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Of Two Worlds: The Empowerment within the Girl with the Plastic Bag

Of Two Worlds: The Empowerment within the Girl with the Plastic Bag

Dandelion Soul Creative

I consider myself to be quite natural. I enjoy walking barefoot upon the earth.  I dig in my garden without gloves.  I don’t wear makeup.  I don’t dye my hair.  I often have un-shaven legs and rarely ‘dress up.’  These things have compiled over the past six years, mostly.  It began with becoming a Mother.  Many mothers know that self care can often take a back seat as we choose to become selfless for our children.  In the center of my journey into motherhood, I began to look deeper into my own human existence.  Children can prompt deep discussions and thoughts like this.  They change you.  They change your body.  They alter your mind.  They make you stronger.  They help you grow.

At first, I was uncomfortable with the transition of becoming, well… counterculture.  Not many women my age (I’m 36) have “let themselves go” quite like I have chosen…

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Dandelion Soul Creative


Join me over at my new blog!  This blog will contain less *ahem* personal prose and MORE of a positive voice.

A passion for nature and the arts has led me to explore the creative aspects of life that feed my soul and better my health. In a world full of hurdles that challenge a positive focus, I find recluse in photography, gardening, homemade foods and crafts. This blog will share photos and prose surrounding the simple things in life which bring contentment and joy, wellness and support.

I’ll still be spilling my soul here at The Butterchurn from time to time– but as of now, I am focused on this new adventure.


Slow Down your Mind. Be Wild! Put down your “phone”


walking wild tiger

I have gotten so used to solving dilemmas that I have forgotten, at times, how to slow down. One thing that Motherhood has taught me is that it is a necessity for me to spend time alone from time to time. If I don’t take care of myself by being able to do whatever I want uninterrupted for a reasonable amount of time, I start to feel overwhelmed…and at times, a little resentful that I don’t have space when I need it. (I’m working on that)
I have been gifting myself time alone as of late. I NEVER did this for myself before…and I’ll tell you, it almost drove me insane. I find that long, relaxing baths do the trick to slow me down. To make me take care of myself. My body seems at ease in a bath. If I had a stream out in my backyard deep enough to submerge my body in, I’d be out there too.

I choose a different essential oil (therapeutics) each time I bathe. Sometimes I mix scents. The scent, and the knowledge of how each oil is medicinal soothe me. They relax my body. They slow my mind. They have healed my skin tremendously.  I have stopped drinking much alcohol at all. This has helped my skin too. (If you’re wondering why I’m talking so much about the health of my skin, catch up by reading my other blog posts about Dyshidrotic Eczema).

I have been having difficulties with accepting technology lately. I have been feeling like it is becoming an addiction to use a device on a daily basis. I’ll admit that it is mostly my I-Phone which causes this issue. I made a decision to switch from a cell phone with no internet and texting abilities to an I-phone. My husband and I made this leap together. I have had an I-Phone for 6 months. I told myself that I would write an article about the difference in my mind after making the switch. Well, here it is.

The Butterchurn Blog is essentially my journal. I’m allowing you to read my journal, in a sense…because I am typing my direct thoughts here to share with the world. I’m having an online conversation with both you, and myself. I have thought A LOT lately about this online space. Do I really need it? Is it helping anyone? Do I really need to be posting my personal issues onto the internet? The thoughts that came out of my mind as I went through all of the stages of grief over the issues that I have been dealing with over the past year or so… The anger, the pain, the sorrow, the self-loathing, the misery. I’ve written about the depths of my soul here at The Butterchurn. I have been there and back. I was in a very low stage of existence for quite some time. I was healing myself. I did it. I dealt with many of my life’s major issues:

My Father’s Suicide

My Mother’s Abandonment and possible Narcissism (rage issues: emotional abuse)

Those were two big ones that I dealt with during the same time frame. I list them on their own, because I feel they were pretty difficult walls to break through. I am proud of myself for being able to survive the misery they have caused me.

I stopped dying my hair. It is salt and peppered, and crazy cool like the band Salt-N-Peppa. It’s great. I love to see people’s reactions to it. Somehow I find that people see me to be wiser than I am. I have accepted that it makes me look older than I am…but that it is somehow representative of my mind. Sometimes I question it, yes.  Some days I feel old and crone like, yes.  But mostly I embrace it.

Now, be warned…I’m going to say a lot of good things about myself in ‘this here space’ on ye olde’ internet. I want to be very clear that at all times I am constantly checking my own Ego. I was, after all, raised by a Narcissist. (yeah, I brought that back up…still healing, learning and growing…) I do not speak highly of myself here to come from a place of ego…it is more that I am finally coming from a place of self love. Really…think what you will if you think that’s a bad thing. We should all love ourselves. We should all love others. We should not place judgement on others. When we place judgement on others, we should look into ourselves to analyze why what the other person did bothered us…Why did we judge them?


I’ve been doing a lot of self-discovery lately. Lots of psychology going on in my mind. I am feeling my own self worth. I am really getting to know myself, and in doing so, I’m able to be free to be me. Allowing myself to love myself has helped my skin to heal as well.

Anyhow, I’m going to talk about my hair now. My blog. My mind. My thoughts.— MINE!!!!!


So, I’m 34 years old. I have a lot of grey/silver hairs that I let be silver. My hair is representative of my state of mind. My state of mind as of late, has been to be sure to take care of myself and to remember that I’m free to be me. I also see these silver hairs as a trophy of sorts. I have been through some wild life experiences. Some painful ones. My hair has grieved with me. Perhaps that’s the cause. Who knows? Genetics are said to play a part in hair color. Why is it a bad thing for a woman of any age to not dye her hair. I’m not digging this social norm…so yes, my hair is also a statement piece. I refuse to conform to the program. That’s about what it is saying, if it could talk, that is.

bored tiger

I have talked about my hair color for so long to get to this point… “I’m not digging this social norm” could be said about my hair, as well as social media. I have had an Iphone for six months. My phone used to stay in my purse. Most of the time I never heard it ring. People would text me and I wouldn’t see it until hours later. I was untethered. Now, I’m pretty much on a leash. In fact, my I-phone is sitting just to my left, for easy access if needed. I see a problem developing here… How can I be FREE to be ME when I’m tethered to a digital device? This is considered to be a normal thing. This is the social norm I’m talking about. We are tethered to our devices. We use them to take photos, record memories, look at our calendars, listen to music, respond to messages, send messages, research, write, talk to friends, read articles, look at beautiful photos, watch funny videos, make funny videos, record ourselves on video, record our children on video, take photos of our children, take photos of ourselves, take photos of everyone we meet which we have befriended…the “Phone” is not just a phone.  It is a device.  A mini computer.

mr tiger

I mean, I get it. It’s a fun world. It just frightens me a bit, because I’m such a naturalist at times. I prefer to be completely free and untethered and usually outside. I just read a book to our boys entitled “Mr. Tiger Goes Wild” by Peter Brown.  I have already returned the book to the library, so I can’t quote its message exactly…but I’ll do my best to relay to you what I took away from the story.

