I’ve learned many lessons in the five years since I moved here. I grew up in a suburban town that I thought would be similar to this small rural town. There are similarities, but also significant differences unique to rural life. I’ve written and re-written this post over several months. There was a section about guns I am editing because that can be a separate post.

1. On the community Facebook page- when people post pictures of cows or horses that are in their backyard with the caption “Did some one lose a cow?” They are not joking. There will be a flurry of responses and tags e.g. “John Smith looks like Betsy…?” “Maggie Smith tell John Smith that looks like Betsy” Eventually John or Maggie Smith may pop on with a picture of Betsy home safe and sound in her barn and many thanks to the community for helping them find her. I did not know people could lose horses and cows. But they do. More frequently than you would think. Vice Versa people post pictures of animals that are lost…I have been credited with identifying a lost duck and hens that were in the wetlands area across the street from me. A thankful owner drove up in their van within ten minutes of me replying to their “Lost duck” post and hopped out and retrieved the duck and hens.
2. I can be friends-ish with Republicans. It takes a lot. From both sides. And let me qualify this with a hell no to Trump Republicans. But if I didn’t at least play nice and polite with some Republicans…well that cuts out about 4,000 people of the 7,000 total. Of note Biden won by 8 votes in the last presidential election in this small town- which gives me some hope.
3. I have to work harder to find my people and the families I want the boys exposed to. It’s not impossible and I’ve met some incredible people and amen for the other lesbian couple in town who have boys the same age as mine. I also have attended some of the town Democratic committee meetings which helps.
4. In that vein- I have never lived somewhere with a majority Republican government and I am continuously impressed with the persistence of the Democratic committee. They are never defeated even as they are always defeated. They show up to all town meetings and enter candidates into every election possible. I have come to truly admire their dedication in a seemingly hopeless town populace. They have also taught me the importance of Democrats showing up even when there is Republican majority.
5. You will get stuck behind tractors while driving. You will also know multiple people who own tractors. There will be many discussions about said tractors, as well as rides on them, and inevitably one of them will have a tractor that has no brakes. This will be a known fact and yet people will still use the tractor. With no brakes.
6. You must have a generator.
7. Farm towns have significant racism and homophobia. What’s interesting though is that most people are still willing to have a conversation with me and be neighborly or friendly. There are hateful people. Make no mistake. But there are also people who will in this rough shodden sort of way be accepting of me as a person. I had a client once who had a neighbor who was transphobic and after a few caustic interactions they ultimately developed this bizarre friendly banter that I now understand. Every morning she would walk out for her paper and the neighbor would be working on his car and he would look up and wave and say with a grin, “Morning Tranny,” And my client would respond, “How ya doing you bigot?” Then they would both laugh with neighborly affection. That is the best way I can describe farm town life. It’s like we know we are all different but there is also this loyalty that develops and protectiveness among people who live in rural communities. I’ve been forced to challenge my own black and white thinking around human relationships and differing political belief systems in big and small ways.
8. There are incredibly indigent people in farm towns. People who are suffering, whose homes don’t have working heating systems, and who are food insecure and housing insecure. I volunteered administering COVID-19 vaccines in town last year to homebound individuals. I saw incredible poverty in some of the homes I visited. But also strength, dignity, and pride. It was an eye-opening and humbling experience for me. There was poverty in the suburbs I grew up in, but not like this honestly.
9. I can’t let my gas tank get as empty as I used to because I won’t make it to a gas station. We are not in the middle of nowhere per se but it takes a few miles to find a gas station. And at least ten miles to find a grocery store. Traveling a minimum of 20 minutes to a grocery store was a new experience for me. I do not like it.
10. Growing up on the shoreline I was used to salty air, salty breezes, and generally a fresh feeling from the water. It is still weird not seeing the water every day. But the longer I am here the more I have leaned into the woods, the open fields and valleys, and what my cousins who are geologists refer to as “elevations” but what the locals call mountains. They are petite mountains. There are beautiful sunsets over the valley, and I’ve traded the nasty smell of low tide for the warm wafts of manure in the Summer time. There are cows a few houses down, and ducks and hens the other direction. Horses across the street. The landscape is hard to beat and I understand why people stay. It’s a rough sort of beauty that creeps under your skin. After being away for a few days this past weekend I drove through cities and suburbs to get back here, and I breathed this sigh of relief as I saw the haystacks and the tractors. Then I thought there was something wrong with me for being relieved by haystacks.
11. I have a friend from Wyoming, she lived in California and now on the East coast. She says there’s a saying that people on the West coast are nice and people on the East coast are kind. Meaning, on the East coast and especially in New England we are likely going to be rude AF to your face. BUT…with an annoyed sigh or no eye contact at all we will hold the door for you, and we will dive into the street when you drop something and then yell at you as we run after you to give you the dropped and recovered item. Kindness with a gruff exterior has never been more real to me since living rural. People who may be seen as “mean” have helped me drag Christmas trees to my car and house, and they have helped me stack and cover firewood the day before a hurricane came, they have shown incredibly kindnesses to my sons and I in many ways. I get warning texts about bobcats and coyotes from the neighbor who once argued with me about the sense of putting a BLM sign in a town “Full of white people”. I have found that as long as I don’t overtly try and change any one’s opinions but firmly stand for my own…we find this central sort of peace. I have experienced true kindness in a town that is about 1/3-1/2 homophobic.

