in her shoes and have battled chronic illness yourself – what you need to understand is that her being selfish wasn’t really selfish at all. At least not in the negative way it’s usually portrayed. Don’t get me wrong, I fully acknowledge understanding that it is easier said than done, with or without health issues. But! As someone with her own screwed up health, I am asking you… scratch that – [telling] you to at least [try] to understand it.

It took me until I got sick myself to understand. To understand what it’s like to have your life ripped out from under you; grasping at any little speck of normalcy that you can manage to grab hold of, before it slips through your fingers as you fall. Hard. Flat on your ass. It takes a long, LONG time to come to terms and accept that the life you once had will never again be what it was. Not only do you have to accept your new “normal”, but you have to discover the balance between doing what you want to do and how you’ll pay for it. Whether or not X is worth the backlash of Y. Not to mention learning to [live] and not just [survive]. Something I myself am still struggling with. When you’ve been sick for so long, it’s incredibly difficult to not live in constant fear of ‘what ifs’. It’s only natural to want to avoid anything that [could] knock you down and set you back. Therefore getting into the habit of survival mode instead of living a happy fulfilled life.

In the book 10% Happier: How I Tamed The Voice In My Head, Reduced Stress Without Losing My Edge, and Found Self-help That Really works – A True Story, Dan Harris recalls a discussion in which he was told that, “often it’s not the unknown that scares us, it’s that we think we know what’s going to happen – and that it’s going to be bad. But the truth is, we really don’t know.” It’s scary how truthful that statement is! Since the age of nine the need for everything to be perfect controlled the depths of my brain. No matter how prepared I was for a test, in my mind, I had already failed before it began.

I am a perfectionist.

 – [So much so that I have my cousin and husband editing my writing;  if there’s any mistakes that’s not on me at this point. ::wink::]

I have to plan activities and events way in advance so that I can prepare myself in order to partake in said activities/events – only to stress irrationally what I won’t be able to and that I’ll crash horribly once it’s done, just to get down on myself questioning if it was worth it because of how miserable I feel… This scenario is on loop, always three steps ahead of what’s really going on. My mind does not rest, always preparing for the worst and any scenario that could arise. I can be questioning if something was worth it before planning even begins.

As a sick wife and mother – don’t even get me started on the guilt that I am ruining their lives and they’ll someday resent me. Oh, the guilt! That sneaky bastard is probably the worst part of living with chronic illness. It makes you believe you’re always letting someone down, no matter what. The guilt of wanting to be “selfish” and do something for yourself vs. the guilt of how you’ll be perceived and who you’ll hurt along the way. It’s no wonder I have been in therapy on and off for decades. Between the guilt that comes from being sick and this notion that I am never good enough – always needing to do better; that is a balancing battle I am not sure I will ever master.

I read a quote once that I actually wrote out and framed. I have no idea who originally said it so I apologize for not giving credit where it is due; however, the quote is as follows: “The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts”. Truth. Happiness is a choice and who wouldn’t choose to be happy? As much as I may think I understand, I can not pretend to fully comprehend what all my mother was going through. What I do know is that hanging out with Maria made her happy. On the weekend, for her sanity, she was childless and able to fake some level of normalcy. During the summer she was able to visit my biological great-grandmother who had been a family secret and institutionalized in PA since my grandmother was 2. 

Freda had been forgotten about for over 50 years, so when my mother found out about her she made it her mission to visit every few months. Of course as a kid I didn’t understand the importance behind it, just saw Mom on vacation with Maria. Turns out Mom wasn’t really being selfish at all, she was using her heart and giving a long lonely life a happy ending. Whether Mom went about things the right way or not – I don’t know, I couldn’t tell you. When life hands you lemons you make lemonade, right? There’s no right or wrong way to make it, you just learn as you go what works best for you. Just like with anything in life. You learn from your mistakes. No one can predict how their life is going to go, nor can they predict how they’ll respond to whatever happens. All you can do is move forward with gained wisdom.

