EDITED.
it's not enough to say i'm disgusted by what i read online and see in the news every day, especially as of lately. by disgusted, i mean i want to go out and hurt people after what i read or view. i'm not someone who is in favor of violence, but i have absolutely NO problem with wanting to kill people who commit inhumane, disgusting, vile acts. not me personally, but you know what i mean.
maybe i'm hearing about these things more because of access to all of the different media outlets now available, but it seems that these acts and people are more and more prevalent, and i don't understand why.
i think for me what it comes down to is sexual predators. especially predators that prey on children. that is the most disgusting thing. and it's not just men, it's women too. AND it's not just adults, it's children preying on other children too. one thing to say to all of that: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???
i keep hearing these horrible, gut wrenching stories about children being abducted and used as sexual slaves. or children being given away to adults as prostitutes by THEIR OWN EFFING MOTHER. or recently, a story about a 14 year old boy who was sexually molesting a 4 year old boy, and the boy threatened to tell his mom, so the 14 yr. old killed him. OR, most recently, a 15 year old boy was shot by his own father to death because he admitted he had had sex with a 3 YEAR OLD GIRL.
again: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
where is the accountability from the parents for the kids committing these crimes and violent acts? AND, where is the justice system when you need them to GET RID of predators who attack children over and over and over again? it's not an easy fix. for the adults, i say kill them. i'm sorry, but just kill them. they CAN NOT be rehabilitated, it's been proven over and over again. they need to just be put to death because re-releasing them into the world is not going to change them. eventually they will attack again. and then what? the cycle will start all over again. for the child predator, where is the education and accountability from the parents? these kids CAN be rehabilitated, hopefully, because you catch it early enough. but maybe not, what do i know.
bottom line, i guess it comes down to sex. sex, sex, sex. **in every country but america, sex is really not a big deal. it's just part of life. it's just a natural thing. but not here in the US. sex is taboo. sex is forbidden. sex is BAD. you will go to HELL over sex. fear is shoved down throats at an early age. we are taught that sex is bad and desires are even worse. and instead of openly discussing these things, we shun them. we teach our children only what we were taught. (**EDIT: a friend corrected me that in other countries women are executed by their own families for being raped. and that the sexual repressiveness in other countries is WORSE than here in the US, very true. thx, mark.)
but...on the other hand, we've become OBSESSED with sex. mainly because it is taboo, we seek it out and try to act out desires in any way possible. there are now more covert (and not so covert) ways to find sex than ever before. sex is everywhere. sex is on prime time tv. my god, it was NOT on when i was a kid in the '80s, that's for damn sure... you had to go to HBO. :) we are an oversexed society, where it's in our face 24/7. it's inevitable that the freaks out there are going to act on their desires because of all the stimulation in the world reminding them that they HAVE to have sex. they HAVE to act on their desires. otherwise they are less than...
i'm in no way in favor of the deviants, sickos, wackos, nasty people out there. in fact, i think they should all be locked up in a gas chamber and killed. that's horrible, i know. but that's how i feel about sexual predators.
for parents out there, like me. we need to be in our kids' business ALL the time. we need to find out who the kids are that are neighbors that might be playing with our children. we need to research the sex offender databases to find out how many of them there are in our neighborhood, and let our children be aware that there are lots of bad, evil people to stay away from. we don't need to scare them with fear constantly, but there's nothing wrong with fear, in helping them protect themselves when we're not there. they need to know what to look for, the signs to pick up on, to use their gut, and not trust people inherently. which in some ways is taking away their innocence, but typically it's their innocence that gets them into trouble in the first place, because they don't know the difference.
i am trying not to ready the news as much, but it's hard. when you see little Shaniya carried into a hotel elevator by a man 10 times her age only to have god knows what done to her. i worry for my son. i worry for all kids out there. because they don't know. they need to be protected. they need to be warned. even the ones who attack other kids, they need to be loved, told what's right from wrong. shown a different path.
this conversation potentially could never end. there's so much to discuss. for now, i say to God, please find the person who killed that little girl, and bring him/her to justice. let our justice system cast the worst possible punishment of death upon that individual to set the tone for other offenders. do not lock them up. that is the worst kind of punishment.