I moved here five years ago. And especially after the divorce I thought I would leave. But the longer I stay the harder it is for me to imagine living somewhere else. The love that people have for the land here is contagious. And the loyalty among rural neighbors is hard to describe and not truly appreciated until you experience it firsthand. In a liberal state I never expected to land in a majority Republican enclave. But it’s made me appreciate the drive and fortitude of the Democrats who are here so much more. I thought that maybe I’d have to compromise who I am to live here, but if anything it’s cemented who I am because while others may have different beliefs there is still a level of acceptance of me and what I stand for because there is admiration of the fact that I am standing for something.

Since I moved here I see a rainbow every Spring and Summer. Usually two or three. In fact I’ve never seen so many rainbows before I moved here. I’m taking that as a sign that I’m where I am supposed to be. And who knows? Maybe along the way some one’s viewpoint will shift and that by me being here the next presidential election the democratic candidate will win by more than eight votes.

p.s. We didn’t know Biden won our town until three days after the election because the registrar and town clerk were both out sick and we had to wait for them to come back and count the “boxes in the office” for the final count. Yup. That happens apparently in rural towns- boxes of ballots in an office that only one person has the keys for.

p.p.s. I am looked down on for paying for a trash service. Apparently we are all supposed to bring our trash to the dump and then complain the dump is only open banking hours.

My practice has strict prescribing practices around stimulants and benzodiazepines. People seem to get the most irritated by these practices with stimulants though. Over the years multiple therapists have voiced their displeasure at us for not prescribing a stimulant to some one suffering with ADHD because: they smoke cannabis, their urine screen popped positive for a substance, they don’t have anxiety it’s all driven by ADHD, etc.

Mental health prescribing is by far one of the most Monday morning quarterbacked fields of practice. Every one knows better including but not limited to Google, WebMD, ‘My Aunt/Mom/Sister/boyfriend’s sister who is a nurse’, ‘my therapist who is not licensed to prescribe medications and has no training in prescribing’, their primary care doctor, their neurologist, and any one else who wants to hop on board the “we know better than people with actual psychiatry training” train. Not that I’m bitter. Imagine me saying all of this in a very singsong smiley voice.

I did not have such strict policies when I started practicing. I’d be more open to prescribing stimulants to some one who used cannabis or would not grab a urine toxicology screen on everyone. But then shit hit the fan.

To assume you know better than some one who has been working in this field and trained in this field when you are not working or trained in this field is…annoying at the very least and dangerous at the most.

In the past 12 months alone the practice has had four urine toxicology screens pop positive for substances that were not disclosed to the prescriber in the appointment. Two of the positives revealed a significant substance use disorder that could have otherwise been missed and that the primary psychotherapist knew nothing about.

Addiction does not discriminate- and these positive urine screens were gateways to a dialogue for potentially life saving treatment for people. God forbid the other 98 people have to pee in a cup because it’s so judgmental and punitive….I’ll send 1,000 people for a urine screen because even if just one pops positive that’s one person who has been potentially struggling with addiction in the dark, alone, and is at risk of overdose and death. I can’t as a prescriber in good conscious just say, “Well I see that hurts your feelings when I ask you to pee in a cup and test it for substances before I prescribe a controlled substance you, so you’re good.” It’s not punitive. It’s just that people have lied about substance abuse and addiction. And I’m not saying that in a derogatory way- part of addiction is living with it in isolation which contributes to shame and guilt- people don’t disclose because they are ashamed. It’s part of the cycle of addiction.

Every time I prescribe a stimulant I receive a letter from the insurer- especially Anthem and Aetna- they send letters that they noticed I prescribed a stimulant to one of their members- and they name the member- then they have about two pages of why prescribing a controlled substance is dangerous and they hope I’m prescribing it responsibly and I should really consider getting the patient off the stimulant as quickly as possible. Not making this up.

Then I get an email from the state of CT who tells me they noticed I prescribed another controlled substance- and it’s in a report of all the controlled substances I’ve prescribed in the last month. It’s one of those “We see you and we are watching” e-mails. I attest to my liability company that I prescribe controlled substances. I have to sign off on federal guidelines to have a DEA. AKA it’s a big freaking deal every time I write a prescription for a controlled substance.

