Dear Deflecting Shamer


My Godmother taught me early on that when pointing your finger at another person in an attempt to shame them, please notice the 3 fingers you have pointing right back at you. Narcissists are classic shamers; grandiose, arrogant, oblivious subtypes dying for envy, admiration and appreciation. Attempting to deflect their true weak internalized self onto another person.

These subtypes don’t want to be center stage IF it’s because of a negative limelight.  These shamers are actually drowning in their own shame, guilt and fear; and will attempt to pull you under and drown you to save themselves.  They get saved from their self guilt when they know they’ve pulled you under. They know this when you respond with angry words, spite, aggression or an argument. They will always do their best to get the last word in, so they can have that false sense of winning.


Some self-proclaimed Christians or from my experience, Catholics, are masters of shame. It’s all about control. They want to control you with every aspect, especially when they feel threatened or perceived as “losing”. Narcissists are control whores, Christian/Catholic narcissists I’ve “crossed” paths with have what is called Cluster B Personality Disorder.1  I consider these subtypes extremely dangerous and not open to rehabilitation.  Especially when you add sexual addiction into the mix; that article to come at a later date.

God has blessed each of us with grace, mercy and truth.  He is a merciful God and through His one true son gave us grace and truth. BUT that grace is not to be trifled with, it is not a free pass to keep treating one of His children with such contempt as a shamer, CBPD or narcissist continues to do.  Love thy neighbor: I would rather build up a person and work side by side with them; than point my finger with shame…in an effort to build up myself.

So dear deflecting shamer, get over yourself. Only God can shame me, if that’s something He really does do. I answer to Him and He controls me, because He made me and He owns my heart, mind and soul.  I am saved because of Him and I owe Him my life. I owe you nothing.  I will pray for you though; that you submit your true self to Him and begin to live a life of vulnerability…which is true strength.  Accept your failures as lessons, learn from them and move on. Do better next time. Hold yourself and your demons accountable.  May God grant you the serenity to accept the things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can and the wisdom to know the difference.

How The Grief Stole Christmas


Christmas has always been most special to me, because it was always celebrated near my birthday. Since I was two years old it’s been family tradition to put the tree up on my birthday and we’ve never faltered from that. Christmas ornaments have been collected by me since I was a little girl and I’ve made sure to never lose nor break the ones that mean so much to my heart.

Though after dad left and moved out, Christmas lost its wonderment and magic.  I looked so forward to putting up the tree and celebrating my birthday and the start of Christmas. Let’s face it, Christmas is what a child waits for all year round! When dad left, especially that first year, my mom went through a level of depression I’d never seen before nor knew existed. She lost an extreme amount of weight, lost her smile and her infectious laugh.

Yes my mom was a narcissist and I don’t have many good memories of her, but her smile was big and beautiful and her laugh could be heard miles away. These are a couple of things I’ll always cherish about her.

That first Christmas was rough..and every year after that. Before the divorce on my birthday I would come home from school and find all the Christmas boxes and tree pulled out from the crawl space and in the middle of the living room. Pure bliss would course through my veins! This first year without dad started a landslide for me. I came home from school fully anticipating to find the boxes in the living room, I walked inside with a smile ready to yell “yay”; instead I came home to an empty house and no boxes.

Befuddled, I sat down on the stairs and just stared. About an hour later mom came home with a store-bought cake and a card. Before she had always baked a cake for me and there were always presents to open, but not this year. I was 11 and I was beyond heart-broken. I asked if we were going to put up the tree and she told me that if I wanted to put it up I could have at it on my own, but she wasn’t in the mood.

Now as an adult who suffers with depression, I can completely understand where she was at the time, but as a little girl I felt completely rejected and lost. The divorce was the death of my childhood in so many ways. I couldn’t wrap my head around the rejection and at that moment didn’t realize it was the birth of grief that I have felt every year on my birthday.

I did do just what she said and I dragged those boxes up the stairs one by one. I read the directions for our fake tree and put it together. I wrapped those lights with such care, learned from years of carefully watching my dad. I hung the ornaments with design and meaning. I created a tree of beauty in my eyes and it was lit in brilliant colors.