j
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
hormones
i'm blaming my craziness on hormones. my looney, wacky, moody swings of anger and inappropriate outbursts. all hormones? yup. and i'm ok with using that as an excuse. but, i need to be more mindful. more aware. more appropriate. so, my apologies to all of those that i may have upset or caused pain recently. i'm sorry. as of last night, i've decided to rise above my instincts, which are to react, and usually overreact. it's innate, and i'm hardwired that way, unfortunately. as of today, i will be trying to be more cognizant of my behavior.
on another note. i'm getting sick. i've been taking care of boy and he got a bit of a cold last weekend, and now i think i have it. i left work early today so i could come home and sleep. and sleep i did. i slept for about 2.5 hours, and left boy at daycare. tomorrow i think i will do the same. i'm just wiped out. completely obliterated.
on another note. i'm getting sick. i've been taking care of boy and he got a bit of a cold last weekend, and now i think i have it. i left work early today so i could come home and sleep. and sleep i did. i slept for about 2.5 hours, and left boy at daycare. tomorrow i think i will do the same. i'm just wiped out. completely obliterated.
to think about and evaluate
| “Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were.” |
―Cherie Carter-ScottWhat’s Your Anger Style?Sixteen ways to manage your frustration, whether you have a quick temper or a biting sense of humor. |
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sleep, or the lack thereof
I've been a bad blogger. And now, as lame as it is, I'm blooging to say that after a weekend alone with the boy and being up this morning since essentially five fricking o clock, I'm totally beat. I don't know how single parents do it but kudos to you all. I have the utmost respect for you.
Goodnight world. Goodnight Curious George movie. Goodnight interweb.
xo,
j
-- Posted from my iPhone
Goodnight world. Goodnight Curious George movie. Goodnight interweb.
xo,
j
-- Posted from my iPhone
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Interesting article
April 17, 2009, 12:55 PM
Jealous of Your Child
By LISA BELKINOver on Slate yesterday, a reader wrote to the Dear Prudence column, looking for advice. She asked, in part:
I am the mother of a tall, shapely, stunning, 17-year-old daughter … I have worked to help her be strong, secure, and happy with herself, and she definitely is (more than I was at her age and even now). So what’s the problem? Me. Every time I look at my daughter, it hurts my self-esteem. I know that’s stupid and irrational. I’m happy that she is such an amazing creature, and I absolutely adore her and am proud of her. I look pretty good for my age, but I’m almost 50.
Signed Supergirl’s Mom
Prudence (aka writer Emily Joffe) answered, in part:
In the initial telling of the Brothers Grimm story Snow White — about the young girl whose stepmother ordered her killed because she had replaced the older woman as the fairest in the land — the stepmother was actually her mother. I mention this not because your feelings are despicable but because they are archetypal.
I have two sons, and the thought has occurred more than once over the years that this means I will not come face to face with a younger version of myself. That, in turn, means I will not grapple with much of the baggage — regret, envy, pride, loss — that living with a dewy doppelganger can bring. But earlier this week, while tagging along to “accepted student days” with my almost-college-freshman, I had a small taste of the complex dynamic I thought I’d dodged.
As I watched administrators parade choices before him — Study abroad! Research the genome! Use your dining points to order pizza! — and stayed out of his way while he met those who might become his lifelong friends, it took me awhile to identify my unexpected emotion. Excitement for him? Yes. Sadness at his pending departure? Yes.
But what was that other ingredient, flitting around the edges, coloring everything?
Ah yes. I was jealous.
He is off on an adventure, and my job is to sit back and watch. The watching reminds me of the stress and uncertainty of the journey, true, but also of the endless possibilities, the wide open doors. He is at the beginning; I am much closer to the end.
Part of marveling at our children — their youth, their strength, their energy, their choices, their blank pages — is realizing what we’ve lost. We could wallow in it, or we could do as Prudence advised Supergirl’s Mom to do — use it as a chance to take measure of where we stand, and where we’d like to be:
Take action. Perhaps you have a friend who has an autistic child whom you could watch for a few hours. Maybe someone else is going through chemo and you could bring a weekly dinner for the family. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Take tennis lessons or sign up for a yoga class. Any of this will help foster gratitude for the good things you have in life.
Also read some fiction. You will find solace in how great writers like Doris Lessing (The Golden Notebook, The Summer Before the Dark), M.F.K. Fisher (Sister Age), or Alice Munro (any of her short-story collections) have portrayed women struggling with aging, motherhood, and love. And Shakespeare’s sonnets are the best summing up of the bittersweet necessity of the fading of beauty.