As unfortunate as it was, Mom getting sick turned out to be an unexpected gift. A blessing in disguise if you will. When I was six years old I caught pneumonia and for the next 11 years I suffered from unexplained symptoms. In elementary school I was sent home almost weekly due to low grade fevers. I’d spike a fever and it’d go away on its own. I felt fine but the school said I had to go. I simply wasn’t regulating my temperature properly and no one knew why. I had extreme “growing pains” throughout every fiber of my body. Mom was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and feared my fate was sealed… I don’t have Fibromyalgia. By nine I had started my period and suffered debilitating migraines. Yes, nine. 

Surprise!  – Happy Birthday, Jena! – 

…. Worst. Present. Ever! 

WTF?! Way to ruin innocents, universe!

Nine was a rough year for me. Mixed in with all of the hormonal changes my body was experiencing and the start of my migraines, I was filled with terror bestowed upon me by my thoughtful – loving – brother. An oxymoron, right? My brother, thoughtful and loving? Good one. Jack was nine when he left home for a bit and wouldn’t let me forget it, using it to his advantage. Children are easily influenced by other children, especially when the other kids are older. They have an easier time relating to someone closer to them in age, therefore trusting what they have to say over most adults. So when Jack told me that I, too, would be sent away unless I was the perfect child, got straight A’s, and did exactly what was expected of me, it was easy to believe. He said that they wouldn’t love me if I ever disappointed them. Yikes!

First of all, how heartbreaking is it, that’s how he felt – what he believed to be true?! SO sad! It took me until I was nearly 27 to realize the impact of his words. Up until then I had always figured his words were just words and the issues they originally caused were sorted out when I was 10. Was I ever wrong! I struggled horribly in school. Between ADHD and a form of dyslexia mixed with a processing disorder, I didn’t come close to what I [believed] was expected of me. If Jack was so smart, so advanced – how the hell could I not be “sent away” when he was? How could my parents be proud of me when I wasn’t amounting to even a fraction of Jack? If they weren’t proud of me they wouldn’t love me and then what was the point anymore? 

Eventually the pressure got to be too much. At my tenth birthday party I took a chinese jump-rope, wrapped it around my neck and feet and pushed it out so it tightened around my neck. Luckily some friends walked in on the scene and stopped me. Between begging and pleading I convinced them not to go tell my mother. I know they were petrified so I give them immense kudos for going to the school counselor the following Monday morning. I find it incredible that a group of 9 and 10 year old girls not only grasped the severity of the situation, but also had it in them to do something about it! By the afternoon there was a full blown intervention held in my honor.

Looking back, I honestly don’t know if I was truly depressed and trying to end my life, or if I was joking around. I know I claimed I was joking around but logically looking at all of the facts, it had to have been more of a cry for help. I needed attention. Although, when I was 31 I was diagnosed with PMDD and I do wonder if that played a role because I know for certain that I had my period on my 10th birthday… hmm… Anyway, I was put in therapy and hated it! Over decades of seeing different therapists I know it takes the right fit for anything to be helpful. Maybe if I could have seen the “right” person at that time, I wouldn’t have suffered the next 16+ years with suppressed issues buried so deep! I had no idea they were even there.

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03. Mom

One of the most important relationship we’ll have, is the relationship we have with our mothers. -Iyanla Vanzant

I have and always will be Daddy’s Princess, nothing is comparable to our bond. Sure, being gay probably helps but he is an incredible father none the less. I know when I got married it was probably the hardest thing for him to give me away. [Dad, you showed me how it was supposed to be, how I deserved to be treated! The fact you had flowers delivered to the dress shop before they were even open, the day I went to buy my wedding dress, ::cough:: being gay definitely helps ::cough:: I can without any hesitation say that you set the bar high for any man I’d end up with. And I know [you] know, that I have found the one. The one who treats your Princess like his Queen.

