Tag: parenting

With Everything Given, Something is Owed

by jcafesin, posted in relationships, Family, friendship

With everything given something is owed.

With everything given something, not the same thing, is owed.

With everything given—a kindness, one’s time, efforts on your behalf—you owe that person.

I write it three times because most people DON’T GET IT, or worse, refuse to believe it. It’s easier to receive than reciprocate. Denying or ignoring reciprocity doesn’t make the debt disappear; it undermines the relationship.

Just got off the phone with a friend. After describing my husband’s failure in planning our recent trip, I added he ‘owed me’ for 23 years planning unique family vacations every year.

My friend retorted, “I hate that. You don’t ‘owe’ your partner.”

Yes. You do!

With everything given something is owed.If not equitably, the perceived partnership is really a dictatorship.

Gray divorce is trending because the wife spent the last 20+ yrs of her life raising the kids, cleaning the house, shopping and cooking the meals for the family while working full-time, and she’s done being the unpaid labor force for a man who never learned to reciprocate.

Like it or not, mutually beneficial, fulfilling relationships are reciprocal.

Reciprocity goes beyond just marriage.

If your adult child has spent 20+ years being volatile, demanding, emotionally abusive, you may ‘love’ them, but it’s also likely you’re tolerating them.

Relationships without reciprocity become endurance.

With everything given, something is owed. If this paradigm is not understood, and PRACTICED in relationships, resentment festers, and corrodes over time. The union becomes fragile with the [often unspoken, or consciously recognized] weight of hostility, leading to divorce, estrangement from family, ending friendships, even work relationships.

I told my friend I spent three months every year planning our vacations on a shoestring budget. Countless times over the last 29 yrs I’d asked him to plan a romantic getaway for us, but he did only once—this recent trip, which I instigated, and reminded him to plan for over a year.

With everything given, something is owed. Something is owed, but not [necessarily] the same thing. Reciprocity need not be identical, but must be proportional to achieve equity in relationships. And true intimacy—sharing open communication, connection, trust—requires equity. Had my husband invested the same amount of time and focused energy as I do planning our trips, we likely wouldn’t have ended up on Hawaii in a cramped, shoddy, bug-infested Airbnb above a bar. (No resentment there…)

My parents’ marriage of 49 yrs was not reciprocal. It was a hierarchy.

I never heard my mom say a bad word about my dad until two weeks before she passed. Dying of cancer, she lay on her side of their California King spewing her bottled rage towards her misogynistic narcissist of a husband.

My dad was ‘king of his castle,’ but my mother paid the bills, did the taxes, and worked full-time while raising three kids. She planned the vacations, threw the parties, purchased the presents, hosted holidays, shopped and cooked most meals, even did much of the clean-up. She attended his business functions and soirées—‘his arm piece wearing the requisite sunshiny face,’ she’d said during her hate-filled rant.

My dad went to work and was home for dinner most nights. After he ate the meal we served him, he went into his office and watched TV, or read. Oh, and in a grand display, he carved the turkey my mom bought, cooked and served at Thanksgivings.

He left her lonely ‘doing his own thing’ in his free time during his working years, and in retirement. She gravitated to her network of friends (as so many married women do!) who extended their Time to her, as she did to them. They spoke often, met up for meals weekly, traveled together on vacations to far away places— leaving my father lonely too.

Ultimately, neglecting to invest the time and energy my mom had into him served neither of them.

Reciprocity isn’t complicated. It’s recognizing the amount of Time others invest in you—directly, through their time and attention; and indirectly by making your life easier.

It may be as simple as your timely response to a text or email from a friend or family member (since no one likes to wait for a reply).

A child’s reciprocity for a parent’s investment in them may be demonstrating respect, gratitude, cooperation, affection over time.

Husband/wife, parent/child, siblings, friends, associates, practicing Time for Time builds trust, connections, can even repair broken relationships. When we give our time—our most valued possession—we show we care.

Invest your Time in preserving, even strengthening any partnership by taking the following steps (in order!):

  1. We are a TEAM.*
  2. What does my partner need/want?
  3. What do I need/want?
  4. Compromise.
    *Steps 2 – 4 can be more easily achieved by remembering #1.

With everything given, something is owed. Not the same thing, but something, in equal measure. This is the price of obtaining, and maintaining connections, friendships, love.

4 Steps to Better Relationships

by jcafesin, posted in relationships

How to build better relationships with partners, kids, friends and colleagues…

The first year of my marriage didn’t go according to plan. The creative, smart, capable man I thought I married appeared to be a jobless, lazy, self-absorbed brat.

I’d waited 37 years to marry, ten years behind almost everyone I knew. I’d waited to find a best friend to share life with. I had this idea of the man I wanted to be with since childhood. He’d be smart. Very smart. Massively creative, anything less would bore me. Financially stable, and able to help support a family with his skill set. And fun, of course, loved exploring new places. Cute was a must. I had to be physically attracted.

My husband had all these things and more, even after we married. And similar goals of having a family remained intact, but something had changed between us. The best friend I wanted became the burden I carried the poorer we got. He refused to take on consulting, and I couldn’t support us both on my salary alone. Ten months into our marriage we’d gone through most of my life savings.

He came into our union with no savings, and no paying job. He was working at developing a tech startup when we met and continued to do so after we married. He spent his days and most nights creating software. My dear husband’s response to going broke was to make his already complex software even more complex. Marketing his startup was a mystery to him and easily avoided by immersing himself in coding. He seemed more intimate with his computer than with me. Many a night I had to please myself while he was downstairs making it with his 64-bit Alpha.

There were many good days, long drives, and hikes along the Pacific coastline, filled with conversation that flowed from one topic to another in a smooth, endless dialog. Those days bonded us, reminded me why we married, and how much I enjoyed his mind, his perspectives, his passion. But things got harsher and more contentious. Eleven and a half months into marital bliss I lost our first baby in utero eight weeks into the pregnancy. And my husband engaged with his muse while I mourned our loss alone.

Time and again that first year of our marriage, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one that considered divorce. A chasm was growing between us. I’m sure he felt it too. He was just better at ignoring it, and me, which I found infuriating. I was so very lonely, and when prodded, my husband admitted he was too. We were stuck in a downward spiral which I couldn’t live with, in a relationship I didn’t want to abandon. Ultimately, fear of missing my childbearing years, and having to start from square one dating again, compelled me to stick with my marriage.

I narrowed the root of our discord down to three possible scenarios:

  • He fed off other people’s pain, which would make him a psychopath.
  • He was indifferent to anyone’s needs but his own.
  • He didn’t know any better.