—Prudie
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Facebook + Wine + Blocking the Past = Long Rant
disclaimer: this post is not to illicit sympathy. i am also not ashamed to tell any of this to anyone's face. this is my blog and if i want to write personal things on it, by god, i will. i'm just writing for writing's sake. deal.
Facebook Gives Birth to the Retrosexual
there is so much wrong with that title. but when you read the article, it is about so much more. i should know. i suppose i am a retrosexual. having recently reconnected on FB with someone i met nearly 20 years ago at a church retreat, i suppose i am now christened a retrosexual. but that label is SO lame. so, i won't mention it again. what that label means is: someone who is reliving a past relationship, through technology like myspace.com, twitter.com or facebook.com. and i'm on all three. hence, this post...
i've reconnected with a ton of people through these apps, including exes, but, i have been blown away by this recent reconnect more than any other i've made in years. there's something so powerful about this reconnect, that it's hard to put into words. i think because i met this person at a critical time in my life, and that meeting pretty much shaped who i became and still am today. why i never bothered to look them up before now, i have no clue. i actually think i have looked many times, but never found them, so i gave up. and then a couple months ago, i decided to drink a bottle of wine. by myself at home at night. and of course, out came the iphone, or laptop, i can't remember which. and, much like drunk dialing or texting, i was drunk searching and posting. the problem with the latter, FYI, is that dialing and texting goes to one person, and posting goes to EVERYONE. watch yourself when you're on your gadgets, btw. ;) anyway, i woke up the next day and didn't really think about it too much. same for the next couple days, didn't really think about it. then i got the message. the message that all of a sudden made me act like a teenager again. and man, did the memories come flooding back. all of these memories of that week 19 years ago that had somehow been deeply suppressed. all of those giddy, stupid, embarrassing teenage memories that life just pushes down into your psyche. it was like pulling out memories from a time since passed, but then oh so fresh when they came out. i remembered everything. then i felteverything. then i started thinking about the last 20 years and holy shit, where did they go? and holy shit, what if i had reconnected with this person a long time ago? what would my life have been like? scenario after scenario played over in my head.
the reason why i think that time was suppressed was becausei was a baby, i was 14 going on 15, and i had a mouth full of braces, just going into my sophomore year of HS. this person was 17 going on 18 and had just graduated HS, on their way to college. my parents were getting a divorce when i was still in jr. high, and sure enough, that fall of '90 (in October), their divorce was final. all i wanted to do was run away to florida and be with this person, anything to get away from my house and the shit that was going down. but, being that i was only 15, um that was so not going to fly. :) so i had to settle for mix tapes, letters, packages, pictures, and short but meaningful long distance calls. i think we did this for several months, i can't really remember. i do remember that i was on the swim team my sophomore year, and i had made this gigantic peace sign on a sheet and had everyone on the HS team sign it. i had it hanging in my bedroom behind my bed, as an homage to this person. i think i was going to send it to them. anyway, my mom did not want me talking to this person anymore, so she made me burn all of my stuff having to do with them. all pictures, tapes, letters, t-shirts, and my big peace sheet. i had to set them on fire in our driveway in the alley and watch them burn. i cried and cried and was so devastated. my mother didn't care. she just wanted me to not talk to this 'older' person. i was heartbroken. i thought for sure this was someone i was going to be in touch with or actually BE with for the rest of my life. my mother thought differently.