Now, just because I am Daddy’s Princess – doesn’t mean I am not a Mama’s girl, because I very much am! Most mothers and daughters are close when daughters are young, grow apart to almost “enemy” status when the teen years roll around and rekindle their friendship once they’re both adults – especially both mothers. Hi. I am an adult, a mother and yes, my mother IS my best friend. How cliche… But here’s the deal: the above scenario is not exactly how things went down. In fact, it was actually my teenage years that brought us closer.

As previously mentioned, never once did I question my parent’s love and support. I knew my mother loved me, I knew she supported me. But feeling it… knowing and feeling are two different things. I may have known the above but I didn’t always feel it. As I’ve gotten older I can understand why Mom made some of the decisions she did and I honestly can’t say one way or another if I agree or disagree. Adolescent Jena on the other hand: disagrees. Mom was under a lot of stress, so much so that she got very sick. Granted – we know now that she probably would have gotten sick regardless, just most likely not as severely, had there not been so much stress.  I mean, who wouldn’t be stressed looking at the facts? A toxic relationship with her own mother, the loss of a child (they had Ryan between Jack and I, he passed shortly after birth), an alcoholic husband that lead to a divorce, adjusting to life as a working single mother, her now ex-husband coming out as gay, selling a house and moving, and a son who was battling his own feelings. Talk about a mind fuck in just a few short years!

During the divorce Mom joined Al Anon – escentially A.A. for the family and friends affected by an alcoholic.  Did it help Mom? Absolutely. Though in the end I’m not sure if it did more damage than good. It was Al Anon where Mom met Maria and our lives were changed for the better and for the worse. Diarrhea (I couldn’t correctly pronounce Maria and still find it amusing.) was married with two children, one of whom was 19, married and pregnant, the other in highschool. I mean no disrespect to her eldest, but she was the reason for Maria being in Al Anon.  Maria was a former cop in a women’s prison and going to school to be a social worker. 

[Oh the irony in that last sentence.. Sorry my mind is getting a head of itself.]

Mom and Maria became instant best friends, practically inseparable. I know what you’re thinking, and no, my mom is NOT gay as well; shes 100% straight. Maria? Well, we’ll get back to her. To my mom Maria was her sister, her “solemate” (in a completely platonic way – maybe more like her “twin flame”) and the one person she trusted with all that she is. To Jack and I, Maria was the bitch that took mom away, the controlling social worker who tried [telling] Mom “how” to raise us (like she knew better) and a woman we’d hold resentment and hatred towards for the rest of our lives. <- It’s true. We do and will. I tried being mature and forgiving her… until I found out how much she had in common with the Mad Hatter!

Maria’s family became our family. Her daughters, like my older sisters. Once Maria’s husband was killed (Canada’s official record: suicide, USA’s belief: murder) Mom and her grew that much closer. Again – inseparable. Every chance Mom got she was out with Maria. On weekends Jack and I were with Dad one night and Auntie the other. Mom was basically un-reachable from 6pm Friday until 6pm Sunday evening; drop off / pick up time. During the week, when mom wasn’t working (which had become part-time and remotely due to her health) she was in bed or on the couch. In other words, Mom was either sick while with us or healthy enough to get out and be social with her best friend. We rarely took vacations and yet, during our summer weeks with Dad, Mom was always traveling with Maria. It’s no wonder I had a hard time [feeling] the love. Neglect is a powerful word and as a child, I may have used it. However, as an adult, I would never use it to describe the situation. BUT! The feeling of less importance and the thought that Mom was putting Maria before me, was real. Valid even.

As a mother, it terrifies me knowing that my choices will both affect and effect my children. Jack and I both feel, I guess, betrayed? Eh… maybe not the best word to describe how I felt, but it definitely works for him. Maria had this notion that because she had been through stuff with her own daughter, she clearly knew what was “best” for everyone else’s children. Don’t even get me started on how un-ethical she was as a social worker. Two words: total hypocrite. In her mind she may have truly believed she was right, knew best and was [only] trying to help, but truth be told; here is somewhere she caused more damage than help. Yes, Jack had his issues. He too went through a lot during the time of the divorce and he experienced lots of loss for his young age. He is four years older so he understood death more than I, and we had a lot of deaths in a few short years, on top of the divorce, moving to a new city and starting over at a new school. He has always been scary smart and way advanced for his age. He could have easily been Ivy League material had things been different.