The book, “Mr. Tiger Goes Wild” is about a tiger who gets tired of walking upright and acting proper and being just like everyone else. Mr. Tiger wants to be free. He knows he is different.  He stops play, playing along… He stops wearing his hat “GASP! But we all wear hats!” He doesn’t care for small talk, so he roars instead “HOW RUDE!”, He stops walking on two legs “That’s not the way it’s done!!” He stops wearing CLOTHES! “ AHHHHHH Gross!!!!” and eventually his friends get tired of seeing how wild he is being, because they are embarrassed by him and his actions.  They tell him to go into the woods and act that way if he wants to, but that he shouldn’t do it in the city. They tell him to go away because he makes them uncomfortable.  He makes them question themselves.



Meanwhile Mr. Tiger goes, naked, into The Nature of the Jungle, that is just outside of the city (and society) where he has spent his life. He gets to do whatever he wants there, outside, with the plants and insects and amphibians and reptiles and other creatures who live there. No one is there to watch him or see him, because all of the other mammals are living in buildings in the city. He goes wild. He swims, he plays, he roars, he chases, he leaps, he sings, he plays…


but he eventually gets lonely and bored and starved for interaction with other mammals.


While Mr. Tiger was away, his friends began to miss him. They started feeling bad that Mr. Tiger, now “Tiger” had left because they told him to. They had been thinking a lot about the way Mr. Tiger had acted. Thankfully Tiger came back to the city. He decided to wear the costume they all wanted him to be in so that they would be comfortable with him and accept him. They welcomed him home, a bit free of their guilt over the way they had treated him.


When Tiger looked around, he could see that things had changed since he had been away…animals were walking around on FOUR LEGS! (Yes! That’s the natural way for animals walk!), People were not wearing HATS! (That’s ok! We don’t all have to).

Overtime, the consciousness of the animals grew collectively. They began to accept each other. Tiger eventually became dude-like, and decided to wear comfortable shorts and a floral, fun shirt. He was really loving life.

the dude

I hope that our Human Animal Society can take a clue from Mr. Tiger and his friends. The collective minds of the people of the United States (which is the society that I’m a part of) is indeed growing. Our Nation has voted to accept homosexuality. We, the people have begun to stand up (again) against racists. We are becoming accepting of all colors of skin and all nationalities. We grow and learn together, as a nation.  I can only hope that we may learn to treat each other with more respect to our differences.

Sometimes (Okay…OFTEN) I dream about being like Mr. Tiger. I dream of going into nature, away from others to be free of the expected societal norms. To be different. To be the change. Being free of technology is a part of this change I’m talking about. I don’t know if I want to have an I-phone any longer, sometimes. Then I realize that it is essentially a mini lap top that I’m traveling with. It helps guide me around, it answers my questions…and I interact with my co-workers through it. So…I feel as if I’m trapped to this side of things when it comes to the quest to be free. How can I be free if I have to be tethered to this device. How could I make money, friends and a difference in my society without it? It seems to be an important tool for our generation. Especially for the entrepreneurs out there… the dreamers. I suppose I have had to accept the fact that technological change has benefited me in many ways. Without the I-phone, I would probably not be as successful as I seem to be becoming in my life.

Since I’ve had this device, I’ve become a business woman. I now have a series of jobs. I write articles, conduct interviews and produce photo and video for The 29349 Inman Times Online. I am a freelance photographer for The Spartanburg Herald Journal. I often use my device to help me on the job. It has become my tool.

The problem with owning this device has become the addicting world of Facebook, but I’ll save that topic of conversation for another blog. I have vowed to myself that I am going to write more. I have been writing a lot, actually…but not here. I’ve been putting pen to paper. I can write much faster here, so chances are I’ll be back soon. I’ll be writing, somewhere… either online or in the old fashioned, natural way.

Thanks for being here. Please leave a comment about how this ‘article’ made you feel. What did it make you think about? I’d appreciate your input. I’m going to be writing more articles, because that’s part of what I’m paid to do now. This is good. I believe that writing more will be good for my soul.  Maybe I’ll write more outside…happy tiger


not perfectly fine



A mental break: the Release of the Narcissistic Mother, Dyshidrotic Eczema, Aspbergers Syndrome and other tales of the Deep, Dark and Hollow


I’m sorry for being away so long.

Yes, I’ve been away.

I have awakened from a depression.  A depression is something that no one else can help you with.  You can become medicated, sure…but I chose not to.  I made it.  I survived.  There were moments where I wanted to die.  I wished someone would run me off the road.  I hated myself.

I cut my own bangs on a whim the other day.  I always wanted to do that.  I cut them “Betty Page” style.  Betty Page looks a lot like Morticia Addams.  More about that later.

bangs 2015


My husband HATES it.

Your hair can (and should) be used as a canvas to show others who you are.  I didn’t cut my bangs because I hated myself, I just wanted something different.  Something to “wake me up.”  Something to force me to take better care of myself, because I wasn’t doing a very good job.

This is why “current hair fashion” and I never did get along very well. I adore a specific era of hair, but I don’t give a shit what is in style for 2015. I never really gave a shit what was in style my whole life, actually… and I like saying Shit every now and then. Shit! 🙂

I have always tried to be “me” I lost that part of myself for awhile. I became consumed with fear about what others thought about me. Now that part of me is back.

Does this mean I had some sort of mental break in my past? Yeah. Probably so. My Father did put the barrel of a 30-06 in his mouth and pull the trigger just before I graduated college.

I have JUST dealt with this, in my adulthood…11 years later.  I’ll tell this dramatic, backwoods, real life story to you as time goes on.

My husband is an amazing man. He’s really hard to be married to sometimes, because he can be brutally honest. He was just trying to heal me, but I didn’t see it at the time.  I thought he hated me and was just tolerating my presence.  I didn’t believe that he really loved me.  I didn’t think anyone loved me.  I have been programmed, you see, to believe that no one cares about me.  All thanks to the programming that my mother downloaded into me.  It is sort of not her fault, though.  I’m convinced, after talking to her older sister, that their Mother, or Father, perhaps both, had treated them this way their whole life.
“Fuck You!  FUCK YOU, Bitch!  I’m TIRED of the way you treat me!”  – loving words from my Mother, two years ago.

Yeah, that’s just an exert from the story that has been my life during this depression.  My Father (literally) blew his head off in our family’s detached garage.  I watched the hazmat crew clean him up through my parent’s bedroom window.  They told me not to, but I did.  I have seen the contents of the inside of my father’s entire head stuck to buckets and our family bicycles.  I watched two guys in white suits and face masks put him into trash bags.

He wanted to be cremated.  11 years later, he was still sitting on the shelf in my Mother’s living room.  HER living room.  I was sick of waiting.  We were supposed to scatter his ashes off of the Green River bridge.  But no one was talking about that.  In fact, no one EVER talked about it.  All that my Mother ever really said to me about the fact that her husband (whom I doubt she really loved— she just got “KNOCKED UP”(her words–that’s how I’m here) had blown his head off was that his entire head was gone and that there was a piece of his scalp with long grey hair attached to it sitting on the shoulder of his corpse.  This is how she found him.