In case you missed it, people are dying at record numbers from drug overdoses. Guess what? Most overdoses are not just one substance- they are often multiple substances- including stimulants because people snort them after drinking alcohol to perk themselves back up, or after heroin or opiate use. Then they may want another buzz or high so they drink more or take more opiates or heroin…you can see where I’m going right? You need more and more upper to overcome the downer, and more and more downer to overcome the upper. Then you die.

So no. I do not prescribe stimulants to patients concurrently using cannabis. Cannabis=downer stimulant=upper. Also- long term cannabis use (daily for over a year) causes cognitive clouding and blunting in the form of short term memory impairment, slowed cognition and slowed reaction times, in ability to focus and difficulty concentrating….guess what all those are also symptoms of? You’re right! ADHD.

So how do I know some one truly has ADHD when they’ve been smoking weed daily for five years and did not have ADHD prior to weed use? I don’t. The answer is I don’t. And I won’t until they get off the weed for at least three months.

Next let’s talk about the world in the last few years. It’s gone to hell. The effects of chronic stress are well documented in children who grow up in abusive households, in adolescents who live in homophobic households, and in war veterans who are exposed to chronic combat stress. Guess what the symptoms are? Cognitive clouding, poor focus, poor concentration, short term memory impairment, poor organizational skills, and anxiety that can present as impulsivity….sound familiar? Yes. All symptoms of ADHD. Executive dysfunction is a symptom of chronic stress. You can’t have existed in the world since March 2020 without being under some form of chronic stress which results in executive dysfunction. So no, you did not suddenly develop ADHD at age 40. It started two years ago because that’s when the world went to hell.

People generally do not like to hear that though. They want a pill and a quick fix and a treatable diagnosis.

In the past two years I’ve had countless patients tell me they have ADHD. I disagree with the diagnosis sometimes. I decline to prescribe stimulants other times even if I agree with the diagnosis due to substance use. And then there are a couple people in the past year who came to me for “anxiety”. And within about two minutes of our intake I was thinking ‘how the hell do they exist in the world with this severe of an ADHD?’

Careful history taking, chronic struggles academically, chronic struggles socially, chronic struggles occupationally, has had people in their life tell them they have ADHD, and not nicely. They also talk non-linearly. It’s hard to describe but there’s definitely a feel to them. They often wander off from the answer they are trying to give to a question then ask “What was the question?” somewhat embarrassed. There is more to it than that, but suffice to say it’s quite overt after you’ve seen it a few times. Which I have. Because this is what I do every day all day for ten years.

These are my favorite people though. They legitimately have ADHD. They have been misdiagnosed or not diagnosed at all because they are usually female- and females are super under diagnosed for a variety of reasons- including but not limited to: it’s inattentive type, not hyperactive, and they are able to compensate in other ways that allow them to still be mild to moderately successful.

These people when I mention ADHD and do some psychoeducation around it, and say maybe the anxiety is driven by an ADHD and they have a learning disorder…they break down and cry. Because they usually have always suspected it, and they check all the boxes, and there is effective treatment. These people, when they come back after the urine screen and trial of a stimulant cry again because they are grieving that they have lived so long without a proper diagnosis and in relief at being able to function just generally better.

Do I prescribe stimulants? YES. Do I do so carefully in order to protect the patient and myself from liability? YES. Do I see how incredibly life changing these medications can be? Absolutely.

I do actually know how to assess and diagnose ADHD. I also know how to safely prescribe psycho-stimulants. And I’m not going to waver because it may cause some one to feel upset that I prescribe this way. Safely. It’s unfortunate that offends some people. But it is what it is.

So to any one out there diagnosing yourself off TikTok. Please stop.

Couple things- you can’t have sudden onset ADHD, chronic stress causes the same symptoms of ADHD, PTSD can present as ADHD, chronic anxiety also can present as ADHD. I’m not saying don’t get a second opinion if you disagree with the person you do an intake with. Get as many opinions as possible for you to feel confident in the diagnosis and treatment. But also don’t assume you know more than a provider with education and clinical training and experience.

And for any one truly suffering with ADHD if you suspect you have it, seek treatment! There is treatment. And it can work. Just don’t get salty if you’re asked to do a toxicology screen in order to receive a prescription for a controlled substance. These medications are serious and heavily regulated. Have some respect for that. I sure as hell do.

When I worked at the hospital I used to take APRN students frequently. It was an easy place to have a student because you don’t do long term work with patients and patients in the hospital setting are used to students being present.

I stopped taking them when I moved to private practice full time but for the first time this year I felt comfortable taking one on. It’s a commitment. September-May one-two days a week for FULL days. Often shadowing, especially with some one in their first specialty year they do not have the skills to work independently.