It was improbable I’d married a psychopath. My husband was guilty of distance, but never violence. Indifference was impossible to work with. Trying to motivate people to care — that don’t — is a fool’s play. So I went with the third possibility. He didn’t know what was wrong between us, or how to fix it, so he froze, paralyzed by uncertainty.

My husband is a mathematician. His brain shuts out chaos. He craves order, creates it daily in tidy mathematical models with strict parameters. Feelings were messy, but exploring them was downright unnerving for him.

My dad once told me the difference between men and women lies in our nature. Men are self-oriented, internal. Women are maternal. Producing life grounds us outside ourselves. Therefore, it is the woman’s role to coax the man outside himself, bring him to her, even his children.

It was my job to figure out a method, a series of clearly defined, linear steps we were both beholden to take that would make our marriage work. I felt certain once a path was apparent my husband would gladly take it with me, if for no other reason than to end the perpetual arguing. And though it took me several months, I eventually came up with an equation and presented it on our vacation, because timing is everything.

We were climbing on the gigantic slabs of granite rocks and exploring the spectacular rugged shoreline of Acadia National Park in Maine. Humbled by the grandeur all around us, we connected in that shared moment. That’s when I unveiled the set of steps I’d conjured that were likely to improve our marriage. I spoke slowly, calmly, lovingly as I laid out the logistics.

  1. We are a TEAM.
  2. What does my partner need/want?
  3. What do I need/want?
  4. Compromise.

Four simple (or not so simple) steps, in this exact order.

Step #1 defines the goal, I explained to my husband. Any relationship — whether husband, lover, friend, or child and parent, must be a TEAM to effectively communicate, and manage discord. We first must acknowledge we are not competing. We’re on the same side trying to work together to solve the issue at hand.

Steps #2 and #3, I continued explaining, are about building trust — the foundation of all productive relationships. If I know you’ll consider my needs and desires before your own (#2), and you know I’m looking out for you before myself (#3), we’ll be able to establish trust knowing we’ll be there for each other before ourselves alone.

Step #4: Compromise, I told my husband, is the functional workings of any healthy relationship. With everything given, something (not necessarily the same thing) is owed. At the very least, each of us must feel heard, and understanding must be achieved before archiving any conflict. Letting issues fester is destructive, and divisive in the extreme. At best, we both get something we want, even if that something is yielding our position to support our team. And as a sidebar — ‘giving in’ doesn’t mean ‘losing.’ Concessions are more easily given by referring to Step #1.

My husband paced me across the granite slabs as we climbed the rocky shoreline. His slender form moved with grace and ease across the rocks. He scrambled ahead to help me with a vertical climb, then reached down to give me a hand. A moment later we stood on cliff’s edge overlooking the Atlantic.

“Other than I think you’re hot, I married you because I knew you were brilliant. Anything less would have bored me.” He smiled at me, then stared out at the ocean, big waves striking the shoreline sending plumes of mist around us.

We walked and talked and climbed for the next five hours, breaking down each of the four steps with specific case scenarios. After analyzing and massaging the data the rest of the weekend, and each step passing QA of course, it was agreed upon to give them a go.

For our summer vacation a decade ago we took our teen children to Acadia to share with them the park’s pristine beauty. My husband spoke of our earlier adventures there and told the kids about our long talk. He quoted the four steps, in order, and explained why each was important, then pointed out how applying them to most interactions strengthens communication and can improve almost any relationship. A big wave sprayed us all. The mist twinkling around us, I spied my husband staring out at the sea and flashed on our moment there so long ago. I held his face in my hands and kissed him.

We’ll be celebrating our 30th anniversary this coming spring. It isn’t always bliss, or easy to compromise, but continually affiriming we are a team, and adhering to the four steps has made our relationship richer, more intimate and rewarding for both of us.

Parenting Social Media

by jcafesin, posted in addiction, ADHD, artificial intelligence, social media

Australia killed social media today for under 18. YEA AUZZIES!

My almost 24 yr old daughter came downstairs Saturday morning giggling with glee. She told my husband and I she was ‘so excited!’ Something ‘great’ had happened.

She was in a car accident 1.5 yrs ago that is resulting in a lawsuit, and I thought she’d talked to our lawyer and he gave us great news. Nope.

“I got an audition on The Button!” she said, pridefully. “It’s a really popular YouTube series.”

I went with her excitement. My beautiful daughter got an acting audition, or for her melodic singing. Or a baking show for her excellent macaron cookies!

“How many subscribers?” I asked.

“Millions! It’s a reality dating show.”

As her words registered in my head, so did dread.

“You sit at a table across from each other with a large red button between you,” she explained enthusiastically. “The show’s producers ask personal, intimate questions to push conversation.”

I bet they do. Build tension. Push the show’s platform of ‘Shaming Spectacle.’ Corrosive dread was quickly turning into explosive rage.

“If one presses the button before the other, that person is out of the game.”

“You mean rejected?” At this point, my rage was boiling over. My daughter was seemingly so addicted to her phone and social media she could not see the ugly, sick fuck piece of trash YouTube show she’d signed on for.

“Yeah. But if neither press the button, then you win a date,” she said, more cautiously seeing my expression.

My tolerance dam broke right then. “Are you stupid!? Why would you sign up for a show designed to SHAME YOU? Are people allowed to leave comments?”

“Yes, Mother, but it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?” my husband asked. “How can this possibly serve you going on this show?”

“It’s not about that. It’ll be fun to be on a show I watch.”

She watches this crap!? But I didn’t voice it. “You’re supposed to be studying for your MCATs. Why do you want to go on this show that’s designed to make you feel shitty about yourself?”

“It’s just for fun,” she defended. “I probably won’t even get on.”

“And if you do, how are you going to feel with being rejected in front of millions? Or rejecting someone else?”

“Maybe I won’t be rejected.”

“And what? You’ll find Mr. Right on this bullshit show? You have MCATs in 8 wks, honey. What are you doing!?”

“I thought it would be fun to be seen by that many people,” she said flatly.

“But you won’t be seen,” my husband chimed in. “You judge everyone on the show when you’re watching. And millions will be doing the same to you.”

“Are you ready for negative comments about your looks, or things you expose when the asshole producers trigger you in front of millions?”

“I won’t read the comments.”

“Are you talking about the Red Button show?” our son comes in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she said to her older brother. “Have you seen it?”

“Yeah. Couple times. It’s really brutal. A race to the bottom — who can push the button first. No one wants to be the one rejected. You like it?”