Granted…yeah, I am glad I didn’t find him.  I know she is still in some state of grief, shock… but no one is helping her.  I tried, but she wouldn’t listen.  We weren’t supposed to talk about our FEELINGS.  She was tired of me trying to get her to deal with it.  To FORCE her to deal with it.  To talk about it.  No one ever really talked to me about it…I mean REALLY sat down and checked in on me, asked me how I was dealing with it.  No one.  People would offer, “If you ever need me….” or “If you ever want to talk, I’m there.”  I know that they meant it, but a person in that position does not ask for help or healing.

I was tired of waiting for her to be a good mother and talk to her daughters about it.  It is a Horrible situation, eh?

I did take drastic measures, however, to bring the fact that he was still in the urn and that no one was dealing with it into (literally) my own hands.  My family and I drove to my childhood home, took the key, opened up the house, picked up the yellow urn with a Robin sitting on a branch, walked out of the house, locked it, and buckled it up in a seatbelt in my car’s back seat.  I took it home.  Without permission.  Without saying anything.

As soon as we were home, I called my sister’s cell phone.  She didn’t answer, so I left a message.  She began furiously texting me.  I told her that this was not a conversation to be had via text, and that we needed to talk over the phone.  She replied, “Fine then, Don’t talk to me.”  (She was 22 yrs. old @ the time)  Now, she’s a Mother.

My sister said (through texts) that it was disrespectful of me to take the urn without asking our “Mama” for it.  I felt that I didn’t need to ask permission.  Those were the ashes of my Father.  I didn’t view “him” as a possession.

Next I called my Mother’s cell phone.  She was at work, so she didn’t answer.  Yes, I did plan to go to the house to take the urn while she wasn’t there.  DUH.  A vein might have popped in her head and she could have dropped dead over that.  Seriously, she has some major Anger/Anxiety issues.  (More horrible issues which she also programmed into me, and I have been trying to rid myself of).

Being a Mother, if you’re a good Mother, makes  you take a look at yourself.  I don’t mean in the mirror… I mean REALLY take a look at yourself.  Watching how you react to things.  Taking note when you get angry and asking yourself, “Why?  Why Did I react that way?”  Being HONEST with yourself.  To NOT be defensive about your REAL issues. TO DEAL WITH THEM AND FIX THEM.

I took the urn, because I wanted to deal with my Father’s Suicide.  I NEEDED to deal with it.  It had been too long.  I needed to move on.  I needed to let it go, before I could really live.

This is what I’ve been doing over the past two years.  I feel I have healed.  I mean REALLY healed myself this time…but then again, my Father did Have Bi-Polar Disorder.  I could be on one of my Happy benders.  My husband has called me crazy, but that’s okay, because I’ve called myself that.  I have been crazy.  I don’t want to be crazy.  I don’t take pride in being crazy.  I have been purging a HELL of a lot of CRAZY out of this mind of mine over the past two years, and it has been a boat ride through the swamp without a paddle.  I have worked HARD on my mind, and it needed it.
Damn.  What a ride I’ve been on.

Anyhow, to continue my story, I called my Mother’s Cell phone after I had brought my Father’s ashes into our house.  I intentionally called her when I knew she was working, so that I wouldn’t have to listen to whatever her reaction was.  I let her keep that anger to herself.  I predicted she’d be angry, and BOY OH BOY was I ever right about that.

“Hey.  I’m just calling to let you know that I have Daddy’s ashes.  Don’t worry, don’t freak out, I’m taking good care of them.  I just wanted to let you know where they were and that I have them.”

No, I did not scatter the ashes without my family.  Not all of them 😉

What I did do, before my Mother arrived, was to take a portion of the ashes that I felt was my right as his daughter.  I didn’t need permission to take them.  I still feel that way.  I’m not sorry that I took them.

In fact, it appeared as if someone had already had the same idea.  The lid had been popped off.  It had once been glued on.  The ashes were inside the little yellow ceramic urn (an urn that belonged to my Dad’s Mother).  They were not quite as I expected them to appear, however.  They were inside a thick mil plastic bag.  They had been stapled shut with some industrial stapler.  Yet, someone had poked a hole in the top of the bag, next to the staple.  GASP!  Someone had ALREADY “disturbed” the ashes.  Heal yeah.  (spelling intended), It didn’t have to be me.

SOMEONE had already poked around in the ashes.  Someone had made a silver dollar sized hole in the bag of ashes.  But it wasn’t me.  I felt even more justified in my next action:  I took some of the ashes (by shaking the urn).  I put them in an old metal coffee tin that I’d found at a thrift store.  Someone offered to buy that tin from me, long ago, when I was selling all kinds of things online.  I couldn’t take less than $10 for it, and no one wanted to pay that, so I had kept it.

My husband, who is a HUGE Big Lebowski fan, found it quite hilarious that I had chosen a coffee can.  I seriously did not connect my actions with the movie, but it may have been programmed into me to put ashes into a coffee container after seeing/hearing “The Big Lebowski” over and over during one of his repetitive aspie (and endearing term) benders.

Aaron, my husband, likes to listen to things that he likes over…and over…and OVER…AND OVER again.  It gets to me sometimes, because one of my biggest pet peeves in life is repetition. I can’t stand it, mostly.  An example of some really great musical artists that he has played over and over are:  U2, Pearl Jam, Rebelution, and most currently Heartless Bastards.

Aaron, we’re about 99.9 percent certain, has Aspberger’s Syndrome.  He has not been formally diagnosed by a team of doctors, but he did befriend a doctor online who claimed that if he were his patient, he would say that he was on the high functioning end of the “disorder.”  He may not be “formally” diagnosed, but as his wife, I can say with CERTAINTY that he DOES have it.  There’s no question in my mind.  This is something that I’ll have to study more, so that I can be a better wife.  I’m working on understanding it daily.

Here is a quick description of Aspbergers, from someone with Aspbergers:

Asperger’s can not be cured, it is a genetic condition that can be worked on and mitigated, but can not be cured. Each person has it differently and reacts to the world differently, but here are some basics.

Asperger’s syndrome is, in it’s most basic form, Autism. Autism is broken into two types, Kanner’s and Asperger’s, with the break at the 70 IQ level. If your IQ is 70 or below you have Kanner’s Autism, if your IQ is 71 or above, you have Asperger’s autism. (it is a little more complicated than that in it’s break up, but for a beginner this is good)

The easiest way to describe Asperger’s syndrome to someone who has never heard of it is to describe it as a Social Autism. The person who has Asperger’s grew up not learning the social cues around him/her. The person does not, usually, understand subtle social cues that the normal person takes for granted. Things such as sarcasm, and body language that change the meaning of a statement, are not understood by the asperger person, and taken literally.