It’s a lot of explaining, it’s a lot of asking clients if it’s okay for her to join our sessions and in between sessions it’s a lot of answering questions. It’s a lot of work.

But it’s important because everyone has to learn. And I’m kind of good at what I do. So I don’t mind people learning from me. Especially some one who is Queer.

It’s a weird thing though to have some one watch all you do. It’s a mirror really. I don’t change how I act or how I interact with clients. I’m generally bad at censoring myself.

So I’ve learned a couple things in the two days so far that she’s been shadowing me. I see a wide array of clients. In just the two days- she looked at me today and said, “You see every type, but why do you see that one? She’s not…” I interrupted her, “She’s Queer. I’ll see anyone who’s Queer.” She looked at me kind of surprised. I knew what she was going to say. The client is not my “normal” client for a variety of reasons. But I’ve treated her for two years because she’s Queer.

In just two days- roughly twenty-five client visits she’s watched me see clients who are destitute, wealthy, multiple ethnicities, Queer, healthcare providers, first responders of all types, post-partum clients, all ages, clients I’ve treated for eight years and clients I’ve treated for eight weeks. Most of them were long term though. Also coincidentally, most of them were follow-ups after a come to Jesus moment at our last visit. So there were at least four who came in saying “I thought about what you said, you’re right, thanks for giving me the kick in the ass I needed.”

I counseled some one struggling with hunger due to skipping meals in order to pay bills. I counseled some one dealing with infidelity, addiction, I said good-bye to a long term client moving out of state and she cried (after we disconnected I 100% needed a tissue) because I had seen the client through many life transitions, and so much more. That’s just two days.

It struck a chord at the end of today when she looked over at me somewhat comatosed as I asked her if she had any questions.

She said she didn’t have questions. She just was realizing it’s not about meds.

In school they drive home psychopharmacology; but it’s not about the meds. I smiled sadly. No it’s not about the meds.

It’s about forming a connection, an alliance, trust, it’s about remembering their kids names, knowing without looking at the chart when we started treatment together, how many IVF cycles they did, and that the anniversary of their Mom’s death is coming up next month.

It’s about remembering the first psychotic break post partum and how long their depressive episode lasted in the aftermath and comparing that for them to how long this depressive episode will last in the aftermath of the hypomania. It’s about eye contact. It’s about a little bit of self disclosure- like many of my long term-er’s know know I have twin boys, and they ask how they are doing. It’s about making a person feel seen, heard, and validated.

We talk about meds in our visits but there is so much more. I made very few changes to medication regimens in the last two days. It was more supportive therapy, validation, and reassurance. Many people cried. Just cried. And they apologized to my student and we both provided reassurance that just because she’s there doesn’t mean they cannot cry.

I think she was surprised at the amount of pain we hold space for. At the amount of secrets we hold for people. And at the level of connection we maintain.

I reflected that I could do 15 minute follow-ups and barely talk to people and conclude that every symptom requires a med change. But that’s not how I roll. I see people for 30 minute follow-ups, longer if needed or requested. And I talk to them. I get to know them. And in the age of telehealth I meet their partners, spouses, parents, co-workers and any one else who wonders in the background of the frame.

Not everything needs a medication change. A lot of what humans need is simply connection and validation and the feeling that one person out in the world gives a shit about them. I’m happy and humbled to be that person for my clients. I think to an APRN student who is just starting to understand our role though…it’s daunting. And if I think about it. Like really step back and think about it…it’s a lot.

It is not a coincidence that there is a mental health provider shortage. People are falling apart and we as mental health providers shoulder more and more of their burden. It becomes heavy and isolating and daunting to potential new clinicians.

Again, I’m not going to censor myself and I’m not going to make the job seem like something it’s not. It’s hard. It’s emotional. And long term outpatient work is not for everyone. But it also made me grateful for my work. I tell people all the time I still love my work. I am lucky because I am one of few people who does what I love. But lord, it’s hard and sometimes it takes a mirror of an APRN student to remind me how heavy it truly is.

Sometimes I haven’t blogged because I’ve been busy and I seem to spend my nights lately posting ERA payments to accounts, reviewing accounts receivable, and all the endless micro-details of running a private practice. But the past twelve months when I’ve sat down to blog I have also generally written pretty damn depressing blogs.

I usually end up crying and it’s all just horrible. Then it’s another week before I get time to write a non-crying blog but end up still writing a horribly depressing piece. There are a few reasons. 1. Since 2019 when my Dad died, life has been generally rather depressing in some ways. Actually three major events that are not really bloggable due to NDA’s, my children one day reading this blog, and general violence that is rated R or maybe even…What’s the one that’s worse than R? I dunno. See the great thing about me is that you don’t know if I’m kidding or not. (I’m not;)

Life’s been rough. What’s ironic is that my life outwardly looks like I have made huge strides in the last three years. My kids are thriving as is my business. I am up to ten? employees. I think ten. I just hired another one and I can’t remember if they make ten or eleven. But it’s a thing in small business when you hit ten employees. It’s a landmark.