Now, I don’t want this to turn into a bashing or tell all when it comes to my brother because quite honestly, it’s not my story to tell. However, there are things that have happened that are vital to my story, why I am the way I am and who I am. When you’re a child and you go through trauma you may block it out, or if you’re like me, you’re unable to forget anything from your long-term memory and therefore hold on to it all. I remember him acting out, rebelling and being scary as fuck. Sibling rivalry is one thing, but pushing me down the stairs and chasing me around the house with a knife is a different story. I won’t deny my instigating, annoying little sister antics but some things are too much. Long story short, it’s easy to see why my mother took the advice from her “social worker” best friend. But, uh… isn’t one of the rules of social work not to “social work” your friends and family? Thought so. 

Jack ended up leaving home for a bit and during that time, life was great. I had my parents to myself, I didn’t have to fear for my safety and I wasn’t dragged to a cramped waiting room to play with puppets week after week. Most importantly during that time, for the most part, I was put first! 

See, not only did I feel second best to Maria, I really felt as though I was third behind Jack. And since I’m being honest, there are still days where it seems Mom puts Jack, as well as others before me. She has a problem when it comes to saying, “no” and feels it is her responsibility to be there for everyone. Maybe I am being selfish but if history has proven anything… it is not all in my head.

When Jack came home things were touch and go for a few years. Once he was in middle school and news got out about my dad, the bullies found him to be their favorite target on top of his gifted classes and ‘band geek’ status. [Side note: it was our nextdoor neighbor and his “best friend” who spilled the beans. Yeah… Jack’s [best friend] was just deferring the attention away from the fact he himself enjoyed the boys. I’d call him an asshole but the sad truth is that he did what he needed to do to survive middle school. It sucks – for everyone!] Our house soon became the victim of vandalization and Jack’s behavior quickly escalated. Mom genuinely fears for all of our safety so he started spending more time at Dad’s and by 14 he was moved in completely. Even though I had an older brother, by the time I was 10 it felt as though I was an only child, except for on weekends, Tuesday nights for dinner and 5 weeks out of the summer until I was 15.

It’s safe to say that for a few years there – okay, maybe even a decade, that Jack had some resentment towards Mom and of course blamed Maria for the choices Mom made. He rarely came around and never on his own accord. Obviously this destroyed Mom! She did everything she could but nothing helped. Not until he wanted to bring his college girlfriend home and Dad and Brian wouldn’t allow it, or rather wouldn’t allow them to shack up in the same room. It was then that Mom’s guilt came to the rescue and forever altered her behavior when Jack’s around. From then on, whatever Jack wanted, Jack got! Still true to this day whenever he is in town we are on his schedule. There was one incident when I was 17 that eventually became Mom’s eye opener. Jack and I had gotten into an altercation that resulted in him barging into the bathroom as I was getting ready to hop into the shower. I used all of my force to fight against him to close the door but his rage was too overpowering that he broke in, causing me to slam my head against the side of the tub. Screaming and crying for Mom’s help was no use. She was too busy downstairs with my aunt preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. All that my ::quote:: “overreacting” ::endquote:: did was embarrass her and piss her off. Of course it was my fault and I, “shouldn’t have instigated the situation.”

I was done!

I instantly packed some bags and moved in with my dad and Brian for the next few months. My how the tables had turned. I suppose betrayal was the correct word to use after all! Unfortunately I wasn’t able to completely cut ties with Mom due to school and my weekly homebound tutor. However, I was no longer staying quiet and made my feelings known. I would not return until she agreed and had proven things would be different… She was now in the middle of her own guilty battle.