I finished with decorative nuances around the house, displayed the nativity scene, hung lights in the window and just opened my creative mind. Then I turned all of the house lights off and laid under the tree. As I looked up and gazed at the ornaments I hung inside the tree and the twinkling lights, I day dreamed about being in the movie Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Like Rudolph, I felt rejected, but hoped in the end I would be seen as useful and I would be loved.

From that point forward in my life I made it my tradition and decorated alone every year after that. Each year I hoped she’d join in and want to be a part of “my day”, it never happened. I was a misfit and although I had hope, it didn’t fill the loss deep in my heart.

Friends would invite me over knowing Christmas Eve and Day were hard for me. Their parents knew my life, they knew my loneliness and they knew my grief. They all did their best to include me, I’m still friends with all of these people to this day.

A couple of years I got to spend my birthday with my dad and he made it all Who-ville for me. Singing, laughing, joking around and celebrating. Moments far and few between, but engraved in my memory.

Unlike the Grinch, Joan didn’t try to make it miserable for me, but she sure didn’t try to make it nice either. Her pain was deep and it wasn’t from having a tiny heart like the Grinch.

However, like the Grinch she didn’t want to appear “bad” to Little Cindy-Lou Whoo, so she tried to be kind and complement my decorating. Would brag to her friends about the beautiful job I did. Unlike the Grinch she didn’t steal anything of monetary value, just made me feel robbed of the happiness of family and love.

I never let her see me cry when I was sad, but I was in deep pain. I grieve for the 11-year-old little girl to this day and I still have moments of pure disgust for Joan at Christmas. This year I told 11 year old me that it’s okay now to have been so sad and I had every right to have expected love, excitement and celebration on Christmas tree day. This year my husband surprised me and jumped right in without me having to say anything. He brought all the boxes in, he helped decorate and he celebrated my birthday like we did when I was a little girl. This year is an extremely healing Christmas tree birthday.

Grief on the other hand is an asshole and I hope someday grief see’s how much more important unconditional love is,  and hopefully grief will learn to love and not be so mean.

No matter the gifts, wrapping nor ribbon…I am in awe of the magic of God’s love for me. 

Merry Christmas to you all, now go enjoy your roast beast.

Your Growth Is Noticed


As you are shifting you will begin to realize you are not the same person you used to be.  The things and people you used to tolerate have now become intolerable.  Where you once remained quiet you are now speaking your truth.  You are now understanding the value of your voice.  If you’ve angered anyone with your outward honesty, be proud, for THAT fear to remain silent has left the building.


Divorced Parents = Divorced Holidays


I can look back and honestly say I don’t remember NOT ONE Christmas Eve or Day after my parents divorce. NOT ONE!  Well wait..maybe one. I’ll get to that Jerry Springer episode in a moment.

I don’t know how any child of divorce can remember these Christ filled holidays, probably because Christ was nowhere to be found nor mentioned.  Unless it was my father yelling “Jesus Christ!” then slamming down the phone after having to talk with my mother. The chaos and over stimulation of drama was so much…who would want to remember it?

If you’re a child of divorce you know exactly what I speak of.  If not, may I paint you my Norman Rockwell holiday tradition?

It’s the week before Christmas break and us “divorcelet’s” are sitting and eating lunch in the cafeteria asking each other what our holiday schedules look like. The answers were typically like this: I’m with my mom until Christmas Eve at 6pm, then my dad and his girlfriend are picking me up and we’re going to some swanky restaurant. I’ll stay at his apartment until Christmas day, I have to be back to my mom’s by noon. Then I’ll stay with her until New Years Day and dad will pick me up at 10am.

Then there are the “every other year” divorcelet’s: I spent Christmas with my dad last year (I think) so I’ll be at my mom’s until New Years Eve, my dad will pick me up at 5pm and we’re going to eat pizza and rent movies and watch the New York ball drop. 

Seems simple..right? WRONG! With all of this confusion stuffed into our stocking, you can’t forget the stocking fillers! Fillers are the extra fun that comes when you’re packing to go to your dad’s place and you bring your bag to the door, while anxiously dreading his honk and mom’s passive aggressive announcement of “YOU’RE father’s here”, but before this can happen she HAS to ask you THE QUESTIONS.  “What are you taking to your fathers? You better not take your new toy because it might get lost at his house. I certainly hope you don’t plan on taking those nice clothes I bought you I’ll never see them again.”  Everything you were just gifted have quickly turned into bargaining tools of her pathological conditional love.