then the acting out came on. not that i hadn't already been acting out, but this time i really acted out. i don't really remember what started it, but my mom and dad decided that i needed to be in a drug and alcohol treatment center. i had NEVER been drunk or done ANY drugs. yet. all of that would change after this piece of shit hell hole that i was about to be thrown into. so, the summer after my sophomore year, summer of '91, my parents put me into an outpatient place called Re-Entry. we affectionately called it REAR-ENTRY. naturally. this is where i learned to chain smoke. this is where i learned about drugs. i was not allowed to go to school and/or talk to my friends. i was in this shit hole m-f and on weekends, with the group. they tried to force me to admit that i was an alcoholic, even though i'd never been drunk. i had to go to AA meetings and introduce myself as "Hi, I'm Jenny and I'm an alcoholic." WTF? no i wasn't! i was a 15/16 yr old that was angry at her parents for fucking up her life!!! anyway. then the treatment center decided that i was telling the truth and that i was NOT an alkie, so they put me in Al-anon. keep in mind i didn't know a single alcoholic. needless to say, i ended up going through the entire program and got my year chip, had a sponsor and everything. i learned alot about alcoholism and how to deal with them. and i must say, the one good takeaway was that the 12 steps are pretty awesome, and i think that they work. durning this 12 step process, on the 8th or 9th step, you have to reach out to those you want to make amends to. i think i reached out to this summertime flame, and made amends to him, although I'm not quite sure why... i think i just needed to say hi. or maybe apologize for being obsessed. hahaha. i think that was the last time we talked until '95, when i called for some strange reason during christmas. i'm weird. after that, i went back to HS the spring semester of my junior year, spring of '92. i spent '92-christmas '93 in HS and out of that program. then more shit went down.
my mom decided that i needed to go to a christian youth home in east texas over christmas holiday. that was actually the best thing ever. i needed to get away from my parents who didn't know how to be parents or sure if they really wanted to be parents. i was there december of '92 and stayed there till dec. '93, when i finally moved to the dorms at kilgore college. i was in the dorms majoring in theatre and acting when in christmas of '95 my dad decided that it would be best to kick me out of the dorms b/c he found out my brother and i smoked pot at my great uncle's farm in OK over thanksgiving. really?? so, then i had to move in with my bandmate who became my boyfriend in '96 (UGH), and had to quit acting b/c i now had to support myself and wait tables. i graduated from kilgore with an AA that spring, and continued to work waiting tables until i moved to austin in the summer of '97. thank GOD. i HATED east texas.
i finally went back to school at southwest texas state in san marcos in '98 and graduated in '00 with a BFA in directing for theatre. then, i moved to NYC after graduation and stayed till '02. enough stories about NY to write an entire novel about...
now, back to my reconnect. this is why i needed to write all of this down. this is what has come out and has reminded me about my past. this is why i chose to suppress the happy memories, b/c i had so many shitty ones happening at the same time. it was easier to just suppress everything, rather than be selective. now, all of that has resurfaced, and it's made me reassess my current life and the past 20 years. i want to be happy and i want to be fulfilled. i want to be peaceful and content. i want to laugh and i want to cry. i want to be surrounded by people who love me and want the best for me. when things are going shitty, i think about how they could be different, lots of what if's, why did i do things the way i did them. also, i know now that for the last 20 years, in every man i met, i was searching for this guy. in a deeper soul sort of sense. it's amazing to me how one week can impact your life so much, and then it doesn't dawn on you that 20 years later you've been doing things subconsciously for a reason. and that one person is the reason. crazy.
but, i know that everything is the way it is for a reason, everything happens for a reason, in the time it needs to happen. all is good in the world. the universe and god are in control, not me.
peace and xo,
j
Facebook Gives Birth to the Retrosexual
there is so much wrong with that title. but when you read the article, it is about so much more. i should know. i suppose i am a retrosexual. having recently reconnected on FB with someone i met nearly 20 years ago at a church retreat, i suppose i am now christened a retrosexual. but that label is SO lame. so, i won't mention it again. what that label means is: someone who is reliving a past relationship, through technology like myspace.com, twitter.com or facebook.com. and i'm on all three. hence, this post...
i've reconnected with a ton of people through these apps, including exes, but, i have been blown away by this recent reconnect more than any other i've made in years. there's something so powerful about this reconnect, that it's hard to put into words. i think because i met this person at a critical time in my life, and that meeting pretty much shaped who i became and still am today. why i never bothered to look them up before now, i have no clue. i actually think i have looked many times, but never found them, so i gave up. and then a couple months ago, i decided to drink a bottle of wine. by myself at home at night. and of course, out came the iphone, or laptop, i can't remember which. and, much like drunk dialing or texting, i was drunk searching and posting. the problem with the latter, FYI, is that dialing and texting goes to one person, and posting goes to EVERYONE. watch yourself when you're on your gadgets, btw. ;) anyway, i woke up the next day and didn't really think about it too much. same for the next couple days, didn't really think about it. then i got the message. the message that all of a sudden made me act like a teenager again. and man, did the memories come flooding back. all of these memories of that week 19 years ago that had somehow been deeply suppressed. all of those giddy, stupid, embarrassing teenage memories that life just pushes down into your psyche. it was like pulling out memories from a time since passed, but then oh so fresh when they came out. i remembered everything. then i felteverything. then i started thinking about the last 20 years and holy shit, where did they go? and holy shit, what if i had reconnected with this person a long time ago? what would my life have been like? scenario after scenario played over in my head.