I am opening a second location for my practice, and making plans for 2023 for a third.

I decided recently to take a 30 day social media break. No snaps, Insta, FB, and…well that’s all the social media I use. I’m on day 4. It was Christmas Eve at 5 AM as I lay in bed that I made the decision.

I may not go back to it at all. Nothing is missing. I realized how incredibly fake it is. I was writing one of those super depressing blog posts that will never be published and realized how my two closest friends at the moment are not even on FB. Well, one is, but she rarely posts anything and only follows dog mom groups. I realized that the people who show up for me will keep showing up for me whether I’m on social media or not. And the people who judge me, hate me, fear me, whatever, will still do all of those things except they won’t “like” or “love” my pictures and posts pretending to care about anything I have to say or do.

My day to day hasn’t changed. Except I don’t spend minutes mindlessly scrolling through posts. And as I said, my communication with my friends hasn’t changed at all. They are still my friends. We still text and talk and see each other. I just don’t talk to or hear from any one else whose presence in my life was a facade.

I got a dog 5 weeks ago. I’ve never been a “dog person”. In fact I still probably am not a dog person. But I like my dog. I’ve had nightmares as long as I can remember. I can go months without one, and then have three in a row. Completely unpredictable. A couple weeks ago I shot up in bed, heart racing, palms sweating, terror gripping me as it always does. I’m 36 and a nightmare can still completely wig me out. Over the years I’ve learned I have to get out of bed and walk around. Usually I have to walk about the whole house and catch my breath and ground myself to reality.

But that night, my dog lifted her sleepy head and looked at me as a I breathed frantically in and out; reliving whatever terror I just dreamt. It’s always tornadoes, tidal waves, or a grisly death (You can die in your dreams. I’ve done it. Many times- being stabbed is my least favorite). I reached out and hugged my puppy and she rested her snout on my shoulder. I felt her breath on my back and my heart rate slowed down, and I could breathe normally. I laid my head back down on my pillow and she scooted over to put her whole body up against my back, and for the first time I can remember I was able to fall back asleep almost immediately after a nightmare.

It was an odd, intimate moment that I shared with my dog, Cheetah. She’s only five months old. She drives me insane in many ways. And she’s a big baby in many ways. But in that moment she was wise and grounding and real.

I’ve been through a lot in the past three years and what I’ve learned is to lean into what’s real. Lean into who shows up. Lean into who can handle your darkness because they can help guide you to the light.

Cutting out social media is a reminder for me as to who my friends are and to invest my time and energy into people who are truly here for me. It’s a grounding exercise to remind myself whose presence in my life is grounding versus not. That moment with Cheetah reminded me of the moments in the past three years that I’ve felt terrified and alone. She reminded me to focus on who helped me through those times and to appreciate all I have instead of staying stuck in the dark.

When I worked in the ED there was a tech who came out of a room after I had been in for my initial assessment. The kid was sick-ish. Meaning probably admission material but not ICU level and potentially could go home if he had a robust response to treatment. I was maybe twenty-five. I was good at what I did. But I was and still am in a sense; controlled chaos. I remember the tech came out laughing and I asked him what he was laughing at? I was assembling my IV equipment, glucose machine, i-stat for chemistry, and an 02 mask. He said, “The parents, they looked like woah! When I went in right after you walked out, so I told them, ya know she’s good. That’s just how she is. Your kid is gonna be the best taken care of kid here though with her as your nurse.”

I remember I stopped what I was doing. I had big curly hair. Still do. It was everywhere. I was sucking on a cough drop because my asthma was acting up and there had also been a GI smell I just couldn’t get out of my nostrils earlier from another kid. I had a pile of stuff on my IV cart. Other nurses would, set things up, make it all pretty, put the tubing in the same spot every stick etc. I don’t think it was ever in the same spot. That tech held for me for countless IV starts. He knew to just hold the kid. That as much as it looked disorganized I was actually crazy like a fox and never dropped anything on the floor. And if I did I had a spare. In my pocket. He’d had to fish out a spare from my pocket. Once. Maybe twice.

I got the line in that kid in one smooth shot. By the time the Attending saw him he was sleeping soundly, his parents each had a coffee in hand, and they all had blankets. The kid had 02 going and fluids and meds. He went home five hours later.

I’m still sorta that way in psych. Sometimes I think clients don’t know what to make of me. I still am completely unable to recognize how chaotic I can seem but in psych I think it’s more maybe I seem detached, distracted. When in reality I’ve already got you assessed and am narrowing down my medication options and also deciding what gem I’m going to slip in to shatter your defenses to get you to really feel something and maybe by default cry.