When entering dad’s car you’re quickly whisked away with the same ol “Hi honey, Merry Christmas”. Then he gives you about 5 minutes to adjust to the atmospheric change to his world and then hits you with “So. What did you get from your mom?” He really isn’t interested for my sake, he’s actually measuring up his own gifts I’m about to shred open, to make sure he out witted her efforts.

Norman Fucking Rockwell! Merry Christmas…shitters full!


Nope, not full yet! I almost forgot the Jerry Springer episode.

It’s me and Sis’s 2nd Christmas as divorcelets, we’re spending this year’s Christmas eve and morning with our dad. We’re all headed over to his sister’s house for a party with his entire side of the family and his girlfriend and her mother. Little history lesson, dad’s had 4 affairs on our mother by this point and #4 is why he left our mom. One of his sisters and 2 of her daughters love our mom very much and are really pissed about the whole scenario and are at this party. The worse part is my oldest cousin is THE SAME AGE as my dad’s girlfriend and my cousin is tough as nails. She drove a dump truck at age 16 (cue banjo).

Alcohol is a MUST HAVE at any of his family events, lots and lots of alcohol. Us kids are even allowed to drink…as long as you’re over the age of 12. Standards people!

One drink leads to another drink, then one death look from my cousin leads to the Jerry Springer SMACK DOWN! Drinks tossed at each other, bowl of peanuts took flight with Rudolph and the littler divorcelets take off for their rooms in fear.  Screaming, pointing, flailing arms (Italian style), mascara running, Aquanet in the eyes and my father in the middle like a black Friday giveaway gift. He’s being pulled at from all sides, pushed, hit and I believe his hairpiece got ripped off. (cue banjo)  It was live action!

Did it get resolved? Nope. Slamming of the front door, followed by car doors and screeching of tires were the ringside bells. Dad’s #4 became known as my stepmother and the cause of a unhealing fracture that’s been painful since that very night. His family has never healed from it and it’s been 34 years.

I now have my husband and 2 son’s and I no longer have to split my holidays, because we have our own traditions now. Our Christmas is centered on Jesus and our deep respect and love for one another.  Each year I pray for all the kiddos who have a divorced holiday, I pray for their heart, soul and strength. May they make it through unscathed.

If you’re one of the parents of a divorcelet, remember, your child didn’t ask for this divorce and they certainly DON’T enjoy splitting the holiday in half. Consider reading from the bible 1 Kings 3:16-28 A Wise Ruling, it’s a great metaphor for this exact moment.

Blessings and Merry Christmas my fellow divorcelets!

Pigs With Lipstick EVERYWHERE!


My personal experiences with pigs and lipstick hasn’t just been familial, I’ve experienced it almost everywhere.  I know that I am more sensitive to it and see it quicker than most people, but that doesn’t lessen the blow when it hits. In fact, it’s worse because I can’t seem to get away from it.

  • Nursing Home Pigs
  • Post-Nominal Pigs
  • Christian Pigs
  • Pigs within the Church

One of the first experiences I can remember that wasn’t a family member, was when I visited a family member at a nursing home. She was frail, deaf, on a feeding tube and near death. It was scary to see her extremely helpless yet so ignored. The pamphlets of the place showed this sunny beautiful home and everyone smiling in harmony. The entrance area is pretty and bright, the front desk person is presentable and the Director could sell a glass of water to a drowning man. If you’ve never moved someone into a nursing home, you’d have no idea what to really look for and ask.

This family members new residence was the reality of these places…dark, dingy fluorescent lighting, dirty, smells like old urine and body odor, with some faint whimpering coming from some residents rooms. The staff is equally the same; disheveled, scowled faces, smelling of stale cigarettes with sighs of disgust roaming the halls. I do not know of other countries, but I do know that in the U.S. we treat our elderly and disabled like shit! She died in this place, like so many of us on this earth died under the lipstick.

Nursing homes are a human disaster area. Over priced flee infested motels with prison quality food.My father has always told me he’d kill himself before he’d enter a nursing home, I believe him.  I on the other hand would be the elderly woman terrorizing the staff and keeping them on their feet. Needless to say nursing homes are disgraceful pigs with a lot of lipstick.