Fortunately for me, this was around the time her friendship with Maria started to crumble. Mom was forced to step forward and physically be there for me more than ever before. Not only that, but she had made other friends and had different priorities now. Maria couldn’t handle coming second and started becoming crazy jealous. With jealousy comes anger and she was downright mean. She made Mom feel guilty over things she had no business feeling guilty over. Mom was tired of feeling like the victim, she finally had enough and stood up for herself. Yeah… that didn’t go over well and ultimately she made the decision to walk away from the friendship. It was only then she was able to see clarity. See where she went wrong and how selfish she had been.

As it turns out, Maria, the delusional, hypocritical social worker – had it in her mind that her and Mom were more than friends. Boom! Mind blown… Although, not really. Don’t get me wrong, never once did I think her and Mom were “together”, but I don’t think anyone was surprised to hear Maria was a lesbian. Anyone besides Mom, that is. Oh my poor mother! Talk about the worst gay-dar in history! Oh my god, and the betrayal?! I mean, honestly, how can anyone sane believe they are in a romantic relationship with someone without ever discussing it? There was never anything remotely romantic between them. Nothing intimate, not even a kiss. Maria never indicated that she felt anything more than the sisterly bond that Mom believed they had. Mom had no indication what-so-ever that Maria wasn’t straight. Ironically, all of her arguments “proving” why she didn’t believe it, contradicted what she already knew thanks to Dad. She’s still in denial. The worst part is that Maria is such a coward, she has never directly told Mom any of this! Then how do we know, you ask? Well, Dad ran into her and her partner, and after introducing  Dad as, “Deb’s ex-husband,” (so she’s obviously mentioned my mother at great lengths) she proceeded to ask him, “you know Deb and I were together, right?” W.T. actual F.?!! Who knows if Maria actually believed it or it was all a facade for her new girlfriend; either way it’s royally fucked up! It’s no wonder my mother can’t trust anyone new. The two people she trusted and shared her life with destroyed her perception of reality.

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02. Dad

“A father is a son’s first hero and a daughter’s first love.”
– unknown

You see, I had to grow up very fast. My parents separated when I was three due to my father’s inability to break up with alcohol. I remember the separation, talking to the court, the battles between my mother and great aunt and what it was like to see my father again after months of being apart while he tried to get his sobriety in check.

That memory of reuniting is my truest happiest early memory! My mother’s step-mom, Grandma Ina (may she rest peacefully) made it happen. She was an incredible woman and I will always be thankful for the seven years I knew her! When we arrived at my great aunt Mary Lou’s, whom from here on out will be referred to as simply, “Auntie”, it was like every kid’s dream come true. Presents stacked from floor to ceiling in every holiday wrapping that we missed dad. We even had both Christmas stockings and Easter baskets with Valentine treats to boot. Purely magical in the eyes of a child. Hell, even as an adult who wouldn’t love a scene like that? The Valentine treats being the most symbolic because as of February 14th, just before my fourth birthday, my father stuck to his sobriety and hasn’t looked back!

Other memorable early memories with my daddy include: Friday nights, fish sticks with macaroni for dinner, watching Full House and playing games, particularly barbies, on the kitchen floor. Odd as it may seem, playing on the kitchen floor became “our thing” for years to come.

With sobriety came truths, secrets and personal turmoil. For the first time my father had to face who he was, what he was and what it’d mean going forward. Remember how I mentioned that my father was raised Catholic? We’re talking about five siblings, private school and a mother who worked for the church kind of Catholic. Irony there is that dad and his siblings all struggled with substance abuse and addictions. So much so that out of all the “kids” in my generation on that side – I can confidently say that I am one of, if not the only one, who hasn’t had a substance abuse issue! Unfortunately history repeats itself, passed down by generations. I actually had a cousin who was so caught up down the wrong path that he was wrongfully executed by the state of Texas. That’s right, the asshole known as Rick Perry allowed an innocent man to be put to death. By the sound of those crickets instead of gasps, this news clearly isn’t a shock… Texas has the Law of Parties, which allows someone to be held criminally responsible for the actions of another. Steven Michael Woods Jr. was murdered by a wrongful justice system – while the real criminal (who pled guilty and ALL physical evidence points to) sits in jail for life. The most fucked up part is that Rick Perry had to give the final “okay” just 15 minutes prior, knowing Steven was, for all intents and purposes, innocent of a crime that would warrant death. Perry then went on record just weeks after bragging about his number of executions. ASS-hole!