I don’t realize that I have a style or a way or a presence until people tell me. That moment was eleven years ago. I still remember the look on the tech’s face, and can imagine the look on mine. First off I didn’t realize I came across like a tornado in that room. Second I had no idea the tech thought I was good at my job or that he remembered after hundreds of lines where to find the spare three way stopcock I always kept in my pocket. Never know when you’re going to need to push adenosine. Just saying.

In psych though clients have a different relationship than in the ED and different expectations. Over the years I’ve been asked directly by a few clients at the intake what my assessment is, diagnosis, and some have even asked what I think their personality traits are. It’s kind of fun for me. I may totally geek out in the moment when I get to be like the cop at the end of a case explaining and divulging all the things I’ve picked up. The ones who ask after one appointment ask because they are skeptical. Skeptical that I’m paying attention. Skeptical that I know what I’m doing. Skeptical that I could get to know them enough in sixty minutes to make recommendations like medication. I get it. But I kill it. Every time. Because hello people. Since 2007 I’ve done nothing but rapid assessment in one form or another every day for hours a day. I also got a couple degrees and training in it. That moment when I relay straight faced, with eye contact, everything I’ve observed, surmised, and suspect and how that relates to my recommendations they usually stare back, jaw drops a little, and sometimes their eyes well up with tears, sometimes they just open in surprise and sometimes a little hint of admiration. It’s that moment they feel seen.

I felt seen by that tech in that moment eleven years ago. It doesn’t happen often that some one catches me off guard. I generally think I’m invisible so am always surprised if some one reflects something incredibly accurate about myself back to me. The scariest time that happened was last week. In the car. With my sons.

I asked the boys if they like living in our town. I bring it up now and then because I’m not sure if we will move or not. They rambled on in their 5 year old way about yes, maybe, no, but we should live next to their cousin, because that’s their lifelong goal and dream to live next door to their cousin. I laughed and said, well if we move with your Aunts and cousin you won’t be in school with…then listed their friends. Then they were contemplative, and I said somewhat surprised, “I kinda like living here.” Never thought I would like rural living. Declan says, “Because there’s no people Mama. You don’t like people. That’s why you like it here.” I looked in the rearview smiling and surprised, “What do you mean baby?” “You don’t like big crowds, (how the hell did he know the word crowd?!) that’s why you didn’t want to go to the Fair. It’s why you like to just be by the pool. It’s okay Mama. We like living here.” Damn. Just like that. I was actually speechless.

None of it was wrong. I don’t like people. Especially big crowds. The pandemic didn’t help. I also blame working in healthcare. We see the worst of humanity. Makes it hard to want to really engage with random people. And yes, the yearly town fair is the bane of my existence. I will not work at it. I will not attend. In every way it is completely abhorrent to me. Cow manure. People. Bees. People. Hill. People. No parking. People. I also do prefer my pool. To everywhere in the world. My two favorite people are my sons. After that there are maybe ten-fifteen people I think I need regular contact with (Yes Mom. You’re on the list;).

Aside from that though, the point is my son. I think I am raising a future mental health professional. Because he saw me. What’s funny in those moments is his twin brother is totally silent. He’s the observer. He’s going to be the politician. He doesn’t agree or disagree outwardly but I know if I asked him he’d know his brother was spot on. He just wouldn’t be the one to call me out. Twins. It’s a whole thing. I am so often trying to survive the grind of single mom-ing, business owning, and being a clinician that I forget they are watching. Seeing. Learning. They know me as well I know them. It’s a scary thing. This vulnerability with our kids. I feel it more as a single mom. Because they spend 85% of their time with me. And I with them.

These boys are perceptive and caring and it’s weird to start to shift from thinking of them as these dependent beings to independent beings who can make assumptions about me. Learn from me. Emulate me. They did not get my general disliking of socializing. These boys talk to every one about everything. It’s cool that they can see this part of me, and be different from me, and we can all be okay with that.

That moment in the car was a parenting first. Feeling “seen” by my kids. In a way I really hadn’t ever experienced with them. I just keep hoping what they see is good enough, wise enough, and strong enough for them. It’s such a shift from childhood and seeking our parents approval, to adulthood and seeking it from our kids. It’s part of parenting I didn’t expect and still find it hard to define at times.

This is one parent’s reminder. They are watching. Always.

There are moments on a daily basis that people actually wouldn’t believe occur to the same person over and over unless you spent an extended period of time with me. For example, one of my best friends in high school spent a lot of time with me. Small town. Limited things to do. Lots of time. As we grew up and grew apart, we still touch base at least a few times a year. He always asks how I’m doing then eventually I will share a story of something and he laughs and says “It literally has never stopped with you has it? Your life should be a reality show.” When my admin started she spent the first few weeks working out of my house. She was definitely with me at least 4 hours a day 4 days a week in my home. This was the month in between office spaces when we were still fully remote. As I stumbled through the house one day and ran to my car because i was running late for a doctor’s appointment…she looked at me said, “Wow, you really are a total hot mess in a super funny but also somewhat unbelievable way. Like people who just meet you would never know.” I proceeded to run back into the house three times because I forgot my keys, forgot my phone, couldn’t find my phone, searched the car, came back in to find my phone again, then eventually found it in the car.

