Once upon a time, there was a girl who was out looking for herself.
She looked everywhere. She looked back in time.
She looked in her hometown.
She looked in far off places.
And there was a boy who held her hand the whole time.
And he reminded her that she was enough, that she mattered.
And he reminded her, daily, that he loved her.
And, one evening, holding the boy’s hand at the Marina in the picture above, she briefly snapped out of her fragile venture for meaning to see that it was right there, with her, holding her hand, the whole time.
I originally wrote this post in early February of this year, first posted on my personal Facebook profile and then published to a local group. It’s still an issue I feel very passionate about, and so, it’s time for it to make it to my blog. I don’t often step into activistic type shoes, but this is an issue I feel extraordinarily passionate about.
I have something to say about the picture above, and before I say it, I want to add a little context:
My family roots expand the entirety of the geography from rural Polk County to rural Henry County, Georgia, clear back to the early 1800s. As such, I am very very, very well aware of the interpersonal, social, and political dynamics at play that have brought us to this day and the situation as I see it.
My own personal work experience includes very behind the scenes work with organizations such as Atlanta Habitat for Humanity, Fernbank Museum, DFCS, and the AmeriCorps organization in a VISTA capacity (twice, actually), with both the American Red Cross and the Regional Commission network in conjunction with the State of Georgia, along with several private organizations from insurance companies to doing clerical and custodial work for a carpet cleaning company, and I’ve even done intermittent Door Dash in the last two years. My professional and lived experience spans a geographic area of approximately 950 miles, between here and Iowa. I have been a Carroll County resident for 36 of my 45 years.
And, I did happen to spend five years of my life doing a very intensive study of liberal arts subjects in a variety capacities at Georgia State University with religious studies being my major of choice.
As such, please do take note that I know a little bit of what I’m talking about both from a personal and a professional standpoint.
What follows is a repost of a post that I made yesterday on my personal Facebook page along with the corresponding picture that I’m posting here.
I might add that in addition to the personal correspondence that I sent Michelle Morgan approximately 3 weeks ago as I reference in this post, I did point out the value in anonymous volunteer contributions along with monetary support and professional photographic recognition, because of the fact that personally I take severe offense to the fact that her personal mode of operation is showing up for photographic opportunities and giving money to the causes that she supports without actually intervening personally in the work they are doing. Personal volunteer work is invaluable to character development and that is a cornerstone of my life’s work, so I do understand firsthand the impact of being very involved in the actual work of an organization in a volunteer capacity can have on one’s life, personally. I have been forever transformed by my own volunteer endeavors.
The whole way one acclimates and changes in this world is getting to know “the other,” in whatever capacity “the other” might show up in your personal life. I know that firsthand, too.
And you know, I also happen to know because I know my history. I know my personal family history. I know the history of area. I know my own personal history and understand the dynamics of what has brought me to believe in what I believe in. I know that Southern women are typically described as having innards of steel, and that is true for my spirit, undoubtedly. But in my particular case, it actually happens to be legitimate, biological fact that I have a great deal of stainless surgical steel in my body, so it is not just a metaphor for the fact that I will stand by my values and beliefs to any extent necessary.
It is high time that Carroll County, Georgia get its act together and live in the year 2025. I suspect the City of Carrollton itself began this process of reconciliation quite some number of years ago.
And for historical reference just for general knowledge purposes, the Confederate statue at the corner of that courthouse complex is not even a Confederate soldier, because the people who purchased it at the time only had the money for mass produced artifacts that were only tangentially representative of their views. It was very much a power-play, playing to the side of powerful angry white men whose status quo was being threatened at the time: the erection of that statue at that specific moment in history.
Know your history. Know your own personal history and confront your personal demons; know the history of your area, get to know your neighbors well– and your neighbors are not just the people who live literally next door to you.
We are all people and we have so much in common.
It is intense work but so very well worth it.
And I might add: the fact that I have the voice that I have now is very much a testament to the value of a liberal arts education, though my unique life and professional experience is what allows me to speak out and be particularly passionate about social justice.
Here is what I said in my Facebook post:
I have so many thoughts. I do understand that not everyone can dedicate five years of their lives to an intensive liberal arts education program like I did. However; I sincerely wish that 3-Day seminars on at least the Race and Ethnic Relations, Interpersonal Psychology, and half my religious studies classes but especially that preciously sacred Modern Judaism class…. I desperately wish that was all required seminar at both vocational and university levels, required by the Board of Regents for any degree receipt.
I actually wrote Michelle Morgan about this very issue approximately two weeks ago.
It is wholly inappropriate for any decoration to ever be placed on this lawn. Of any type.
It is highly disrespectful that the building is ever lit up with any light other than plain white light.
This building should be treated with the sacredness of a Holocaust museum because that is precisely the sacredness these grounds carry.
There shouldn’t even be office space in that building. It should be the place of silent tours as to the horrors of history of this County.
It is particularly appalling that the decorations face the side of the building that has the Confederate flag facade in the top middle, complete with its 13 stars, to this shameful day.
I’m done being quiet about bigoted and racist shenanigans. Done.
It is pure ignorance (or equally likely nefarious intolerance) that leads to places like this country we all love finds itself in today.
And, it is because liberal arts programs are being intentionally eliminated (I am sorry, I call it like I see it), that b.s. like this happens.
(Added in edits for this post: )
[The very nature of education in liberal arts areas of study is what allows for the very natural development of critical thinking skills: in other words, your ability to think for yourself and suss out what is worth absorbing information-wise in the world, and what is not.