The Post-Nominal lipstick wearing pig simply amazes me. I’ve worked in medicine for over 20 years and I’ve seen it all. Doctors are humans and humans are a mess, I do not expect perfection. Yet they are professionals and some rarely act like it. What a doctor does on their own time is none of my business, as long as it’s not illicit drugs. Let’s face it, if you’re treating me and my conditions, I pray you’re sober.

I’ve wondered how or why someone becomes a doctor when they clearly hate people. Bedside manner is NOT AN OPTION. I don’t need you to be touchy feely and cuddly with me; I just need you to know what in the hell you’re doing and be nice about it. I had surgery a while back and read the doctors bio to see if he’d be worth seeing before I needed the surgery, met him and basically interviewed him and watched him closely for red flags. Not one red flag popped up, my mistake, should have had a 2nd appointment with him before accepting him as my surgeon.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was all I could think when I “came to” in the recovery room. What a complete rat bastard he was. Rude, condescending, uncaring, unexplainable…NIGHTMARE! His bio read “It is my desire to address each and every patient with the care and concern that I would give my own family. I strive to give excellent care every time.” Load of manure! The guy must be divorced and his children either disowned him or are really jacked up people, if he really treats them the same way he does his patients…God help them.

Just because someone has Post-Nominal letters, doesn’t mean they are well-educated nor have common sense. Those letters are really a window dressing and mean nothing to what the core of the person really looks like on the inside.


This meme says so much.  I am a child of God with Christian non-denominational values. I walk the talk that comes out of my mouth. I am not perfect, if I was I’d be Jesus.

I am an open book, like I’ve said before, you’ll just never know my true identity for safety purposes. I don’t mind that people love to fill up their fb page with their spiritual beliefs, I think it’s awesome.  Being proud of your beliefs means you aren’t afraid of what others will think.

However, if you’re filling up your feed with your beliefs you best have the behavior also to back it up. It’s not hard to weed out the window dressing Christian. These people don’t have much of their own nice words to say and are extremely insecure of their own thoughts. Instead of possibly being judged for their true hearts desire they plaster their feed with passive aggressive meme’s like “If you love Jesus like and share this post”. I pray harder for these Christians, because it’s painful to see how lost they really are.

These are the people who will most likely shame you, break you down instead of build you up, look down their noses at you, belittle you..then stand in front of their congregation claiming to be the best Christians on earth. Wearing their nice clothes, making sure you’re looking when they drop their money in the tithe basket and bringing their used coats in for the coat drive.

These are the same people who have told me that I’m not praying hard enough, if I did a better job praying my CPTSD would go away.  Nauseating pigs.


This one is HARD for me to be honest about, since my husband is a Pastor, I don’t want to turn you away from God. Just know that I don’t believe this to be true in all churches and definitely not in the church I’m in now.

I’ve met many people who have made it to our church because of their terrible experience at another church. By the grace of God they found us and feel at home.

Pastors, Priests and staff members can be BRUTAL on a broken person’s heart. I’ve seen judgement so deep come from these people, I struggle with my own faith, wondering why God keeps them in their positions. This is also where building someone up is so much more of what God wants and Jesus taught us to do. Tearing a person down, belittling them or shaming them is the enemy at work. I choose to meet people where they “are”, not where I think they should be. We are all equal, no one person is better nor worse than another.

Narcissism runs rampant throughout churches. Manipulation that could destroy a person’s life in one swoop.  Martyrdom is played out over and over at the fullest expense of others.  Unprofessional behaviors bordering on the verge of pure sexual harassment. Double standards, preaching that God and family should come first, but NOT if you work for the church.  Gossip like a daytime soap runs through the halls.    Last but not least, DON’T GO UP AGAINST THE LEAD PRIEST / PASTOR…you’ll have your ass handed to you.

Integrity shouldn’t be optional within the walls of a church, but it is.  The pig and the pulpit can go hand in hand.