the reason why i think that time was suppressed was becausei was a baby, i was 14 going on 15, and i had a mouth full of braces, just going into my sophomore year of HS. this person was 17 going on 18 and had just graduated HS, on their way to college. my parents were getting a divorce when i was still in jr. high, and sure enough, that fall of '90 (in October), their divorce was final. all i wanted to do was run away to florida and be with this person, anything to get away from my house and the shit that was going down. but, being that i was only 15, um that was so not going to fly. :) so i had to settle for mix tapes, letters, packages, pictures, and short but meaningful long distance calls. i think we did this for several months, i can't really remember. i do remember that i was on the swim team my sophomore year, and i had made this gigantic peace sign on a sheet and had everyone on the HS team sign it. i had it hanging in my bedroom behind my bed, as an homage to this person. i think i was going to send it to them. anyway, my mom did not want me talking to this person anymore, so she made me burn all of my stuff having to do with them. all pictures, tapes, letters, t-shirts, and my big peace sheet. i had to set them on fire in our driveway in the alley and watch them burn. i cried and cried and was so devastated. my mother didn't care. she just wanted me to not talk to this 'older' person. i was heartbroken. i thought for sure this was someone i was going to be in touch with or actually BE with for the rest of my life. my mother thought differently.
then the acting out came on. not that i hadn't already been acting out, but this time i really acted out. i don't really remember what started it, but my mom and dad decided that i needed to be in a drug and alcohol treatment center. i had NEVER been drunk or done ANY drugs. yet. all of that would change after this piece of shit hell hole that i was about to be thrown into. so, the summer after my sophomore year, summer of '91, my parents put me into an outpatient place called Re-Entry. we affectionately called it REAR-ENTRY. naturally. this is where i learned to chain smoke. this is where i learned about drugs. i was not allowed to go to school and/or talk to my friends. i was in this shit hole m-f and on weekends, with the group. they tried to force me to admit that i was an alcoholic, even though i'd never been drunk. i had to go to AA meetings and introduce myself as "Hi, I'm Jenny and I'm an alcoholic." WTF? no i wasn't! i was a 15/16 yr old that was angry at her parents for fucking up her life!!! anyway. then the treatment center decided that i was telling the truth and that i was NOT an alkie, so they put me in Al-anon. keep in mind i didn't know a single alcoholic. needless to say, i ended up going through the entire program and got my year chip, had a sponsor and everything. i learned alot about alcoholism and how to deal with them. and i must say, the one good takeaway was that the 12 steps are pretty awesome, and i think that they work. durning this 12 step process, on the 8th or 9th step, you have to reach out to those you want to make amends to. i think i reached out to this summertime flame, and made amends to him, although I'm not quite sure why... i think i just needed to say hi. or maybe apologize for being obsessed. hahaha. i think that was the last time we talked until '95, when i called for some strange reason during christmas. i'm weird. after that, i went back to HS the spring semester of my junior year, spring of '92. i spent '92-christmas '93 in HS and out of that program. then more shit went down.
my mom decided that i needed to go to a christian youth home in east texas over christmas holiday. that was actually the best thing ever. i needed to get away from my parents who didn't know how to be parents or sure if they really wanted to be parents. i was there december of '92 and stayed there till dec. '93, when i finally moved to the dorms at kilgore college. i was in the dorms majoring in theatre and acting when in christmas of '95 my dad decided that it would be best to kick me out of the dorms b/c he found out my brother and i smoked pot at my great uncle's farm in OK over thanksgiving. really?? so, then i had to move in with my bandmate who became my boyfriend in '96 (UGH), and had to quit acting b/c i now had to support myself and wait tables. i graduated from kilgore with an AA that spring, and continued to work waiting tables until i moved to austin in the summer of '97. thank GOD. i HATED east texas.