Asperger syndrome is also called “the little professor syndrome”

The Asperger type is usually very literal in what is stated, and what is understood. The normal person usually sees the asperger person as being emotion-less, though this is not true. Emotions are just kept very deep inside and not brought to the surface. The aspie also does not know what to do with another person who is experiencing emotions, and needs to be told what to do in these instances. Phrases like “I need you to hold me now” are very helpful” in a relationship, for the normal (NT) person to say to the aspie.

Aspies tend to like routines. Change is very difficult, and they will be slow to accept it.

Aspies will appear to lack empathy. As stated above, this is not due to lack of empathy, but a lack of knowledge of how to show it.

Aspies tend to have more of a formal use of words than the NT wold or have a formal style of speaking that is advanced for his or her age. For example, the aspie may use the word “beckon” instead of “call” or the word “return” instead of “come back.”

ASPIES TEND TO AVOID EYE CONTACT. This is not due to lying or being self conscious. The eyes are very difficult to look at, and cause mental anguish and pain in many aspies. They are unable to think of what they want to say, and look another in the eyes at the same time.

Aspies may have unusual facial expressions or body postures. They may be more formal in the way they stand, or just look out of place. Their facial features may not express the emotions that they are experiencing. They may not frown when they are sad, smile when happy, etc…

Many Aspies are pre-occupied with one or a few subjects of interest and learn everything there is to know about those subjects to the exclusion of all others. They may not want to discuss anything other than those subjects with anyone. When brought into a conversation, they will immediately take the conversation to their chosen subject of interest, and then talk about it non-stop. They will not notice that nobody else wants to discuss that subject.

Aspies tend to have heightened sensitivity and become overstimulated by loud noises, lights, or strong tastes or textures. They may only eat certain things, or order foods certain ways. They may not be able to work in rooms with florescent lighting due to the buzz or the flicker, even when nobody else notices. Many different things, for many different people.

Source(s): Aspie x 42 years.
Note:  Aaron does not completely fit into the mold of the above description.  More about that later, though.
Here’s another helpful link about Aspbergers:
My Mother claimed that my husband had “messed up my mind”– but what she didn’t take the time to understand about me and the man I love is that he does have some behaviors that are difficult to deal with, because of Aspbergers.  I do not say this to make him feel bad, or to belittle him.  It’s just the truth.  Being the wife of someone with Aspbergers can be very difficult…especially when you have bottled up issues that you haven’t dealt with.  They will SEE those issues and they cannot help but make you aware of them.  They will have no empathy for you once you realize that they’re right, however.  You’re on your own.  I recommend, in retrospect, that you do not do it on your own.  Remember, I was programmed to believe that no one cared about me.  Therefore, I wouldn’t talk to any of my friends about what I was going through.  I had no one to listen to me about my struggles.  No Mother, No Father.  No one was checking in on me, on a regular basis just to ask “How are you?  How are things going? How are you feeling?” and to really mean it.  I do have friends.  I have collected a nice little set of strong women as my friends in my mid-thirties.  All of these friends, except for one, is a mother.  They have husbands and children and a family of their own that they are trying their best to figure out.  I didn’t want to burden them with my Mommy issues.  I had no Mother to check on me.  She thought it was my job, as her daughter, to check in on HER.  What my Mother has failed to see, after almost 60 years of life, is that she is my elder.  She is supposed to help to guide me.  She is my “Mother” but she is not a Mother.  She does not actually seem to care about what is happening in my life.  She is only concerned with herself.  She is the victim.  No one cares about her.  No one asks her about how she’s feeling.  She doesn’t have a Mother either.  Her mother, however, is dead.
Sure, I see that I’ve said the same things about myself that I’ve said about my Mother.  That’s part of the “crazy” problem we’ve got going on here, you see?  Am I crazy?  A book that I read once I had the thought that my Mother could be a Narcissist (Aaron had diagnosed her as such) was entitled, “ Youre Not CrazyIt’s Your Mother!: Understanding and Healing for Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers
The author, Danu Morrigan says that as the daughter of a Narcissistic Mother, you’ll most certainly ask yourself, “Am I the crazy one?”  She says that if you are able to ask yourself this, then you can’t be a full blown Narcissist….BUT you CAN have Narcissistic tendencies.

*Not all of what this lady says in the above video applies directly to my Mother.  My Mother is the “Ignoring” Narcissist.  But the “I don’t want to talk about that” portion of the conversation DID strongly apply to my situation.  She could call and complain about her miserable life and all of the negative things going on in her life for hours.  One time, during a cell phone “conversation” I timed how long she talked without a response from me.  The entire 20 minutes, she was complaining.  I connect with the video that I’ve shared here because I DID tell my Mother, “I am a WOMAN. ” She also bought me many things so that I could “Owe her.”  Classic Narcissist.  The whole, “Adult Children of Alcoholics” plug of her’s at the end?  Yeah, my Dad was an alcoholic too.

Great.  Yeah, that’s right.  One more issue.  One more level of crazy.  Remember, my Mother claimed that my husband had “messed up my mind.”

My mind seems to have plenty to choose from in its array of crazy .

When my husband met me, he knew that I had issues.  He knew that I had not dealt with my Father’s Suicide…at all.  He knew that I was a barrel of monkeys, per-say…that more issues might keep on rolling out of me, holding furry knuckled phalanges together.  He knew, but he didn’t know.  Neither did I.  (the little professor syndrome)  He was a bartender when I met him.  He enjoyed psychoanalyzing people over the bar.  He had a set of regulars who would come in and tell him their problems.  He actually is pretty damn good at helping people solve their issues…but he will PISS YOU OFF, because he’ll be brutally honest.  He is NOT always right, though, in his diagnosis of what your mind may be thinking at the time.  He just uses logic to deduce where your mind might be, and what it might be thinking.  It’s sort of a mind cuss, actually, because he’s mostly right…so even if you think he’s wrong, you’ll have to ask yourself if he’s right.  There were moments where I would be mad at him for being so smart.  There were moments where I just could not convince him that he was wrong, and that his deduction of where my mind was and what I was thinking was wrong.  Aaron has a very hard time reading emotions and feelings.  He just could not understand why I looked so miserable while I was depressed.  He had no empathy for me, either.  Well, almost none.

Because of all of this, I was left thinking, at times, that I was just an overall shit-bag.  He kept telling me that I liked wallowing in my own misery, just like my Mother.  That I didn’t want to be happy.  I kept asking myself if that was true.  If I was just “Acting out a script” that was programmed into me by my Mother.  Was I just acting like her?  As I reflect on it now, I can say that there were times when I was, and times when I wasn’t.  There were times when I was only depressed and not even thinking about her…but then Aaron would say that I was acting like her.

