When to Break the Rules and When to Make Your Own

I am behind on my blog ideas. The end of January is fast approaching which means that I need to write about my 30 days off of chocolate and my sister’s birthday. Writing about her is going to be hard enough, and since I’m not eating chocolate, I won’t have any false energy leftover to write about not eating it. So, I’m just going to write about both right here.

Sometime I will write about my sister’s death. But not now. It is her birthday, so I’m going to write about her life. Her life was about breaking the rules. Her default state was defiance. Now, if you’re an under-resourced, frustrated authoritarian parent who is lacking in useful information on parenting, and who was abused and/or neglected yourself, you’re going to think that your child is doing this to manipulate you or that they want control or maybe even that they are just bad. My sister was stealing by the age of five and setting fires by the age of six. She was a compulsive liar. She became a drug addict as an adult. But she wasn’t bad. And the only reason she was trying to “manipulate” everybody was because she didn’t know what she really needed let alone how to get it. She needed love.

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Keeping Your Head Above Water: Reflections on Sensory Processing Disorder

It was about this time last year that we got the official diagnosis for our now 4.5 year old’s Sensory Processing Disorder. I had a niggling suspicion almost a year before that this was what we were dealing with, but instead I kept blaming myself for my daughter’s meltdowns. I wasn’t connecting enough. She wasn’t releasing enough stress through crying or through play. Somehow I just wasn’t doing it right. Maybe I had already traumatised her or she had picked up on my anxiety and my poor coping skills (since I was still recovering from my own trauma). Or she had just inherited something in my genes that was just… bad (because how on earth can someone like me have good genes?). Or it was that beer that I drank when I didn’t know I was pregnant? Or the half-strength lattes that I never gave up? Or the fact that I tried to grow a baby as a lacto-ovo-pesco vegetarian with a leaky gut (too much gluten and dairy). I like to solve problems and this was a big one, but I didn’t know where to turn.

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My Name is Angela, and I’m a Chocoholic

Chocolate Cocktail

No really. I’m serious. I have a problem.

I was planning to write about how you can have a healthy relationship with chocolate, and then I realized that is totally what an addict would say. For me there is no healthy relationship to be had.

I do so love being honest with myself. But this – this is hard. Chocolate is the only thing that numbs the pain.

It seems so innocuous that I’m addicted to chocolate. And the fact that I mostly eat chocolate that I make myself out of equal parts organic raw honey, cacao and tahini (sorry for enabling) makes it seem especially innocent. But make no mistake, chocolate has many dark sides even if you do only buy fair trade organic.

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