Just a few short months after working the program, Dad met Brian. Anyone who knows anything about the program knows that you should wait at least one year before starting a new relationship. Yes, you read that right; Dad and Brian started a relationship. Not only was my dad battling for sobriety, but also the truth in the fact that he is gay. I honestly believe if it wasn’t for Brian, my dad may not be where he is today. They were the best thing for each other at such a pivotal point in my dad’s life! [Thank you, Brian, for not only helping my dad, but also for being a decent step-mother… even if you did tie us up that one time while watching us. 😉 ]

Obviously these new revelations spiraled confusion for everyone involved and everyone dealt with it differently. It took some time, but finally everyone came around with acceptance. In fact, my parents are the best of friends, they talk almost every day and we celebrate holidays as one big family. Brian and mom get along great. You’d never know there was a time when things weren’t so great… but there definitely was. I’m not sure when Jack found out about Dad, but I was nine.  Jack had a very difficult time with friends for various reasons, but having a gay father didnt help during a time with less acceptance and when HIV/AIDS was on the rise. Dad didn’t want me to face the same hardships, wanted to protect his Princess from prejudice. As I was getting older Mom tried convincing him to fill me in – but it was too late. I found out during a fight with my life-long friend [shout out to my Lori-Lou Sissy Poo]. Lauren and I fought like sisters. The two most memorable being when she threw a handful of panty liners at me, while simultaneously yelling at me to, “eat pads!” and the other was when she yelled, “at least my dad isnt gay!”
My brother and Lauren’s brother were in boy scouts together and our mothers became instant friends. Every morning before school, for 6 years, Lauren would be dropped off at my house roughly two hours early while her mother went to work. I was usually still asleep and would wake up to either A) Lauren playing, B) a clean room that wasn’t clean the night before (having an organized clean freak for a faux sister had its perks), and more often than I would have liked, C) a sneaky little blond trying to glance at my latest diary entries. Talk about invasion and lack of privacy! Usually I wasn’t mortified, however once when we were seven, the last thing I wanted her to discover was sprawled right across the page: “Mrs. Jena Martin. Mrs. Ricky Martin” … her brother’s name is Ricky…

Yes, Ricky Martin.
No, not the singer.

As I’ve mentioned, we fought like sisters. Over everything. One morning a fight broke out revolving around my dollhouse. This was not new territory, however the following was. I’m not sure exactly what was said leading up to it, but I’ll never forget these few lines:

Bratty Jena: “at least my dad’s not fat!” (Sorry Rick!!!)
Upset Lauren: “well at least my dad isn’t gay!”
Shocked Jena: “my dad’s not gay!”
Confident Lauren: “uh-huh! I heard Mom and Ricky talking about it!”
[Confused, angry Jena runs upstairs and sits on sleeping mother’s bed]
“MOM lauren just said Dad is gay!”
[Half asleep Mom yelling, “oh shit” inside her head]
“What?”
J: “he isn’t gay, right Mom?!”
M: “Lauren, go watch T.v.” 
[Pause that lasted an eternity]
J: “Mom?”
M: “I think that’s something you need to talk to Dad about.”

I didn’t. And it wasn’t until a few weeks later that my dad sat me down and told me what I had already come to realize as true. He is gay and him and Brian aren’t “just roommates”.

Funny story… I had known Brian was gay for at least 3 years – never thought anything of it. Never made the connection. Though, it all made sense then why Dad slept in what I thought was Brian’s room (which was really their guest room) any time Jack and I were over, why we celebrated so many things with Brian’s family. Ah yes, explains a lot. I had found out Brian was gay when I discovered his male calender. At the time he told me it was his former ::coughpartnercough:: roommate’s. I mentioned it to Jack and he told me it was Brian’s. When I asked if he was gay, Jack came right out and said, “yes.” Surprisingly enough, Jack didn’t mention anything about Dad. My guess is because he was protecting me as well… I was only five or six. But don’t you think if I knew what gay was at five, I would have been filled in? That’s what I thought at least when Dad finally told me. I wasn’t upset he was gay, I was upset about the decite and waiting so long to tell me – or rather, for me to find out.