i finally went back to school at southwest texas state in san marcos in '98 and graduated in '00 with a BFA in directing for theatre. then, i moved to NYC after graduation and stayed till '02. enough stories about NY to write an entire novel about...
now, back to my reconnect. this is why i needed to write all of this down. this is what has come out and has reminded me about my past. this is why i chose to suppress the happy memories, b/c i had so many shitty ones happening at the same time. it was easier to just suppress everything, rather than be selective. now, all of that has resurfaced, and it's made me reassess my current life and the past 20 years. i want to be happy and i want to be fulfilled. i want to be peaceful and content. i want to laugh and i want to cry. i want to be surrounded by people who love me and want the best for me. when things are going shitty, i think about how they could be different, lots of what if's, why did i do things the way i did them. also, i know now that for the last 20 years, in every man i met, i was searching for this guy. in a deeper soul sort of sense. it's amazing to me how one week can impact your life so much, and then it doesn't dawn on you that 20 years later you've been doing things subconsciously for a reason. and that one person is the reason. crazy.
but, i know that everything is the way it is for a reason, everything happens for a reason, in the time it needs to happen. all is good in the world. the universe and god are in control, not me.
peace and xo,
j
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Just cut my own hair
Not drastically but a good inch at least. Oops. :) I think I may need to see a hairdresser soon. Going to sleep. Night night.
xo,
j
-- Posted from my iPhone
xo,
j
-- Posted from my iPhone
Toxic Parents
When Parents Are Too Toxic to Tolerate
You can divorce an abusive spouse. You can call it quits if your lover mistreats you. But what can you do if the source of your misery is your own parent?
Craig Frazier
Post a Comment on the Well BlogGranted, no parent is perfect. And whining about parental failure, real or not, is practically an American pastime that keeps the therapeutic community dutifully employed.
But just as there are ordinary good-enough parents who mysteriously produce a difficult child, there are some decent people who have the misfortune of having a truly toxic parent.
A patient of mine, a lovely woman in her 60s whom I treated for depression, recently asked my advice about how to deal with her aging mother.
“She’s always been extremely abusive of me and my siblings,” she said, as I recall. “Once, on my birthday, she left me a message wishing that I get a disease. Can you believe it?”
Over the years, she had tried to have a relationship with her mother, but the encounters were always painful and upsetting; her mother remained harshly critical and demeaning.
Whether her mother was mentally ill, just plain mean or both was unclear, but there was no question that my patient had decided long ago that the only way to deal with her mother was to avoid her at all costs.
Now that her mother was approaching death, she was torn about yet another effort at reconciliation. “I feel I should try,” my patient told me, “but I know she’ll be awful to me.”
Should she visit and perhaps forgive her mother, or protect herself and live with a sense of guilt, however unjustified? Tough call, and clearly not mine to make.
But it did make me wonder about how therapists deal with adult patients who have toxic parents.
The topic gets little, if any, attention in standard textbooks or in the psychiatric literature, perhaps reflecting the common and mistaken notion that adults, unlike children and the elderly, are not vulnerable to such emotional abuse.
All too often, I think, therapists have a bias to salvage relationships, even those that might be harmful to a patient. Instead, it is crucial to be open-minded and to consider whether maintaining the relationship is really healthy and desirable.
Likewise, the assumption that parents are predisposed to love their children unconditionally and protect them from harm is not universally true. I remember one patient, a man in his mid-20s, who came to me for depression and rock-bottom self-esteem.
It didn’t take long to find out why. He had recently come out as gay to his devoutly religious parents, who responded by disowning him. It gets worse: at a subsequent family dinner, his father took him aside and told him it would have been better if he, rather than his younger brother, had died in a car accident several years earlier.
Though terribly hurt and angry, this young man still hoped he could get his parents to accept his sexuality and asked me to meet with the three of them.
The session did not go well. The parents insisted that his “lifestyle” was a grave sin, incompatible with their deeply held religious beliefs. When I tried to explain that the scientific consensus was that he had no more choice about his sexual orientation than the color of his eyes, they were unmoved. They simply could not accept him as he was.
I was stunned by their implacable hostility and convinced that they were a psychological menace to my patient. As such, I had to do something I have never contemplated before in treatment.
At the next session I suggested that for his psychological well-being he might consider, at least for now, forgoing a relationship with his parents.