I was overwhelmed with being a Mother to two.  I was overwhelmed with trying to figure out how to be a good mother to them.  I had no strong female role model in my life to mold myself after when it came to being a Mother.  I often envy other Mothers who have an awesome, supportive and loving Mother of their own.  I don’t know what that is like.  I can imagine it, sure, but I have not lived it.  I am mad about that, off and on.  My Mother (I usually refer to her as Sarah these days) is absent from my life because of my choice to keep her out of it.  That’s my fault, sure.  I told her that I never wanted to talk to her again, and I meant it.  She hurt me to my core.  No Mother should do that to her daughter.  Especially without a breath of regret.

Sometimes Aaron says I’m just like her when I mope and complain.  I try not to complain, I really do.  I’m not writing this blog to feel sorry for myself.  I’m just telling my story.  I’m sharing my feelings.

My Mother once said to Aaron, “I’ve had a shitty life.”  Sometimes he brings up that statement when I start complaining about the negative things in my life.  It pisses me off when he does it, but I must say that a much better approach to correcting my focus on the negative might be to say something with more empathy like, “Wendy, please just try to focus on the good.” instead of “Wendy, you sound just like your Mother.”

“When you don’t know what it is you’re fighting, you can’t possibly know how to deal with it.  I wrestled for years with some unknown presence that seemed to affect every aspect of our relationship.  Those years in the dark, left me with feelings of self-doubt, insecurity, and total worthlessness.  I cried many nights, thinking it was something awful about me that caused my husband’s rejection, when in reality, it was AS.”  Source

Aspies.  They’re the smartest, deepest people you’ll ever meet.  When I met Aaron, I was smitten by how completely different he was.  One of the first things he told me on our first date was that women told him he was “too deep.”  My response to him at the time was, “How can you be TOO deep?”   Aaron didn’t give a SHIT about what anyone thought about him(and still doesn’t), and he knew himself better than anyone I had ever met in my life.  He was eons ahead of me when it came to knowing myself, and I knew it.  I didn’t care, though…he was taller than me, he was intriguing, he was weird and dark and handsome and had a U2 tattoo on his chest.  There was no stopping our romance.  From the moment I met Aaron, things continue to happen in my life that are synchronistic about our relationship.  Actually, the night I met Aaron, U2 came on the jukebox at the pool hall/bar where we met.  I can’t recall whether or not I played that song, but chances were good that I had.  I used to pump that machine full of quarters so that it would play songs that I liked so that I could dance and sing and play pool.  When I met Aaron, I was wearing a little red, 100% cotton, ruffled mini skirt.  My “shirt” of choice was a lace, black, spaghetti strapped midriff that was see through on the back and at the waist.  I was out shopping, I suppose 😉 I find it worth mentioning  that the bar in which I met Aaron had a corner room display of Betty Page prints hanging on the wall 😉

I was a virgin when I met Aaron.  Yeah, that’s right.  I was a 22 year old virgin.  This was mostly because my Mother had terrified me about sex.  She made it sound disgusting and degrading.  There was never any “Making love” to be had.  It was all nasty, nasty intercourse.  You were a whore if you had sex. This caused me MANY *almost* relationships of past.  I didn’t understand why I never had a boyfriend before Aaron, either.  I sure do see why now, though.  I was afraid of sex because of my Mother.  This made me VERY sexually awkward.  VERY.

My soulmate found me at just the right time in my life.  I learned how to make love. 🙂

Anyhow, I’m tired of writing for today.  I just started typing out my story this evening.  It came almost out of nowhere, but I’m finding as I write it that it is very therapeutic for me.  I am telling the story of my struggles.  I am writing the story to help myself, and to help others too.  One of the characteristics that I know about myself is that I “like to help.”  Sometimes I can try to help to the point of hurting.  I hope I don’t hurt you, dear reader.  😉

In my next blog, I will continue the story about what happened after my Mother received my voice mail message about the urn.  Her reaction convinced me that she is indeed a Narcissist.

Later, I’ll tell you about my hands.  My oozing, weeping, cracking bleeding hands.  The hands I wielded during my time of turmoil.  If you’d like a little background to that tale, go ahead and read my first blog entry about it at:

Later, I’ll ramble some more. I’ll share some more about the hurtful words that my own Mother said to me that continue to circulate around in my mind. I’ll talk a bit more about what it is like to be the wife of a husband with Aspbergers. I’ll reminisce about what it has been like to be a Mother who can’t use her hands. I’ll heal some more, through writing.

I’ll heal that hurt, but I won’t deal it back.

betty pageLOL.

A Kind Hello!


I wanted to share a kind hello to all of you who continue to comment on my blog. One of my posts has had a tremendous response, and I’m really encouraged to see that the comments are all positive in nature, and that everyone is joining together to help each other.

I never imagined that my words could create such a helpful approach to healing. It soothes me, somehow, to know that there are others out there who share in my pain, agony and frustration in living with THE BEAST that is Dyshidrotic Eczema. The seldom talked about, disconnection from the world. The plug?

I am unable to use my fingers when a bad flare up occurs from within. This year’s affliction, thankfully, has not been so terrible. I am all gloved up and able to write, and I am hopeful that I’m on the quick track to healing.  Here’s to you, fellow sufferers, fellow commenters of the blog, Dyshidrotic Eczema: A Malady of Concerning Cause and Effect.  You are not alone.

Thanks for following me on my journey. I hope your being here will help you to remember that you are not alone. There is a support system out there. I am happy to see a slow evolution of the online community forming thanks to the internet. The internet, whom I do tend to diss because I’m a technological grouch at times 😉

I’d like for all of you DE sufferers to consider joining us over at the Facebook group, “Dyshidrotic Eczema (The Group):

I’ve been posting polls over there, mostly in “Yes” or “No” format,  and I would greatly value your support and input in answering some questions from the “Sleuth Scientist” that I’ve dubbed myself over there, in the DE corner of internet land.  I’m working on a new post, slowly, and plan to use the answers in a future blog.  If you join the group, please post to the wall that you’re “Here via The Butterchurn Blog” so that I’ll be able to spot you when you arrive, and give you a virtual hello! 🙂

Thanks for being here in my little blog’s personal spot on the internet. 🙂

Environmental Control Drones: A True Tale from South Carolina


A white truck with a decal on the side pulls into the driveway. The decal itself is unreadable from afar. A man wearing tan pants and a white shirt with a circular decal on the shoulder comes to the front door. As the man approaches, the decal on his shirt is easily readable “Environmental Department.”

The door is answered.

Hello?” Says the homeowner.

What’s going on in your backyard?” the agent asks.

Just a little bit of permaculture” the homeowner responds.

Put on some shoes and lets go back there and take a look

Bamboo???” The agent asks once they are both in the backyard.

Yeah…it is planted all around the yard.”

You know… it (the bamboo) is really devaluing your property. I could show you pictures of some overgrown bamboo that has taken over properties. It is bad to have. It gets out of control. Go back in the house. I’m going to take a few pictures and then I’m going to leave. It is not illegal to have a garden, but you have to keep your weeds trimmed to below 16 inches. They have to be cut. This property is considered overgrown.”