“Yeah. I think it’s funny.”

“She got an audition to do the show,” I filled him in.

“Your mom and I don’t think it’s a great idea.”

“Even to audition,” I said. “Won’t help your self image any if you get rejected for the show.”

“So, you don’t think I’m pretty enough to be on the show?” she asked, practically glaring at me. “You think I’m not good looking enough to get picked.”

“I see my beautiful daughter. But this isn’t about what I think. You’ve cried to me time and again you’re not pretty enough,” I manage more softly. “You’ve admitted you compare yourself with influencers, and how you feel ugly by social standards. You’ve told me you hate your nose. Don’t like your body shape. Breast size. Your face. How is this going to be ‘fun’ if you’re rejected, get bad comments, or even get a second date? At best, this show’s a distraction from your goal to get into med school. At worse, and more likely, it’ll make you feel even worse about yourself.”

“Not fun,” her brother added. “I wouldn’t do it J. Not smart,” he said as he left.

“I’m doing the audition anyway,” our daughter said, and followed him out of the kitchen.

—

Ever written a blog, personal essay, or even an email, and as you write it you realize something is fucked up with your reasoning — the point you set out to make?

I realized I may have shamed our daughter, just as the The Button is designed to shame its participants.

I wrote her an email this morning apologizing if she felt I did when I lost it after she told me she was auditioning for the game. I explained my intention was to protect her, educate her from the dangers of predatory online content. She clearly failed to understand the broader consequences of signing up for, or even frequently watching the exploitative game show.

‘Game show’ my ass. Nothing playful about The Button. I wanted to protect my beautiful baby from being publicly shamed.

Some raw facts (I didn’t iterate to our daughter, but likely should):

  • Social media addiction amplifies low self-esteem leading to higher rates of depression and suicide, especially in her age group.
  • Watching and engaging with shaming, bullying, predatory, and exploitative content increases low self-esteem, depression and suicide rates.
  • The development team of ignorant, arrogant, short-sighted, self-serving slime, AKA, the Cut: David Alvarez, Blaine Ludy, Marina Taylor (former), and Desmond Vieg, are making bank on what they call “a social experiment.”

‘Experiment?’ Get real! No science. No controls. These parasites are profiting from exploiting shame and destroying self-esteem of young people establishing their self-images. How ugly is that!

Regardless of my faulty approach of admonishing our daughter for signing up for The Button, my heart was in the right place. The Cut developers are clearly heartless. Would they entice their own kids into some twisted social ‘experiment’ for their profit? I pray they never have children. Narcissists generally make suck parents.

I’m ashamed, feel I failed as a mom that my daughter signed up to be on The Button, or even chooses to spend one minute of her life’s time watching it, essentially promoting it with her views. I thought I taught our kids to be aware of the consequences of their actions. Parenting the perils of the internet seems a constant work-in-progress now, coming up against social platforms luring kids in like the Pied Piper, and addicting them like Purdue Pharma with OxyContin.

The Cut founders are young, naive, arrogant, and ignorant in the extreme. (So is most social media, from Insta to Snap that blows away your life’s time). Ugly games like The Button teaches watchers and participants it’s OK to torment, mock, insult, shame people, for profit.

The Button creators get richer with every hit to their “mean‑spirited,” “cruel,” “superficial,” “shallow,” YouTube channel. And ‘Seen by millions’ if you join their cast of fools won’t make you rich like they’re becoming on you.

Modeling cruelty spreads it. When you View or Engage with The Button, or any online game, platform, or app that makes it acceptable, (profitable, and therefore admirable) to be cruel, you are participating in becoming so.

The Fundamentals of Effective Communication

by jcafesin, posted in communication

My husband was upset with our 7-yr-old Shepherd-mix pound-hound this morning. “Ellie won’t come with me to Frisbee anymore.”

He generally takes her to the park every weekday afternoon to play. I take Ellie Maze on the weekends. I stand at the top of the hill and hurl the disk as far as I can to get her running. She needs the daily workout.

“I had to take her in your car again to get her to go.” He paused, glared at our dog laying on her fluffy blanket near the kitchen table. She stared back at him then looked at me. “I get she wanted you to take her, not me.” His pout made it clear he felt dissed. “I take her 5 days a week and somehow that’s not good enough.”

My beautiful Maze is a brat, to everyone but me. Raised by four adults—two grown kids, my husband and me—all placate to her desires since we adopted her at just 8 wks.

“I don’t know why she gravitates to you,” my DH said. “We all take care of this dog, but you’re her Alpha. Clearly,” he added, looking down at El. “Is it just because you trained her?”

“I was on her more than anyone else, but we all trained her. Give a dog what they need, and consistently express what you need from them, and it’s really not hard to communicate.”

“For you. You’re like the Dog Whisperer,” he said, and still believes it.

“I’m not. All you gotta do is talk with them, like I do with you and the kids. Communication is the key, and easy with a dog. Dogs never ‘mature’ beyond toddlers. Expectations are simple, limited. Dogs want to please. So I wanna please them. Perfect synergy—mutual respect.”

“I talk to this dog all the time,” he defended.

I shook my head. “Not so much. You talk at her, give her commands, or praise her prowess or cuteness.”

“You do too!” he attacked.

“Yeah, I do. Who could resist that face?” I said, looking at Ellie, her rocket ears up, her big brown eyes fixed on me. “But at Frisbee, I talk to her—tell her where I’m throwing it, when to take off to get it, ask if she wants to wait before the next toss. And she does, a lot, especially after we’ve been playing a while. So, we wait. She stands by me or leans against me panting, and drooling.” I flashed a smile, but my DH didn’t acknowledge it, so I continued. “I’ve asked her to circle me when she’s ready for the next catch, and now she does. Didn’t take her long to learn. Frisbee’s her game. I let her lead, respond to her needs. That’s why she wants me to take her.”

“Last Sunday, when you couldn’t take her, she just laid on her blanket instead of going to Frisbee. I told her to come over and over but she wouldn’t move.” He looked at our dog and Ellie’s huge ears drooped. “She didn’t come, until you commanded her to go with me.”

“But I didn’t command her. I explained I’d hurt my back, and that I couldn’t take her, even though I usually do on weekends. I told her she wouldn’t get to play at all if she didn’t go with you. I looked her in the eyes, told her I was sorry and acknowledged her disappointment, as I would with anyone I let down.”

He looked at Ellie. She looked at him, ears drooping, then back at me, rocket ears up, her fixed stare connecting us. Then she got up and came to me for strokes of approval.