I live by these simple facts:

  • Treat myself the way I WANT to be treated
  • Treat others the same way
  • Love is NOT conditional with giving and taking
  • Building someone up is better than tearing them down
  • Caring is easier than hating
  • Money really is the root of all evil


The Matriarch’s Christmas Cookies


I thought my mother Joan was a pretty severe narcissist…until I met my mother-in-law Kris. I’m naming her “Kris” because it fits!  This bulldozer takes the cake for causing true destruction in her family’s life, which is why we are at a “NO CONTACT” (NC) place with her and her submissive husband servant “Bruce”.

I will explain her NPD and characteristics the best I can, and I have chosen to use her Christmas cookies as an example since we are in the season and the thought of her cookies haunts me.

Every year since my Hubby was born, Kris makes more cookies for Christmas than Mrs. Field’s. Not just 1 to 3 flavors and dozens of them, we’re talking 15+ varieties and dozens of them.  All are German traditional recipes that have flowed down from the Matriarchs generational faucet of toxic waste.  These creations are kept in gigantic rectangular tins that came from Germany which originally held cookies. Kris and these tins are two birds of a feather; beautifully painted, cold, grandiose, expensive and you’re lucky to receive such a gift. All the while empty inside and mediocre in taste.  Don’t judge a book by its cover I’d say.


The Narcissistic Traits of Kris:

  1. Overwhelming need of admiration
  2. Complete lack of empathy toward others
  3. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance
  4. Has a high sense of entitlement
  5. Very arrogant about her status

OVERWHELMING NEED OF ADMIRATION: Upon consuming each and every flavor that she slaved over, you better compliment her display and taste of each and every one. A simple comment of “This is good” or “Yummy” is an inadequate way to express your admiration of her work. You need to choose your words carefully, “Ooooooh Kris! These almond crescents are TO DIE FOR!” Followed up with the “Mmmm” sound while chewing.  Then there’s the “WOW Mom! The spitzbuben is REEEdiculous!”  Are you catching my drift here?  Mark my word you will be ignored if you choose to either be “flippant” about the taste or GOD FORBID make a recommendation about adding a component to the flavor.  Sometimes words have no meaning so you could simply get down on your knees and bow down telling her you’re not worthy of her cookies.

LACK OF EMPATHY TOWARD OTHERS: If you are allergic to dairy, gluten or have gestational diabetes during Christmas, don’t expect her to go out of her way for you.  You will get the standard response of “That’s too bad, sucks for you, more for us”. Followed by the passive aggressive shit giggle. Oh and by the way, it’s your own fault for having gestational diabetes.  Your gluten allergy is just a fad because it wasn’t around back in her day.  Your dairy allergy isn’t THAT bad, even though you get explosive diarrhea and abdominal pain after having dairy, you’re not going to die from it.

GRANDIOSE SENSE OF SELF: Here’s where you need to be prepared to boost her ego about how much you look forward to her grandiose spread of goodies.  “Kris I just can’t simply go through Christmas without ALL of these cookies you make. I look forward to it all year.  You really shine above the rest at cookie making.”  If you don’t include this process, then she will make certain you know that she started planning out this spread in August and September.  That she had to shop at 6 different stores for all of the ingredients and she spent sooooooo much money.

HIGH SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT: I have one special cookie I bake every Christmas, it’s a family recipe.  I don’t give the recipe out because it’s personal to me.  I’m the only one in the family that makes them and I make enough to gift some.  She asked for my recipe one year after I made these back when we were in contact.  I explained to her that my Grandma was very secretive about her cookie recipe and never gave it out, and that I would respect her history of that and remain secretive too.  By the look on her face at that moment you would have thought I shit in her Cheerios.  How dare I not give her the recipe.  How dare I not see how important she is.  I owed it to her after she slaved for a week making her cookies.  Silence to me for the rest of the day.

ARROGANCE ABOUT HER STATUS: I am a Christian woman and an open book.  Kris is also a Christian and self-proclaimed reformed Catholic that uses the bible and scripture to look very important.  She is smarter than me about the bible because she’s been a Christian since the day she was born.  She is more adorned by God because she tithes every month more than I ever could.  Because she is such a perfect Christian is WHY she makes all of these Christmas cookies in the first place.  She is the epitome of the perfect Christian and you SHOULD bow down to her perfectness.

Now take this little recipe about a narcissist and her cookies and turn it up to broil and you have the final taste of the Matriarchal Pig-In-Law.  The taste of some things make me vomit.