And these programs are being eliminated nation-wide because certain segments of conservative powers that be do not want its citizens thinking critically for themselves, or being empowered to speak out. The intense progress in STEM areas of study is a convenient excuse to reinforce the elimination of these programs.
At least, to my educated observation, that is precisely what is happening.]
But, I am a law abiding tax paying business owner and resident (and added for this post: property owner) of this city and county.
So, I am going to exercise my voice as I see fit.
I tried to encourage enlightenment by suggesting diversity training to Michelle Morgan. My lovely friends with Fearless Dialogues would be the perfect match for the County Commission.
I tried to communicate this idea in the nicest way possible directly, in private.
Since my message was not considered, here it is in a more public forum.
If you are new around here, you can read more about me on my About page. Welcome!
Update October 2025: The lawn decor continues periodically.
Last night, for example: lots of shredded cheese, some shredded cheese melted on top of Cheez-its. A can of Sprite for the first time in years.
Night before last: a container of Rebel ice cream.
For three days in a row, the last night ending with the ice cream night: Beecher’s Mac and Cheese from Costco…. the package said it served 6-9. I ate it in three equal portions over three nights.
Sometime in that mix, I ate hearty portions of the sour gummies Oliver wanted at Trader Joe’s.
The days start out okay. Most mornings lately I have been having walnuts and almond flour crackers for breakfast. Occasionally I have a protein bar with them; I am trying to cut back on the protein bars.
About midday I make my Dunkin’ Decaf coffee, and put in my Anthony’s Marine Collagen in it. And I nurse it for the rest of the day in a Thermos tumbler.
I had tried to cut out cheese and most processed foods except for the almond flour crackers.
However, bananas apparently make me sick — I am repeatedly nauseous when adding a banana to my banana/ wild blueberries/ spinach/ almond milk smoothie.
And so I gave up on the smoothies for several days. I will probably try one again today.
And I haven’t made egg whites as a meal in several days, either.
But, despite last night’s junk food, I woke up ready to face the day today.
I didn’t make it to my church ladies’ group because Liam had a haircut in Sandy Springs with Finch at Aura Salon and I let Jared take him, and stayed home with Oliver instead. While Oliver can stay home for short periods on his own, leaving town with neither of us in town is not a good idea, obviously. Even if I could have called Mama and Daddy to be on standby.
And honestly, I also needed to sleep in. I slept until 10:39 this morning.
We’ve got projects I’d intended to get done around the house for Fall Break.
The bushes need trimming back dramatically, and I have film to coat the windows in to provide more insulation, and I have 4 more sets of sheers to iron and put up because we really need one more panel on each of the 8 windows around the house.
And we bought an actual old-school mop at Walmart this past weekend, intending to actually clean the floors really, really well since dog pee and poop has become a regular thing (it’s not their fault we can’t keep up since they are getting older, and sometimes they miss the puppy pads).
But I have been in avoidance mode for reasons I’m not yet ready to talk about. Maybe next week.
I’ve let the stress of anticipation get in the way of self-care, and all that.
But today: Today it is 1:44 PM as I write this and I have done my light therapy. I made my gratitude list. I listened to this week’s “The Next Right Thing” with Emily P. Freeman as I did two of my physical therapy exercises.
I did two of my physical therapy exercises for the first time in weeks.
Jared wants to go on a walk.
And my only house goal today is to iron those sheers and get them up. That is not a hard task.
So I don’t write when I’m in a funk. Not when I’m deep in a funk, anyway.
Then I go into survival mode. And I forget to write. And I get caught up in doing what has to be done to function.
I crochet a little. I do random creative things to distract myself.
I forget to get out my camera when it would be most therapeutic.
And when I get like this, it’s when I really need to be writing the most.
For most of the past 14 years that I have been on SSDI, I have severely glossed over the PTSD bit that was included in my qualifying conditions for SSDI. I spoke of it out loud among friends today. I don’t often do that.
I don’t gloss over it in my own home. That’s pretty much the only place I don’t gloss over it. I don’t gloss over it in the middle of the night when a noise makes me jump and I send Jared running to the living room to check out whatever the random (nonthreatening) noise I heard was.
Nevertheless, Jared goes. Jared goes even when he is exhausted, even when it means he will likely sleep out in the living room instead of with his CPAP on in the bedroom. Jared goes even when he knows what the sound was, and that there is no problem in the house.
I didn’t gloss over it the night that the wind blew open one of the double doors in our living room after dark right next to where I was sitting, and I screamed bloody murder, the most vivid time in my memory that I screamed reminiscent to those awful February nights in 2001, back to back Saturday nights. The boys had never heard me scream like my life depended on it.
I never told them it wasn’t the first time I’d screamed like that.
And PTSD….is it PTSD because of assault? Is it PTSD because I was held captive in the night, begging to be let out? That night that I experienced bonafide legit torture?
If it’s PTSD because of assault, which one? One of the ones I experienced myself, or the one I witnessed at the hands of someone I thought loved me, toward someone else?
Is it PTSD because of actual medical stuff that had to be done to me to save my life, long before any of that?
Is it PTSD because I am afraid of pretty much all men? Including my husband, if I am completely honest?
Is it PTSD because of all that? Or is it something else I don’t even remember?
The why of the diagnosis is less important. I have a difficult time even seeing that I have PTSD. I have a difficult time understanding that not everyone walks through their lives terrified of everything around them. I have a difficult time understanding that something about my neurological wiring is different.
And sometimes, I have a very difficult time remembering that love is not supposed to hurt.
I suppose that is the PTSD, too.
You can read more about me here, to see how I got to where I am today.