It is known that from birth until 8 to 10 yrs old our foundation is laid—our personality, patterns of learning, observing—how we interpret what we see, our identity are all established in early childhood.

Dogs imprint faster. In about a year most dogs are locked into behavior patterns they’ll carry into adulthood. Ellie’s been [over]active since we got her. Vet called her a ‘high-energy dog.’

I’m imprinted on El’s psyche as her Alpha, like I am on our kids’ because I’ve talked with them endlessly, sung to them, with them, constantly. Music is a fantastic conduit! Preschool through middle school, I picked them up daily, planned activities, camps, sports, scouts. We talked about everything, no holds barred, sharing details I’d never have told my mother. I was, and still am their Alpha.

Just like our dog.

Ellie Maze will never grow intellectually beyond a 3 yr old child, topping out. But toddlers feel and express compassion, assert independence, understand rules and words by their tenor, if not their direct meaning. They bond to family, as El has made us her pack.

Most Sundays I make breakfast while my husband reads the NYT aloud. In the column ‘Social Qs,’ 99% of Philip Galanes advice: TALK TO THEM. ‘Tell your partner/mom/friend/neighbor/[dog] how you feel, what you need, and why. Then listen to their point of view, and compromise if necessary to preserve the relationship.’

The desire to communicate, instead of just get your way, is paramount. I’ve raised three dogs and two kids. They’ve raised me too, helped me feel seen, heard, respected through constant communication. While El’s needs are simpler, we all share real feelings, desires, hopes, disappointments, even in one another.

We don’t Defend, Deny, Attack, Retreat (DDAR) when confronted. For the most part, we listen, anticipate and respond to each other’s needs/desires. We don’t shut down and leave when challenged. We talk it outuntil we harbor no internalized anger or resentment. While my feelings for and commitment to my kids is far greater than my dog, my love for Ellie is also without reservation.

Our dog does not DDAR when we rebuke her behavior. She learns, and adapts for the most part, as my kids do for me, and I for them. And while Ellie Maze may have stopped maturing at the age of most toddlers, we have established mutual trust and respect. Like the kids and me, Ellie and I are a safe harbor for each other. I’m still working on effective communication with my husband of 30 yrs.

R.I.P. Information Hwy

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

I’m watching The Politician on Netflix while working out. Deep into the second season, the scene unfolds on a teen and mom in their kitchen, arguing about which state senator to vote for in the upcoming New York election.

Teen is a first-time voter, just 18, and wants to vote for the 24 yr old male candidate running on the Green ticket, vs. the mid-aged female 20 yr incumbent, virtually unchallenged in every election till now.

“Boomer,” the child mocks her mother who is listing the contributions of the older incumbent against the sole climate platform the 24 yr old is running on. “The world is gonna end in 10 yrs, Mom.”

“I am barely a boomer, okay?” the mom defends. “So don’t throw that shit at me,” she says. “And the world is not going to end in 10 yrs, Jayne!” She goes on and lists all she does for her daughter, the vegan cooking, the composting, and even the hyper-vigilant recycling her child insists on. “And still, I am the problem, according to you.”

“Not YOU, Mom. People your age.”

Right about now I feel my body tense as I run on the machine. I AM her mother’s age.

“Let me tell ya something, Jayne. People YOUR age think you know everything and you are fucking naive. When I was your age, I thought I knew everything too.”

“We’re not naive, Mom. We’re INFORMED. You had, what, like two newspapers, three networks. I’ve got a SUPER COMPUTER in my pocket.”

She is, of course, referring to her cellphone, and, in fact, showing the viewer how naive this child really is.

Unfortunately, Mom didn’t come back at Jayne. Mom doesn’t know (nor the writers of the show apparently) that the SUPER COMPUTER in both their pockets, well, isn’t informing them of anything but what they already believe. So, in effect, it is MANIPULATING this ignorant, yet rather arrogant child, and anyone else who believes they have a SUPER COMPUTER in their cellphone.

The cellphone you all carry around, (as I don’t have a smartphone, so really, it is all of you), is a RECOMMENDATION ENGINE. It isn’t INFORMING you, it is RECOMMENDING you read, watch, buy, and even think about what Google, Facebook, Instagram…etc., wants you to. Every social platform you are on, every YouTube vid you watch, every document you SEARCH for, shows you what they think you will be RECEPTIVE to. Marketing pros know that it’s off-putting to get information opposed to what we already believe, regardless of the truth in the information. And they want to endear themselves to customers, not piss us off.

Today’s internet is NOT unlimited access to unfettered information like the world wide web once was. You’ll be hard-pressed to find anything through SEARCH that isn’t already somewhere in your belief system. Searching for anything now, you will only get back what Google thinks you should see, to manipulate you to buy the offerings, or into the messaging of their affiliate marketers. A crystal-clear example of this can be seen in the Netflix film The Great Hack. Russia paid Google and Facebook fortunes in ad campaigns pushing the conservative Republican agenda to get Trump elected.

Now, the internet is a MARKETING ENGINE to make these social media platforms money. Every time you log onto Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, or Google, they ‘scrape’ your posts, simultaneously putting ‘cookies’ on your mobile and laptop to follow you wherever you go on the net, and in real life. Your mobile has an accelerometer in them, which says how fast you are moving, and GPS to inform Google and their like where you are on the planet, revealing when and where you shop, what you buy, how much you spend, what you read, watch, glance at, or frequently visit.

Machine Learning, Natural Language Process, Deep Learning, AI, are all software processes that analyze all that data from trillions of posts, texts, IMs, and searches, and then CORRELATE that data for patterns of behavior through COLLABORATIVE FILTERING.

COLLABORATIVE FILTERS [à la] Wikipedia:

Collaborative filtering is a method of making automatic predictions (filtering) about the interests of a user by collecting preferences or taste information from many users (collaborating).

In other words, gathering and filtering your data from the net tells Google and Facebook what you (and those like you) will likely buy, or what rhetoric you’ll likely believe in the future. Then these social platforms slam you with marketing targeted AT You, not “For You,” as they claim.

They tell you it’s to HELP YOU find things you’ll like quicker. But this is a flat-out lie. They want to SELL YOU offerings and ideas supported by their affiliate marketers (like Russia).

Google SEARCH is the only way to find anything now, locally or globally, since phone books don’t exist anymore. But Google is ONLY returning the businesses buying the most ad space and spending the most money on their platforms. I used to get pages and pages of returns on any given subject 10 yrs ago. Now I only get a few pages before Google says, “We have omitted some entries very similar to those already displayed.” And while they do indicate you can search the omissions, this too is a joke. Google simply will not give you information that they feel you don’t need (and won’t serve their agenda), based on your internet and cellphone usage history.