IMG_9452 IMG_9461 IMG_9482 IMG_9508

The homeowner goes back into the house, frazzled, with a citation in hand from Environmental Control. The words “Magistrate Court appearance”, “$500 fine”, “Jail time” dance across the piece of paper. The more the homeowner reads, the sicker she gets…She is terrified and upset.

The neighborhood surrounding the homeowner communicates. The homeowner finds out that her neighbor was also issued a citation to remove weeds from his property. He refused to comply and was fined $500. The same neighbor just happens to know someone who works for Environmental Control. He calls, asking what is happening. He discovers through his conversation with the employee of Environmental Control that the agency is down to only 2 individual, in person agents/officers and that the department had been sending out drones, hunting marijuana. Apparently people are hiding marijuana plants in their gardens. Our garden, one full of experimental growth and learning, was targeted.

Since the citation was issued to us here at our home in Boiling Springs, SC… we have contacted The American Bamboo Society’s Southeast chapter representative and Provitro Biosciences in Mount Vernon, WA. Both of the people we spoke with said that something was fishy about the agent’s comment about Bamboo.

You can keep your bamboo, but it has to be trimmed to 16 inches maximum height or you have to get rid of it.” – Environmental Control Agent

Any lover of bamboo can instantly relate to how ridiculous this statement is. We are involved with our bamboo plants. We love them. We care for them. We have studied bamboo itself as well as bamboo management. How could we remove our beloved plants?

As far as the rest of the “weeds” in the garden go… since we are living with my Aunt (the homeowner) who was scared out of her wits, we decided to comply with removing the horse weed that we allowed to grow down through the chicken run of our garden. The horse weed grew there naturally. All we did was NOT CUT the grass. The horse weed provided a natural, free habitat for our chickens…providing shade, cover and hawk/predator protection. Not acceptable by Environmental Control standards.

The native weed (Horse weed) also provided us with a free, natural privacy screen from our neighboring trailer park. Our weedy hedge is now gone. Our chickens are exposed…our garden is still in need of weed removal and I suppose we will have to follow up with measuring tape (marked at 16 inches) in hand.

We have often called the state of our garden “Wild” because we have chosen to allow the native weeds to grow.  We study them.  We learn from them.  We have found, through our un-traditional gardening methods that by allowing the native weeds to grow, we have few issues with garden pests.  It is as if our annual garden plants are protected by a type of shield.  The weeds, mixed in with our planted food producers, form some sort of alliance with each other.  Garden pests seem to fly right over the food producing plants.

As for the bamboo… we will fight for our right to keep it. We are currently researching the South Carolina State as well as Spartanburg County rules and regulations for growing bamboo.

The interesting part about all of this? ALL of the bamboo that we have planted in our backyard came from areas/bamboo groves within Spartanburg County!!!! How are we NOT allowed to have it if it is growing all around our County???

In a few weeks, the Southeast Chapter representative of the American Bamboo Society will be visiting us and our bamboo. Our fellow bamboo lovers are actively researching the laws and regulations within our county/region about bamboo ownership/growing.

We will fight for you, bamboo! We will not sit in our house, shoeless, and allow you to force us into our house and out of our own backyard, Environmental Control. Others will hear our tale, including the local news and the wide wide world of Facebook. We will share our story. We will speak out.

Beware the garden weeds! Prepare for the thumb of repression. Look to the skies for a drone near you, South Carolina residents. This is real. This is happening.

DRONES are flying over our residence, for cryin’ out loud!!!!! Environmental Control Agents are telling us to stay in our homes and are TELLING us (not asking) that they are going to take pictures of our yard.

 What say you?

More to come about all of this, including a video of the Agent’s return to our yard at the end of September. We’re ready.


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Dyshidrotic Eczema: Natural remedies and management for your dishpan hands


I have forgotten what it feels like to have healthy hands like these.

Like most fellow sufferers, I have spent A LOT of money, thought and time searching for that “miracle cure.” A cure that I’m afraid just doesn’t seem to exist. Using conversations, interactions and correspondences with others who have eczema as a reference, it seems that there is no universal cure.  There is no miracle cream… even a prescription one.  I have found topical solutions that help, but they are not a cure.
Having eczema makes you question many, many things. If you’re on a real mission to heal then you have most likely paid much closer attention to what goes into your body and what goes on your body. You probably have quite the collection of health and beauty products. You’ve become an expert in bandaging. You know which lotions make your skin crawl and then explode. You become paranoid about most things that you come into contact with.

“Am I allergic to…. WATER?”  “What’s in this lotion?”  “Are the baby wipes eating my fingers?”

You’ll even look at the public restroom bathroom’s soap dispenser differently…
Maybe it is your dog. Maybe it is dust mites. Maybe you should lay off the chocolate. Maybe you should visit an allergist and get tested. Maybe the dermatologist won’t lump you into the masses of others who suffer the same ailment (Eczema)…but in a different way?
I’m having another outbreak. I have worn cotton gloves all day. Just looking at my fingers makes me somewhat angry…but that emotion, of course, makes them worse. After pouring over a year of thought into the cause of what makes my knuckles, my fingertips get this way, I am convinced that no topical solution (alone) will heal them. No prescription medication will make this condition go away forever. No lotion, soap or mass produced miracle cream, gel, spray or ointment will give me relief, because my hands are so sensitive. There’s something about the chemicals in those “health” and beauty products that makes my fingers puff up like kielbasa sausages in a cast iron skillet. They feel like they’re on fire, too…those fingers. Fingers that ooze out some seemingly endless supply of itchy tonic. Ooozey clear (water??) that weeps from your pores…pores that have busted open to allow the itch to escape.
How can I describe to you what this feels like (unless you are a fellow sufferer, of course)? Let me give you a scenario:

Just as embarrassing as acne to a teenager, you now feel like a Biblical Leper. You’re ashamed to go to the grocery store because you don’t want the cashier to gawk at your hands while you delicately fumble for your debit card in your wallet… hoping that you don’t make a mistake and bump those sausages into the side of your purse—causing excruciating pain. You’re hoping your fingers don’t start bleeding onto the steering wheel on the drive home. You’re hoping you can manage to get the key into the doorknob of your home without dropping it. You’re going slow, because your skin will split open if you use too much force. You sigh once inside, thankful that you can now return to your room to slime your hands up again…if you can get your pants down to use the bathroom first.

This above description is not one that I have imagined. Simple things are a struggle. You are forced to slow down and be delicate…mindful…patient.


In this image you can see where the top layer of my skin has flaked off. There is a pocket where the itchy oozy blister once was. That’s how deep they can get… and this is a minor incident.


The most massive liquid filled blister I have ever had. It took weeks for it to heal.


The ooze. The wound. The pain.


Ooze that keeps on comin’


If you scratch, it will erupt.


The liquid filled blisters, just below the surface of the skin. The first stage.


All of the fingertips on my right hand are currently affected.


No matter how much you want to, it is NEVER a good idea to scratch OR to PICK off the flakes of skin. Use nail clippers to trim back any loose, dried skin flakes instead of pulling and picking them off.