Tonight was one of those moments. I brought the boys to their first official karate class. We did an intro session on Saturday just them and the instructor. They of course loved it, are obsessed with it, and want to be black belts. I’m not social. I talk to people all day about their deep emotional traumas. When I leave work I’m not into making small talk with Moms. 1. They are usually straight. 2. In my town it’s 50/50 that they support #45 and think we have a fake President. 3. I’m usually just freaking tired.

My own Mom is one of those people who will chat with someone in line at the grocery store or anywhere for that matter. Then she asks all these questions, and smiles…and yeah literally the opposite of me as I slink off to find a freaking self check out so I can talk to no one. Sometimes she asks me follow up questions about an interaction I have with some one and then I just stare at her and then she remembers that I in no way went further in the conversation then I had to.

This week I had to sit on the soccer sidelines and go to karate class. I have somehow become this Mom of creatures who are social and like other kids and stuff. I don’t know where they come from.

I’m also a business owner. So I’m on all the time. I get a call from the landlord who is discussing my latest request which is insane. I own that. I make insane requests. He laughs at me. He realizes I’m serious. Then we put our heads together and figure it out. I’m a good and profitable tenant.

Anyways. I get the phone call, I’m walking outside, I have a mask on so I can’t see below me, I have my AirPods in so I’m all discombobulated anyway because my freaking phone keeps putting the sound on my phone then back to my AirPods and I’m looking at my phone, trying to rip the mask off as I push open the door…and then epically fall.

There’s a step.

I have on flip flops. I’m holding my brand new iPhone which I do NOT let drop on the ground can I get an amen! So my left hand was on the door handle, my right hand held the phone, my mouth was open behind the mask going “AHHHHH” my body swung, literally swung, with the door, my flip-flops got all bent and crazy, my ass did not hit the ground, I was actually able to stay in a squat like position. But it was intense and there was rain and the door swinging and my body flying around.

So inside were a few parents who clearly, I mean clearly, saw the whole thing because I actually held eye contact with one of them as it was happening. Then the rest of the parents were sitting in running cars facing said door and sidewalk I just fell onto. Then there was my poor landlord John. He also probably thinks I am not okay. Because unfortunately he has spent enough time with me on the phone designing my current office space, and now designing our add on space, that he knows random crazy shit is going to happen while we talk.

I literally scream/yell. Pull myself up. Realize that no parent is going to ask if I’m okay. I am also cracking up because if any of my friends were there they would have been breaking my balls hardcore. I finally get John the landlord into by Airbuds. After being like “Can you hear me” a million times, and he’s trying not to laugh at the chaos of the last two minutes, he was like “Uh yeah, I could hear you the whole time.” silence. Me cracking up. “Dude I literally just fell out of my kids karate studio. I can’t.” He sighs like he’s not surprised at all this is happening and then asks about my most recent completely irrational and costly update I requested to the new space we are designing.

The problem with AirPods and holding the iPhone anywhere is that I can talk with my hands. I’m a big walker and talker with my hands. I’m not Italian. I’m Irish and Swedish. Literally the least emotive people. But there I was. Walking and talking with my hands waving them around, running them through my massive humid induced curly hair head and trying to convince him it’s maybe not that costly or irrational. It’s maybe a six minute conversation. I am animatedly making my case the entire time after recovering from my fall.

When we hang up I stop. I look around. I realize all those parents who are sitting in their cars who saw me fall just also saw me have a very animated conversation with my hands, barefoot, because apparently at some point I kicked off my flip flops, as I paced on the sidewalk in front of the very large karate studio picture window where the parents sitting inside also had a great view.

At that point I start cracking up again. I apparently had also ripped off my mask which I picked up off the sidewalk next to my flip flops. I am obviously very passionate when I’m making a case for more things and less money after heinously falling and screaming in the beginning of our call.

With as much dignity as I could muster I put on my flip-flops. I put on my mask. I walked back inside and returned to my chair. No one said a word. Not a word. I texted my friends and told them I fell and they sent me GIFs of models walking the runway and falling. It was amazing.

I gotta be honest. I’m sore. My back and shoulders and somehow my arm took a beating. I told the boys after karate and then walking out I almost fell a second time. Damn stair. I blame the mask. But yes I’ll keep wearing it even though no one else was wearing one because Delta. Covid. Science. Blah blah blah.