My 19 yr old daughter, and most of her friends, are on the same page as Jayne in The Politician. They are simply ignorant of what it is they are addicted to, and how their phones are manipulating them to THINK, FEEL and ACT the way these social platforms and their affiliate marketers want them to. She is SURE that “no one is manipulating ME, Mom!” She “knows” when she’s being hit with ads, and she “just ignores them.”

BULLSHIT.

My daughter, you, me, can’t ignore them when we don’t even know they are happening while we IM through Facebook on our mobile.

Example:

Mary is IMing a good friend on Facebook, whining about her marriage “in crisis.”

Facebook’s algorithms are scraping her and her friend’s IM for SENTIMENT ANALYSIS to find out where Mary might be vulnerable to purchase something…anything really, as FB has advertisers that sell just about everything.

The next ad Mary sees on her mobile is for a singles dating site. The ad is targeted at divorcees, showing an older woman having fun with a stunning man, and the copy says, “Your second chance at true love.” In a few short sentences, the copy describes the relationship you’ll find on their site like a Cinderella story, the evil stepmom played by the partner’s spouse.

A while later, Mary goes on to YouTube, and the next series of ads she sees vacillate from singles dating sites to divorce lawyers. The ads appear on the side of her emails, and in her Instagram feed, and most anywhere she goes online.

Mary never mentioned divorcing her husband when IMing her friend. She’d not even thought of it, really. In fact, she’s frequently sounded off about her relationship to friends through IM, as many do. And it isn’t the first time Mary has gotten these dating and lawyer ads. It’s been going on a long time now, one ad after the other every time she even posts a back-handed joke about marriage in general, regardless if through her phone or laptop. And after this last fight with her husband, well, like the ads keep saying, Mary deserves more! Like the ads say, she can find someone better than her husband. And like the ads say, a divorce will, “Open her life to the possible!”

These ads appear whenever Mary is feeling vulnerable about her marriage. (Marketing is an iterative process.) And instead of looking to make it work with her husband, after a while all Mary wants to do is divorce and open her life up to new possibilities.

To Google, Facebook, Mary’s divorce is a WIN! Their algorithms and the engineers who code them don’t know they’ve torn apart a family, for their profit. The software did its job and rewarded their advertisers. Some lawyer who advertises on their site just got themselves a client. Some dating app that spends millions annually in affiliate marketing on their platform just got a new subscriber. Multiply that with the hundreds of thousands of businesses doing affiliate marketing on the net, and you have, well, today’s internet.

NOT a SUPER COMPUTER. And no longer, “The Information Highway.”

But simply a RECOMMENDATION ENGINE, a marketing tool in which YOU are a PRODUCT of the platforms you frequent.

We Are What We DO

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

My 10 yr old daughter asked me what Ego meant, one of her vocabulary words for the week.

I laughed. “Good question. What do you think it means?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I knew, Mom.”

“Well, use it in a sentence, in context. You’ve heard the word enough to have an inkling what it means. And an inkling is as close as you’re going to get to defining an abstract like Ego.”

Her brows narrowed and I could see her pondering in the rearview mirror.

“My ego got hurt when Ms. Brown told me I was singing flat this morning.” She paused. “And she really said that.”

“Sorry. We’ll get back to that. OK? So, Ego is a feeling then?”

“Well, sorta, I guess. But not exactly. It’s more like how we see ourselves. To me, I’m a good singer. You can hurt my feelings by being mean to me. But you hurt my ego when you tell me I’m not how I think I am.”

“Do you think you were flat this morning in glee?”

“Well, yeah. When I listened, I wasn’t hitting the notes sometimes. I guess I’m not such a good singer.”

“Ah, but you could be.” I glimpsed her rolling her eyes in the rearview. “Being a good singer doesn’t happen inside your head. What is the only way to get good at anything?” (One of my many canonical refrains.)

“Practice,” she huffed.

I sighed. “My beautiful daughter, I think your definition of Ego is excellent — it’s how we see ourselves. Ego is an idea, even an ideal — who we want to be, but generally are not. We are what we do, my dear,” I repeat another of my refrains. “If you want to be a good singer, you’re going to have to practice becoming one.”

“So you don’t think I’m a good singer?” she asked woefully.

“We’re still defining Ego here, right?”

“Yeah. And my ego says I’m a good singer now, Mom. So is ego always fake, just pretend inside our heads?”

“You tell me. Do you think our ego ever gives us an accurate depiction — paints a real picture of how we operate, how we act, what we do in the real world?”

“Probably not.” She sighed, deflated. “Just cuz you think you’re good, or talented, or special doesn’t mean you actually are to anyone besides yourself, except if you’re famous. When you’re famous, it’s not just ego, you know you’re good.”

“Really? Let’s explore that. So, there’s a famous chef recognized for his delicious creations. As you noted, it’s not just his ego telling him he’s a good chef. He has a thriving restaurant, and 1.7 million dedicated Insta followers. He decides to create a new dish. And his customers hate the meal. The combination of flavors tastes just terrible. So, is the guy delusional that he’s a great chef—that’s just his ego talking?

My daughter considered my little tale carefully before answering. “Well, if he thought of himself as a great chef with everything he made, then that’s his ego thinking he’s good all the time, that everything he creates will be a masterpiece.”

“So then, is our ego ever an accurate depiction of ourselves?”

“I guess not. Just like there’s no such thing as smart.” She quoted another of my canonical refrains. Her bright smile in the rearview mirror lit up my world. “Smart is as smart does,” she mocks playfully. Yet another refrain we preach to our kids.

“It is not our potential, or what we believe, or believe in that defines us,” I said to my daughter as I pulled into our garage. “Regardless of what your ego says, you will never be more than the choices you make that guide the actions you take.”

We ARE what we DO.

SEX is just SEX

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

SEX is JUST SEX. It is a biological drive, a primal/base urge both genders possess (to varying degree between individuals. The urge is heightened from preteens through early 40s, and tapers with age).

SEX IS NOT LOVE, regardless of the portrayal in movies that the act of sex is profoundly loving, a spiritual meeting of minds, bodies, and souls. Having sex can be an action of love, but it isn’t with someone you’ve just met. Love takes longer and requires a lot more work than a quicky. And fucking on a granite counter top in the kitchen may look romantic, but seriously? Ouch!