Katy…the Rough Draft (Part I)


I believe all masterpieces were created through several rough drafts. A masterpiece comes in many different forms and mediums. Such as oil vs. watercolor, Broadway play vs. film, novel vs. television and food vs. food.

I believe both of my son’s are masterpieces, each unique and beautiful in their own way.

There are flaws in a masterpiece, but only the artist knows of them all. What we see as a possible flaw could have been meant to happen by the artist; therefore I feel critic’s are a waste of space and time. A masterpiece is in the eye of the beholder.

I also believe that God created us each unique and each a masterpiece per His great design.

I also believe that a masterpiece evolves and can continuously be altered, added to or adjusted. For example, Oscar-Claude Monet didn’t conduct just one painting titled Water Lilies. Monet painted over 30 variations, presumably to create each very distinctly, yet with just enough difference you can tell them apart. At least to the trained eye you can identify them.


What I love about his work are the combinations of color, chaos, free-flowing brush strokes and depth. This is how I feel God created me. I have various colors I portray, I’m not typically just a sterile white, I have several colorful moods I vacillate through. I am not a super intense person about most things, I’m free-flowing and laid back.  There’s a depth to me most will never see on the surface. My mind is in such chaos at times I feel like a tornado sucking up everything in its path.

To know this piece of work, you need to take the time to get to know me. By this time in my life per the blog, I am about 22 years old. I have many appreciations and gifts for who I am and what I have.

Physically I no longer looked like I was 14. I actually started looking more like a woman with curves. Still slender, brown hair, big green eyes, classy dress for work and play.

For employment I was in a career by my own doing, starting off as a receptionist and working my way up in a financial analyst industry. Which is funny to me now, especially since I failed geometry and had to take math for dummies to make up the credit.  Watching my mother and father, who were both professionals, I watched them and absorbed their mannerisms.  I was excellent at customer service and making clients feel important. I cared for them like I’d know them for years. I was well-known for what I did and I loved it.

My domain was perfect and living on my own was liberating, in a little “matchbox” sized house I rented. I’d decorate it from garage sale finds. Heck at Christmas it was decked out, but I don’t think I ever invited anyone over to see it or visit. It was mine and I was “playing” house.

Financially I was able to buy my first new car on my own.  Little red semi sports car. I was so proud of it. I wasn’t a frivolous spender, I watched my money closely. Very responsible.

Relationships were few and far between. I had a couple that were very serious and would have gone somewhere. Yet one had cheated on me,  which ruined the trust factor and reminded me of my father. The other was emotionally destructive, couple bouts of violence and I was done.  I wasn’t sleeping around and just enjoyed life.

My family at this point was scattered. I tried to build a relationship with Joan, it was important to me, maybe hoping she would see how well I was doing on my own. Hoping she would be proud of me..looking for the nod of acceptance. Clint was still in California and we spoke every few weeks. Our closeness went away, his wife basically shamed him when talking to me. Sis moved to California to live with our Father and start over. I guess when I look back, Joan wanted me around more after Sis left.

Spiritually I believed in God and Jesus Christ as my savior. I was baptized non-denominational at age 5. Yet we never went to church, not even on Christmas Eve or Easter. I longed to understand more about the bible. I tried reading it, I didn’t understand it. I’d go to church with my paternal grandmother, it was a Baptist church, I felt like a big piece of sin when I left. I never went back. I’d have moments of feeling lost and unattached, I’d drive up the mountain and go to the beautiful church I was baptized at and just sit.  I felt so safe there. I’d cry. Pray and talk to God and then go home, never to return until that feeling of emptiness came back.

Deep down I was confident in what I knew and I portrayed that confidence in all that I did and how I looked. I was tender-hearted and clearly a caregiver at heart, I helped anyone I could with anything they needed. I was hungry for life and to learn more. I could analyze any situation rather quickly. I thought I wanted to be a career woman with a lot of options to go anywhere anytime. Yet I yearned to be married, to be with a man who would love me unconditionally and take care of me, have babies with. Make a life of longterm, one of which I never had as a child.

This is who I was as a young adult from the foundation laid out for me. Damn if I could go back to when I was 11 with the knowledge I had at this point, was a lot of the thoughts I had during this time.

Naive little piggy.

Ephesians 2:10 NLT

10 For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.