Here’s what is left of my pinky fingernail. Sad little guy…


As a non-sufferer, you might look at my hands at times and think, “Woah girl. Get yourself some lotion, ASAP!” I probably would if I were you. I might also think (if I were you) “Ewwwww. What is wrong with her fingers? I think she must not be taking very good care of herself.”
Better yet, if you saw my fingers today or most recently, you’d probably think that I never washed my hands or that I was just out digging in some dirt because they are scabbed up in the colors of the Earth. My medicine gets under my fingernails and is always turns a pleasant shade of brown once dried.
It seems, through my reading and interactions, that other sufferers seem to have it all figured out for themselves. The most common solution, they write, is either a gluten free or dairy free diet. Celiac Disease keeps popping up as an answer too.  I tried the dairy free diet myself after being told by my allergist that I’m allergic to cow’s milk. Heck, I even stayed away from ALL of the foods that came back positive as an allergen. It did not work. Was it a placebo affect? How do I know?
As I was showering tonight, it dawned on me how much having eczema, specifically Dyshidrotic Eczema has changed me. I kind of giggled at the thought that eczema has made me a “dirty hippie.” That thought, of course, arose from my fears of judgement from others. People probably do see me that way. I don’t conform well. I don’t use shampoo. I don’t dye my hair.  It is grey.  I am 33 years old.  Sadly that’s enough to put an American woman like me out on the far reaching branches of what is socially acceptable.
Then I realized that most of the things I do that could generalize me as a “hippie” began because of the eczema! I don’t use shampoo because I became paranoid about the chemicals that I couldn’t pronounce that were in MOST commercially produced bottles of hair cleanser. I use “all natural” toothpaste and deodorant.  I learned about medicinal herbs.  I began making my own bread and eating more whole foods.  My consciousness shifted.
The first in my collection of dermatologists confirmed that I tested positive for an allergy to Quaternium-10 and Caine (Betaine) which are found in many shampoos, soaps and lotions. I remember, when I was first aware of these allergies, standing in the grocery store reading the ingredients of shampoo after shampoo… they ALL had these chemicals as an ingredient. What was I to do? Well… you can see what happened.  I went “pooless.”  I now do not use shampoo at all.  I use water.  (Apparently there is a “No poo” movement going on:
All of this thinking led me to feel the need to write to YOU, my fellow sufferer. What have you found works in your life to manage your eczema? What daily habits and methods have you adapted because of it? I’d like to share a few of mine with you. I truly do hope that they will also help you.  Please comment with your successes and failures.  My hope here is that we can help each other!

So… here are a few things that I do to manage “The Beast”:


“Showers HURT!!!”


Alas, the dreaded shower!!!!  SCARY WATER!!!!! What to do, what to do??? Well… I was recently asked this question by a writer in the UK who interviewed me about my eczema. After sharing my story with her, she asked “How do you manage a shower when your hands are in the middle of an outbreak?” My answer was: ” First, I limit the number of showers I take!” Do you really need to bathe every day? Maybe you do. Maybe you’re an artist covered in paint (oh…the thought of paint on my fingers makes me squirm!). Maybe you work a job that causes you to sweat profusely. Maybe you are constantly in the public eye, working a job that requires you to be presentable at all times…In my case, I’m a stay at home Mom with dishpan hands. I do not shower every day. I’m a pretty natural person (Earth Mama) so this does not really bother me. Our boys don’t seem to mind either.
When I DO shower (lol!) I have a few methods to my madness. If I am in the middle of one of my cotton gloved routines (Wearing gloves inside and outside to keep medicine/moisture on my fingers and potential nasties out of my open wounds), I will wear my gloves in the shower. It works out pretty well, because I’m in there washing off the gloves from the day’s journey first (of course) and because it allows me to pretend that the gloves are a second skin of sorts… a protective layer. Wearing the gloves in the shower allows me to imagine that my hands are flawless and that I don’t need to worry about how the water will feel when it hits my wounded skin.
Another method I have found works well for me, when I do not wear my gloves in the shower, is to put on my coconut oil gloves. Before the shower, I drench…I mean DRENCH my hands in coconut oil. This wondrous creation (I. LOVE. COCONUT OIL!) acts as a sort of water repellant… allowing the water that my hands come into contact with to bead up and roll off. Many of you who are fellow sufferers will understand why water on your wounds can be so scary. First of all, it can actually HURT. Then, there is the crappy after affect that can happen if you don’t immediately moisturize after you get out of the shower: AKA- Your skin instantly dries out as the water evaporates.
I have also found that taking a comb with a pointy end into the shower helps to scrape my scalp and move my hair around, when my fingers can’t do it.  (Note:  my no poo hair loves the coconut oil, and so far we have no problems with our shower drains or plumbing because of it)

plantain-herb-narrowleaf plaintaincombo

Oh sweet, sweet plantain.  A few months back I took a class on tinctures, salves and herbs. It was through this class that I discovered the wonders of a plant that is probably growing in your back yard RIGHT NOW! And they call it a weed!
Here’s an article I recently came across about Plantain:
“Because it draws toxins from the body with its astringent nature, plantain may be crushed (or chewed) and placed as a poultice directly over the site of bee stings, bug bites, acne, slivers, glass splinters, or rashes. Bandage the area and allow the plantain to work its magic for 4-12 hours. Plantain may also be used to create a balm for emergency kits, or an infusion used as a skin or general wash.” The coconut oil I now use is an infusion of plantain and coconut oil.  It is green 🙂
I have used Plantain several ways, and the best way that I have found to utilize it to help heal my eczema is most definitely a SPIT POULTICE. To make the poultice, first I find a young, tender leaf (the older leaves are fibrous, fuzzy and harder to chew). I then wash the leaf and chop it up finely with my teeth like a rabbit. I do not swish it all around my mouth, but instead keep it just behind my front teeth. Then, when I feel like I have enough chewed to cover the area I plan to apply it to, I spit it directly onto the wound.
Because I do not have the luxury of sitting (covered in my own spit) in a chair like a Plantain Princess while it works its plant magic… I have adapted to several ways of covering the poultice to allow it to heal. My favorite way is to use MORE PLANTAIN to wrap my fingers (which is where my eczema exists). I spit my poultice and then take the other half of the leaf that I didn’t chew and wrap it around the poultice and my finger. Then, I pull a Plantain seed head up by the stalk and wrap it around the leaf and my finger, tying it within itself at the end.


A freshly wrapped Plantain middle finger. The pinky finger has just finished its treatment. Plantain poultice is still sticking to it.


The plantain poultice and wrap after it was removed from my finger.