AN ORGASM IS NOT LOVE. Dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins, and norepinephrine — the brain releases a surge of feel-good hormones with orgasm. This Pleasure/Reward circuit that lights up our brains is encoded in our DNA — part of our evolutionary process — incentive programming to reproduce.

Consenting partners engaged in sex often equate these happy hormones with feelings of love. This is especially true for first crushes, but the notion that sex and love are synonymous is the gold standard in mainstream morality. It’s proselytized by religion, parents, and the media — ‘making love’ the climax (excuse the pun), consummating the canonical ‘happy ending.’

It is NOT an action of LOVE, in the ‘throes of passion,’ to break marriage contracts of fidelity. It is, perhaps, more egregious to nix the condom to heighten erotic stimulation without knowing the sexual health and history of your partner. These are displays of their lateral orbitofrontal cortex shutting down, blocking out all reason, abandoning all behavioral control to spark the Pleasure/Reward circuitry in the brain.

Kind of like a gorilla. (They have a hard time with complex reasoning, and predictive modeling — examining the possible consequences of their actions, like producing a child.)

Historically, men are more driven by their biology, claiming to require or desire sex 5 times more than women. However, when either gender is touched appropriately, we are equally hard-wired for stimulated free nerve ending nociceptors to trigger a flood of happy hormones.

SEX is NOT LOVE, no matter what your pastor, or TV, or your mother tells you.

LOVE is much harder to attain than an orgasm.

In fact, I can and do take care of my biological craving for intense pleasure all by myself. And heads up guys — I’ve asked hundreds of heterosexual women over the years if they have a more intense orgasm with a partner or without. It has ALWAYS been without.

From biblical times, humanity has made the act of SEX so much more than it is because the consequences can pass on disease, and create life. Even with the advent of birth control, sex is still riskier for women then men. Close to 42% of pregnancies in U.S. are unintended. Approx. 33% of children live in fatherless homes. Over 20% of dads have little or no involvement in their kid’s lives. Choosing adoption, or to terminate unwanted pregnancies — each carries their own weight, for life.

We all expect the primary parent to be the mother, even today. Common wisdom professes women are programmed to care for our children. True or social rhetoric, we generally don’t walk away, which is why women and men usually have sex for different reasons.

Women are looking for a deep[er] connection when we initiate or consent to sex. Even with hookups, most women are looking for an intimate bond, a mythical shared emotional space. Languishing with their loverin the afterglow of sex is more satisfying than the orgasm itself. We imagine the moment lasting, blossoming into a loving relationship.

SEX is just SEX. But if Desire — the expectation of happy hormones — is not satisfied, a predictable pattern of behavior generally emerges.

Sexually frustrated men typically withdraw, become more distant, passive/aggressive. They’re less malleable. Less likely to pay attention, be supportive — from helping with daily tasks, to engaging in dialog over concerns and issues. This behavior leads to further discord between partners, and less sex, perpetuating the implosion of the relationship.

Women generally don’t want to have sex when we’re upset with our partners, but most of us don’t ignore Desire. As mentioned, we simply satisfy ourselves. Infidelity is not about orgasms. They’re typically with a man who lavishes attention, praise, sometimes gifts — actions their partner is not taking — and commonly mistaken as romance.

SEX may be grounded in our biological drive to reproduce, but over millennium women have found it a useful tool, consciously, or not. (You can pretend it’s not true, but you’d be lying to you.) We’ve woven so much crap into coupling — equating fucking with love, making sex the pinnacle of romance, acceptance, and required for intimacy, we ignore the fact that these are myths. Mere social and religious constructs to mitigate the consequences of intercourse.

Rooted in biology, and our encoded Desire to evolve, SEX by no means need be 5% of the relationship when it’s good, and 95% when it’s not, as your church, temple, and social media tells you…

  • Over 18 and still a virgin?
  • You’ve been on how many dates, and you haven’t made it yet?
  • Together for X months and you only do it once a week?
  • Newlyweds? You should be humping like bunnies!
  • No sex for X means your marriage has gone stale.

Most loving, lasting relationships do not hinge on sexual frequency. Pressuring your partner to be sexually available at your whim should no longer be acceptable. Sexual Desire is dynamic — changing with circumstance, age, physicality. Over time, being there for the other andaccepting each other’s frailties garners trust. Trust generates intimacy — LOVE.

SEX can be an intensely pleasurable physical exchange between willing partners. It can be an expression of caring, a sharing, bonding experience for couples, but it will not make some rando fall in love with you. The dopamine rush from orgasm is not an emotional connection with your partner. It’s brain chemistry. More SEX will not save your marriage, or a dying relationship from poor communication. Having intercourse may defer but will not cure issues negatively affecting your partnership.

SEX is just SEX.

The Problem with Today’s Parents

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

We play GOD when we give birth. With great power comes great responsibility…

There is a child in my daughter’s preschool that everyone dislikes. She hits, pushes, slaps, and throws a fit every time she doesn’t get her way. All the teachers at the preschool dread having this wild child in their class. Her mom has been notified multiple times in regards to her child’s poor behavior.

Speculation from parents and teachers alike ranged from ADHD to genetic disorders. I’ve often imagined the parents to be self-centered workaholics who had children as a matter of course, and then abandoned them to expensive daycare to manage their child rearing. This is somewhat typical in the area in which we live.

I met the mom recently at a class party and she shattered all my preconceived notions. We talked for quite some time and she was thoughtful and articulate. She worked only part time and mostly late at night so she could be there for her two kids. Her older daughter was in second grade and in her second year of GATE classes for gifted children. She spoke openly about the problems with her youngest, even seemed mystified, as her older daughter had always been easygoing and cooperative.

At my daughter’s fourth birthday party it became clear why her youngest daughter was so ‘challenging.’ We supplied crafts, a magic show, and a yard complete with a bouncy house, as well as a full-size playhouse with kitchen. But all this wasn’t enough for the problem child. Bored by the offerings, she went upstairs to my daughter’s room and proceeded to try on her clothes. Her mother and I became aware of this when my daughter came to me crying.

I immediately asked that the child take off my daughter’s favorite princess dress and return it to the closet. “NO! I don’t want to!” she screamed. Her mother stood beside me and sighed heavily but said nothing. Nothing. I repeated my request and the girl continued screaming that she wanted to play dress-up, that she wasn’t going to take the dress off, and I couldn’t make her. Her mother looked at me, sighed again and shook her head. In a nice, pleasant tone she suggested to her daughter that perhaps she could take the dress off and maybe play dress-up after the party was over. Still, the girl refused.