My point to this rambling retelling of my epic fall out the karate door on the phone with some one who could cost or save me thousands of dollars is…be real. I am not fake. I have never hidden from any one the hot mess that I am. It’s just a matter of who I let in that sees it.

I love my life. I love my kids. I love that I can laugh at myself stumbling onto a sidewalk in the rain. Laugh at yourself. Laugh with your friends. I was going to say talk to other people at your kids sporting events, but that would be super hypocritical. Baby steps. I’m just not there yet. Oh, and always fight the good fight for seemingly irrational requests that cost a lot of money. Know your worth because I know my mine. (it’s a lot).

I read an article about what Europeans found the most shocking about America. One item was the “number of American flags. They are just everywhere.” I thought about it. I would have to agree with that assessment and until 2016 I never thought of that as a bad thing.

As I drive into work every day I pass through mostly rural communities. Many houses have flags. A few in particular have an American flag, underneath which is a “F&ck Biden” flag. I gotta be honest. That irks me. I had to reflect on it for awhile to come to a non-partisan rationale as to why it irks me.

I am the granddaughter of a World War II veteran. I am the daughter of a Vietnam veteran. My Dad also served in Utah as one of the first homeland security details for the Winter Olympics. My Dad was an epic patriot. And it was one area in life we never fought about. I respected, and still do after his death, his love of his country. One of the most meaningful moments at his funeral were three of his former Army friends showing up in dress uniform and seeking me out of the crowd. Saluting me. Asking me politely what happened to their friend and their utter dismay at finding out my Dad at the very end made it clear he did not want a military funeral.

I’m still unclear why my Dad declined what he was entitled to with more than half his life given to the military. His feelings toward the military were complicated by the men he lost in Vietnam, the men who died for him to live, and later on they were further complicated by his understanding of Agent Orange and how that impacted his health until the day he died.

My grandpa and my Dad both kept quiet about their service but they did not ever hide their pride in their service and in their country. I grew up watching them march in our Memorial Day parades. Attending military ceremonies whenever my Dad would be promoted. I visited armories with him throughout the state over my childhood and it was a normal occurrence for me to be around men and women in fatigues. When I went to work with my Dad some times I remember sitting in armories and chatting with soldiers.

When I married a woman nothing about my relationship with my Dad changed. Nothing about my relationship with the American flag changed either. I was raised to be proud of the service of my family members. My Dad served under many Presidents he disagreed with in terms of rhetoric but we did not disrespect a President in front of my Dad. We could disagree with policy and opinions but if I ever said F&*$ Bush my Dad would have slapped me in the back of my head. Because he got that even if we disagree with policy he is still the President and he is deserving of the respect of that office.

2016 changed my Dad. He was still with it enough to know that this was bad. I think that also contributed to his decision to not pursue a military funeral. He had never come against some one who disrespected the office of the President as much as he felt it was disrespected during that administration. But I still would never have used the F word in the same room as my Dad in regards to the President. No matter how much we may agree that administration was not okay. We still had some level of respect and decorum for the office.

When I drive by a flag that has the F word on it (and I swear a lot. So if it bothers me it’s bad) that not only names our current President but also is touching the American flag. Every atom of my being rebels. I feel like my Dad and Grandpa are turning in their graves. Because how disrespectful is that to our flag, our nation, their service, and the office of the President of the United States of America. That is not patriotism. That is hateful and overt disrespect to every veteran, every active service member, and every person who has held the office of the President.

After I had this heated discussion in my head about how and why this was bad, I thought well their response could be they feel the same about seeing the Pride flag with an American flag. That was a head scratcher for me. I can say that, I hear you. I get that. BUT, at the same time- the Pride flag does not disrespect the office of the President. The Pride flag creates safety and perhaps can start to acknowledge and thank all the Queer servicemen and women who have served our country just as proudly and bravely as my Dad and Grandpa. It also doesn’t place the F word in line with our flag. Our flag is a symbol of unity. To have its counterpart say F our President sews divide. It literally does the opposite of what we are supposed to feel when we see our flag.

Somehow “Patriots” have become these neo-nazi homophobic, anti-semitic people like “Proud Boys” who spew hate and division. Well I won’t live in fear of our flag. I am proud of the American flag and I challenge any one flying anything so disrespectful as F Biden next to our flag to remember our veterans. Remember the men and women who served and died under our flag. Because I remember my Dad and his pride in our country and our flag and I urge you to take the parties and politics out of our flag because all Americans are united under one flag whether we like it or not.

And listen, I may disagree with what you do and say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to do it and say it. But in this case, I’m going to call out general bad form; and hope that you can open your eyes to maybe taking things a step too far. Maybe disrespecting the American flag is actually not patriotic but in fact insulting to many fellow Americans.

Sincerely,

Irked In Rural America