Note:  the end of the second video is a bit awry because while I was filming, a woman fell asleep at the wheel and ran into a telephone pole on our road.  She came out of it okay.  I was mid-sentence when the wreck happened, so the last sentence of this video should say “Leave it on for about four hours.” 🙂

Plantain is edible. You can put it into salads and make a tea out of the steeped leaves– and more. Don’t fear it!
After about four hours, when you remove the poultice and any bandaging you have created, you will find that the Plantain has turned your red lesions BROWN. This is good news. It is not pretty, of course. It will look as if you have been digging in the Earth. The Plantain, if you have put it onto your fingertips, will most likely have gotten under your fingernails too. So what, really? Do you want to heal? Then live on with dirty looking fingers!
I have found that the brown color that the Plantain turns your eczema patch is proof of healing. Congratulations! You now have SCABS! When the brown scabs fall off (lovely) you will see an improvement in the condition of the skin below. No more ooze. Still some redness and inflammation…but MUCH better! Try it. Seriously. It is much cheaper than a prescription medication, that’s for sure! ; In fact, Nature has gifted it to you for FREE!  There are a few different varieties of Plantain out there. I use Narrowleaf Plantain, because it is growing in our yard.


Being in Nature always helps me to focus and SLOW DOWN!


I am convinced (at this time) that the particular cause of my eczema is not a food or an allergen… it is anxiety. Stress. Low self confidence. Since the ends of my fingertips make typing uncomfortable, I often write my thoughts down in a journal. It is random notes, ideas, thoughts, things I want to remember, things I want to think more about…write about. It is chaos and disarray. I often pick it up and flip through to the nearest empty white page. It is a fine example of what I feel represents my mind at times.
I am very confident in what I have spent much time and thought thinking about when it comes to my specific case of Dyshidrotic Eczema. You see… there is no one cure. I am sorry to have to believe that, but I think it is the truth. The “Cure” is different for everyone, because we all have separate minds. What causes your mind chaos? Are you regularly stressed out?
I want to share with you my thoughts about myself and my particular case of DE. I would be delusional to think that these thoughts would resonate with every one of you. I will confidently say that in my case, the CAUSE of DE on my fingers and fingertips is most certainly a physical response to mental distress. Specifically one of anxiety and lack of confidence.

I am the daughter of a narcissistic mother. I recently read a book entitled, “You’re not Crazy, It’s your Mother.” This book describes my past.  Shortly, this book and my discovery of Narcissistic Personality Disorder helped to change my life. I’ve been on a winding path of self-discovery.
I have learned that it is very common for daughters of narcissistic Mothers to have Narcissistic tendencies. Imposed and programmed into them by their Mothers. This explains so much about me. I am working each day to make sure that the last statement no longer applies.  This discovery, among many other life altering events has caused my anxiety and stress levels to skyrocket.  I am working each day to shed off a new layer…and that is what I see when my fingers start to peel… I’m shedding off an old layer and I will grow stronger. My skin will heal. This will not last forever.


Note the “Skin” effect.

“Take Care of Yourself.
Heal Yourself.
Set your self F R E E”

“Treat your body and your mind as one.”
“You have to heal your MIND to heal your BODY”

The above quotes are notes to self from my notebook of chaos. I have recently realized that I have to be sure to take care of my body while working so hard to take care of my mind. I can’t take care of JUST my mind. If I do that, my body suffers.


A view from our garden.

EAT (and grow!) WHOLE FOODS
The food you put into your body is so, SO important. What is your diet like? Do you cook at home? Do you eat out all the time? Are you a processed foods junkie? Surely you have noticed how people are “waking up” to discover all of the toxic crap that is placed into the commercially produced, machine spat food that we have the fantastic luxury of easy access to? I think there’s something to that. So, my family and I have adopted a “whole foods” system of eating.  Whole foods=real foods. Foods that have minimal ingredients are best, of course. Foods that come from our garden, where we know that no GMO’s or pesticides have been sprayed, are our favorites. Foods that do not come processed in boxes or plastic are important for your body. Nature’s gift. Feed yourself wisely.


Berkey Water Filters RULE!

This is a message that my body sent me. I received the message after I put it together that I had made a routine out of drinking everything in our house EXCEPT for water. I was regularly waking up, drinking coffee all morning. Beer in the Afternoon. Wine at night. Not much water mixed in there unless I had regimented myself a bit too much stimulant. Great. Thank goodness I caught that one. How could I miss it, though? Isn’t that the question I should be asking myself? I should have been treating my body better.

Then I realized that I should have been treating MYSELF better. I have been holding on to way too much. I’ve been focusing on the bad instead of the good… holding myself down with pessimism and negativity.


Thanks, Buddha. You are wise!

You’re why you’re suffering.  — A song I really connected with.  (This is a great live band, too!)

I was causing my own personal Hell by allowing my focus to shift into the deep, dark hollows of that depressive state of mind. I have to refocus. I have to be strong. I cannot be afraid. I must give myself confidence. I must let my past worries go, and not dwell on them.

I must not scratch when my pores fill with itching fluid. I must watch the fluid rise, but never burst it. I must not scratch the itch. I must not wring my hands in misery. I must be strong. I must take care of myself.  I must value my own self worth.

Don’t get too angry at your hands.  Try, instead, to send them love and healing.  In my own experience it has helped me to imagine that the ooze pouring out of my hands is the negativity itself escaping my body.  I then imagine that the flaking layers of my skin is actually a shedding process.  I am shedding my old, downtrodden self.  My skin is getting uglier only to become more beautiful– I’m like an ugly duckling 🙂

Find your own inner peace and try your best to focus on something more positive than what you’re going through, fellow sufferers.  I know ALL too well how hard it is to stay upbeat and positive when everyday life has become a struggle for you.  Your hands are what connect you to the world in many ways.  Through touch we connect with others.  It is certainly depressing to feel as if your body has taken that away from you.  Peace and an upbeat perspective have certainly helped me to overcome those feelings of sorrow and disappointment. Find what works best for you, dear sufferer, to relieve those negative emotions, thoughts and feelings.  Your mind plays an important role in your health.  Fellow sufferers, Take care of yourself. Heal yourself. Love yourself. Set your Self free.


Healing hands with love & light

Love. Grow. Heal.

Holistic approach mind body and soul

Connect them!

I would be remiss not to mention the EXTREME love and support that my soul mate and husband has provided to me during my multiple outbreaks (and psychological traumas).  When my hands were at their worst, he did the dishes, cooked our meals, fed and clothed our children, did the laundry, did the vacuuming and STILL managed to maintain our garden and farm.  I am so thankful that I was playing pool that night at the bar 😉  You are a magical soul, my love.

I would also like to thank my friends over at The Doomstead Diner forum for their caring support and plethora of resources during my time of self discovery and healing.  One day, I hope, there will be a chance for us to transition our online community into a thriving, real life community.

For more links, articles and resources about natural remedies to everyday ailments, natural living and more, please visit the non-profit organization that I fully support and contribute to:  The SUN Project:  Sustaining Universal Needs.  Furthermore, if you like what you’re reading here at The Butterchurn and want to show your support, a donation to The SUN would be greatly recognized and appreciated.  (We are a newly birthed non profit, so hang in there as we continue to develop our website)

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