I couldn’t believe it. If it was my daughter, I would have instantly given her a time out, then demanded she apologize for speaking disrespectfully, and for using things that didn’t belong to her without permission. If she didn’t cooperate within one second, she would have lost privileges like watching TV. And every subsequent second that passed that she didn’t comply she would lose more privileges for longer periods of time.

I felt awkward disciplining the child with the mother standing right there but I didn’t know what else to do since the mother wasn’t doing anything. In a very low, gravelly voice, I informed the child if she didn’t take the dress off I would do it for her. By my tone the girl knew I was serious, and she acquiesced. She literally threw the dress at me and ran off to play with the other kids. And her mom let her. She didn’t chide the child for her poor behavior. She looked at me and shrugged as if to say, ‘See what I have to deal with?’ But instead, she said she was sorry. SHE was sorry. She didn’t have her daughter apologize.

It is no wonder her child is a raving lunatic brat.

I see this again and again — parents who do not consistently discipline their children and then wonder why their kids are out of control. They take parenting classes that are taught by psychologist who tell them with authority to be supportive and encouraging. And while this may work with easy kids who above all seek approval, it is not the solution to most children whose greater interest is pleasing themselves.

We are all born solipsists. We have to learn to consider the world outside ourselves, to cooperate, but this must be taught and constantly reinforced. It has been said that it takes a village to raise children. But I don’t want to be part of a village in which the parents are clueless, or more accurately — couldn’t care less.

I held a Cub Scout meeting at my home a few days ago. One of the mom’s came an hour late and her child missed the rocket craft. Her son was so angered by this he went up to his mom and slugged her, hard, in her shoulder. And SHE APOLOGIZED TO HIM for being late, and then turned to me and justified his rage with some lame excuse about how hard it was for him to transition. It took all my will not to step in, demand he apologize and then put the kid on time out.

I did not restrain myself last night at a Pack meeting with fifty other children, when the same boy became disruptive. Several parents stood in a tight circle scowling and complaining about the boy’s poor behavior. The child’s parents were too busy talking to other parents to notice. I got so annoyed at the boy’s constant goading of the kids around him that I took him by the hand and pulled him aside and told him to knock it off. The mom came over moments later and challenged ME for being overly strict. All the other parents looked away.

Offing your kids to daycare so you can pursue your muse/career or accepting solipsism from their child because the parent is too tired or too lazy to fight the necessary battles to raise conscientious adults, will not help our children learn create a thriving society. Twenty five yrs after the original writing of this essay, more parents than ever are raising self-absorbed brats, not only keeping humanity from reaching our amazing, creative potential, but reversing our progress! War. Poverty. Famine. Strife. These are curable if we raise the next gen, and the next, to CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER WAY BEYOND SELF. In other words, GROW THE FUCK UP — out of solipsism, (as all of us are born into), through the narcissism of our teens, and into adulthood. Adulting means expanding our awareness outside of self.

We play GOD when we give birth. With great power comes great responsibility. Parenting offers many rewards, but one of the least appealing aspects is constantly iterating the seemingly endless list of rules. And as hard as this is, it is mandatory. Social standards apply to all of us — if not, we have a society in chaos, and eventually no society at all.

The TRUTH about Mark Zuckerberg

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

IMAGINE working your ass off all through high school, studying instead of partying, volunteering with school and community groups so you can get into a good college. You send out your applications, to Stanford, Harvard, Princeton, as you have a 4.8 GPA, and all the right clubs on your resume. Your mom kisses each envelope before mailing, “for luck,” then hugs you, with her silent prayer that you’ll be accepted everywhere, that the world will see her beautiful daughter the way she does.

Pins and needles until the letters start coming in, or maybe they won’t, and no college will want you, keeps playing in your head, until March rolls around and letters DO come. Cal Berkeley wants you! UC Davis wants you! Stanford wait-listed you. And Harvard ACCEPTED YOU!! You’re dancing in the kitchen with your mom, dad, and little brother, laughing, hugging, celebrating your achievement of hard work and tenacity. For the moment, you let yourself bask in the glow of your family’s pride.

August comes around, and you are settling into your dorm room at Harvard. Your roommate is nice enough, though she’s hardly there. Unlike you, she’s very social. She got into Harvard on her daddy’s dime. He went there too. She has a 3.6 GPA, but got a free pass into the school, as did ex-president George Bush Jr (with a 2.35 GPA). If nothing else, Harvard is incestuous. Known as ‘Legacy students,’ over a third of Harvard students are related to past students, with money.

You love your classes. Your professors. A few months into your Harvard experience you are doing well academically, even if you haven’t made any real friends. You assure your mom you’re fine, though you don’t tell her you’re feeling more than a bit lonely. The popular girls, like your roommate, came in with money, and come from money. They dress trendy, buy expensive, look sharp, act confident. Make it in Harvard, or not, they have no worries after school. The rich rarely have to worry like the rest of us.

You come back to your empty dorm room one afternoon, turn on your computer, and are about to get started on the paper you have to write for Expository, but the image on the screen stops you dead. Your face stares back at you, next to some sexy female student. Headline reads, “We were let in for our looks? No. We will be judged by them? Yes.” Subhead says, “Who’s Hotter? Click to choose.” Under YOUR PICTURE voters agree you’re not.

This is the beginning of Facemash, which eventually became Facebook. This is MARK ZUCKERBERG’S idea of fun — making women feel like shit for his entertainment. IMAGINE what that girl must have felt when she saw NOT under her Harvard profile picture. IMAGINE if it was YOUR CHILD. Or YOU.

And here’s what ZUCKERBERG said the first night he released Facemash: “I almost want to put some of these faces next to pictures of some farm animals and have people vote on which is more attractive.”

This is MARK ZUCKERBERG then, and THIS IS MARK ZUCKERBERG NOW! He is still the same ugly, petty, small man/child, pulling the same ugly crap, indifferent to anyone but himself, ignoring the pain he is causing around the globe now.

Zuckerberg was already a second-year student at Harvard when he began Facemash. He was not a child. If ZUCKERBERG was a decent man, a man of compassion, empathy, not cruelty, he never would have COPIED HOT OR NOT, an app that was already out there. Zucky just ripped it off! To debase Harvard WOMEN. Shame on you ZUCKY, and your MAMA and PAPA, for not teaching you how to treat others with respect and kindness!