Ironically, I only ever had one incident, actually two – same person – when it came to my father’s sexuality. I always had friends going with me to stay the night at Dad’s. Okay, maybe not “always”… again, female = absolutes… anyway, there was never an issue until 5th grade. I had a friend over for a sleepover – nothing out of the ordinary happened, and yet the next day my mother received a very rash, disgustingly hateful voice message from said friend’s mother. She could not believe my mother failed to let her know about my dad before she allowed her daughter into “that environment.” Needless to say, said friend wasn’t “allowed” to be my friend anymore. The second incident happened a few months later at a school function. The entire 5th grade throughout the district had a meet and greet at the local skating rink. Good ol’ Skatin Station II. My former friend had gotten into an altercation with her friends from her previous school. I just happened to witness it. Yay me! When the girl told her mother, I somehow was again present and was accused of being involved. It was then when her mother publicly announced that I was, “the girl with the faggot father.” Yeah, maturity at it’s finest, ladies and gents. It wasn’t until three years later at the 8th grade end of the year party that the girl’s mother actually apologized.

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01. Hello

I’m not scared to be seen, I make no apologies,
this is me! – The Greatest Showman

Hi. I am not sure why I’m even writing because the likelihood of something coming of it is slim. Very slim. I mean why would anyone want to read about a ¨nobody¨? Just a woman who has been through it all, and of course I’m exaggerating because what’s a good story without extra emphasis? That and I’m female, so to me, everything is absolute… [<-btw: yes, that is sarcasm]

I am who I am. I have my faults and am nowhere near perfect. I am very easy going but at the same time, complicated. I have been through a lot over the years, but I know that it has made me who I am and I am stronger today because of it.​​ That said, I believe I have a lot to offer so that others don’t need to feel alone.

Now, where the hell do I begin? Do I just start with a list about myself: wife, mother, chronic illnesses, mermaid, former cheerleader, non-religious yet spiritual believer, equal rights enthusiast, etc? No, how boring! Boring isn’t what people want to read. Excitement is what sells! However, if that’s what you’ve come here for you’ll be sorely disappointed. I may not be exciting but I’m real. I am honest. I am me; and in order for you to understand I need to start at the beginning.

I grew up in Canton Michigan, a suburb of Detroit. Now, if you don’t know about Michigan you’re probably thinking – ¨How scary. Dangerous.¨ __ Oh?! you’re not? That’s good because I probably would have. Actually Canton is a relatively safe area, except of course it’s home to  some of the top most dangerous intersections in South-Eastern Michigan. Car accidents aside, it’s a great middle class area. Great school district (for most), Ikea, Olympic athletes and David Burtka – you know, NPH’s husband. I enjoyed growing up in Canton but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m glad I’m gone and was happy to get out of there by the age of 21. In fact, by 21, enough people had already told me that I should write a book.

At the end of the day – when all is said and done, I had a great childhood. It wasn’t always easy, happy or fun, but I knew what love was. Never once did I question my parent’s love or support. My mother is a Russian – Hungarian Jew and my father a mostly Irish – German with specks of English Catholic. There is also Jack – my older brother with whom it took nearly 23 years to have a relationship with.

Hi. My name is Jena and I’ve been through it all.

*🚫disclaimer – some details and names have been slightly altered and/or omitted due to respecting the privacy of others. I may be putting my truth out there but my truth doesn’t have to expose the truths of others.

*🚫disclaimer #2 – you can tell the mood of my writing by my verbiage. Some entries may have a few… {choice words}, while others could receive a PG rating. I do apologize for any offense, but as I’ve said since the very beginning: this is me. I’m real, I’m honest, I’m Jena.