ZUCKERBERG is still indifferent to anyone but his own needs, even today. His Facebook recommendation engine helped get TRUMPY ELECTED! Twice! How? Facebook only shows you what ZUCKY WANTS YOU TO SEE. You do NOT see all your connection’s posts. ZUCKY only shows you posts that REFLECT YOU. Upset about inflation? FB will show you Russian and Republican advertisers (disguised as friends and connections) who sell you that Trump will fix the economy. We are all merely seeing posts that reflect our personal concerns and opinions now.

ZUCKY only sees his own reflection too. It’s what allowed him to debase women at Harvard. It is allowing him to keep his screwed-up recommendation engine on and running. Republicans spreading lies, ZUCKY doesn’t care. He cares about getting and keeping advertisers. His “fake news” AI department is a joke. I know someone working there, and they tell me he isn’t trying to stop it at all. It doesn’t serve him to do so. He wants advertisers, and you don’t get them, and keep them, limiting ad sales.

He got lucky debasing women from an app he RIPPED OFF. Now he’s god to so many in Silicon Valley. Sadly, they are so blinded by his “success” that they cannot see the ugly little man/child he was @Harvard and still is. Humans get our moral fiber, our value systems, between 0–8, maybe up to 10 years old. Mark clearly didn’t get much moral guidance from his parents. And amoral people rarely change. They need a brick to the head, to ‘hit bottom,’ and ZUCKY ain’t fallin any time soon. In fact, Mark’s aligned himself with powerful Republicans to protect his self-interests.

The spoiled, self-serving brat is guiding the world to disaster after reaping huge profits on fake news without restraint to get Trumpy elected again. We now have a fascist running our country [into the ground] for the second time. Why? On top of getting him elected again, ZUCKY is paying Trump millions (billions?) to stop the Fed’s from breaking up Mark’s META monopoly.

MARK ZUCKERBERG, your power was wielded by the wealth of your parentage — mere chance, dumb luck. You’ve prioritized status and image over compassion and authenticity. Behind every great fortune is a great crime. Your crime, Mark, is the narcissist you’ve chosen to be.

Imagine how you and your wife, Priscilla Chan, would feel if YOUR DAUGHTERS, Maxima and August, were voted NOT HOT, deemed UGLY their first year at Harvard, as no doubt they’ll go there with the money you have made on the wasted hours all of us have spent on FACEBOOK and INSTAGRAM.

DELETE Facebook

DELETE Instagram

Parenting

Trump

Musk

WhatsApp

Looking for Cancer

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

I’m scared out of my mind, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. Cancer is not unexpected. I’ve been waiting for the diagnosis for years. Still, when I felt the tenderness in my breast a month ago I passed it off as a pulled muscle from weightlifting. I tried to ignore it last week too, told myself my breasts were just swollen from my impending period. But my husband felt it too during sex the other night. He moved the lump under my skin with the tips of his fingers, clearly troubled, and I had to stop pretending.

I find out the results from my biopsy tomorrow. A part of me already knows. They said it would feel ‘uncomfortable’ getting a core sample but it hurt like hell. As I sit here in McDonalds, across from my daughter, watching her stuff fries into her angelic face, I think of our limited time together. She runs off to the play structure and I wonder if she’ll remember me when I’m gone. She’s so young. I wonder how long she’ll miss me. I can’t help crying. People will see. I hide my face, stare down at the page.

It’s not death I fear. It’s the process of dying. I watched my mother grasp at every last second with each new experimental treatment while her body and mind withered, and it was horrific. I’ll opt for chemo, even though I don’t want to. I’ll do it for my kids, model not quitting, to never give up. Show them to fight for life against all odds. I’ll lose my hair, my thick auburn waves—my one feature I’ve always been proud of. I’ll be sick and tired all the time and it’ll all be for naught, just like my mom. Six months, a year, even a few, but cancer will kill me. Once it’s manifested in the system there is no stopping it.

It’s getting crowded in here now. Moms and dads with their kids eating Happy Meals celebrating life. I sit in the corner. I can’t stop the tears. My beautiful child comes running back to our table, her cheeks flush, her expression joyful. I’m afraid to look up, look in her eyes. She senses my fear. Her expression darkens. I’ve robbed her her joy. She asks me why I’m sad. I lie and say I’m not, tell her how beautiful she is. She hesitates, then smiles. She’s flattered but it falters as my eyes fill. I’ve never been brave and I suck at pretending. I’ve let her down again.

There’s a woman staring at me. Her infant son sits on her lap trying to suck a shake up his straw. He stares too. They’re wondering what’s wrong with me. It’s more than just cancer. I can’t breathe. I can’t hold it together. I’ve never been able to hold it together.

There’s no line for the slide, I inform my daughter. She hesitates and looks at the play structure then runs off to play, lost to the moment, lost from me. I stare down and write.

I’ve never dared write about things that profoundly scare me. The written word is so concrete, like casting a possibility into reality. I’m writing it down now because it doesn’t matter. The foundation was laid years ago. The result of reckless behavior is inevitable. I knew it then. I know it now. I’m writing it down because my fear is consuming me, and I don’t want to look up.

If I have it I’ll deserve it. It’s just a reprieve if I don’t. The bullet is coming at me. No doubt about it. I’m not being fatalistic. All the years of partying, smoking, six or more Diet Cokes a day, and of course genetics. I’m a realist. Nothing happens in a vacuum. I set this up with my obsession to be thin, and in. There’s no point in pondering if it was worth it. It’s done. Live healthier now? Somewhat. But I still partake in binging and treats and other bad habits. I only know how to go too far (a la Ed Sherran).

I feel her arms around my waist but know it’s my daughter from her embrace. I melt, barely contain sobbing. I gather her hands in mine and bend to kiss them then let go. She comes around the table and sits across from me. She’s staring at me, assessing my mood. I’m afraid to hold eye contact and look past her at the happy family at the table behind her. Don’t be sad, Mom, my daughter says, and I look at her. ’Cuz I’ll love you forever.

My beautiful child, forever is not as far as it used to be, I think to say but don’t of course. I’ll love you forever, too, baby, I assure her but it feels like I’m lying. Can’t love dead. If I hold her gaze another second and I’ll won’t be able to hold it together. You finished? I ask her as I gather the detritus we’ve left on the table.

She dramatically crunches her empty bag into a ball and goes to trash it. We’ll go home tonight, snuggle in bed and read aloud together. Her first—The Magic Tree House, then we’ll listen to her older brother read Harry Potter. They’ll both go to bed tonight, sleep soundly, and tomorrow will be just another day in a long life to come. Tomorrow will change my life forever forward, even if simply a precursor to what I know is coming.

I’m scared out of my fucking mind.