I felt this was a drastic measure, akin to amputating a gangrenous limb to save a patient’s life. My patient could not escape all the negative feelings and thoughts about himself that he had internalized from his parents. But at least I could protect him from even more psychological harm.
Easier said than done. He accepted my suggestion with sad resignation, though he did make a few efforts to contact them over the next year. They never responded.
Of course, relationships are rarely all good or bad; even the most abusive parents can sometimes be loving, which is why severing a bond should be a tough, and rare, decision.
Dr. Judith Lewis Herman, a trauma expert who is a clinical professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, said she tried to empower patients to take action to protect themselves without giving direct advice.
“Sometimes we consider a paradoxical intervention and say to a patient, ‘I really admire your loyalty to your parents — even at the expense of failing to protect yourself in any way from harm,’ ” Dr. Herman told me in an interview.
The hope is that patients come to see the psychological cost of a harmful relationship and act to change it.
Eventually, my patient made a full recovery from his depression and started dating, though his parents’ absence in his life was never far from his thoughts.
No wonder. Research on early attachment, both in humans and in nonhuman primates, shows that we are hard-wired for bonding — even to those who aren’t very nice to us.
We also know that although prolonged childhood trauma can be toxic to the brain, adults retain the ability later in life to rewire their brains by new experience, including therapy and psychotropic medication.
For example, prolonged stress can kill cells in the hippocampus, a brain area critical for memory. The good news is that adults are able to grow new neurons in this area in the course of normal development. Also, antidepressants encourage the development of new cells in the hippocampus.
It is no stretch, then, to say that having a toxic parent may be harmful to a child’s brain, let alone his feelings. But that damage need not be written in stone.
Of course, we cannot undo history with therapy. But we can help mend brains and minds by removing or reducing stress.
Sometimes, as drastic as it sounds, that means letting go of a toxic parent.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Posting from bed
Using a new iPhone app called blogpress. So far so good. Here's my companion for now, until her daddy comes back from consoling a fussy boy. In which she will jump out of bed frustrated because we are being squirmy and want some leg room. Tired. Going to bed.
Laters.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Laters.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Friday, October 16, 2009
Lighten Hair Naturally at Home to Avoid Toxic Chemicals
Lighten Hair Naturally at Home to Avoid Toxic Chemicals
(NaturalNews) Rising concerns about the harmful effects of hair color have drawn many back to the old-fashioned methods of hair-lightening. It is estimated that two out of every five American women color their hair, so there are no shortage of people who can benefit from utilizing more natural methods of hair color. Henna is one product that uses natural dyes to alter the color of your hair. While these are generally effective, they rarely provide the right results if you are trying to lighten your hair. Fortunately, there is a world of other options if you want to lighten your hair color naturally.
Lemon juice is by far the most popular method for lightening hair at home. Beware of commercial lighteners that claim to use lemon juice; they are often strong chemical products in disguise with very little lemon juice inside the bottle. Lemon juice in itself is strongly acidic, so diluting it will keep it from damaging your hair. It should be mixed with at least an equal amount of water, more if your hair is already damaged or if you are concerned with graying. This mixture can be rinsed through the hair by itself, or it can be combined with any of the ingredients below.
Olive oil contains lightening agents in addition to its undeniable ability to give hair a certain softness and sheen. It's excellent for counteracting any drying effects lemon juice may have on your hair. Mix a tablespoon or two of olive oil in a cup of water with one tablespoon of pure lemon juice. Massage mixture into hair and leave to soak for 30 minutes. Rinse well; two shampoos may be required to completely remove the olive oil.
Another old-fashioned method used for brightening hair is chamomile. Regular chamomile tea mixed with lemon juice can be rinsed through hair daily until the desired effect is achieved. Enhanced results can be seen if you boil the tea yourself using chamomile flowers. Using the natural flowers instead of tea bags seems to have a much stronger effect.
If you happen to be boiling chopped rhubarb, use the water leftover as a rinse to lighten hair. It can also give your hair a shiny gloss if used regularly.
Honey is a superb hair lightener because it naturally contains traces of hydrogen peroxide. You can mix a tablespoon of honey with a cup of water and let it sit for 30 minutes to allow the peroxide to develop. Then coat hair completely with the mixture and allow it to sit for at least 20 minutes. After applying the mixture, you can also cover hair with saran wrap and leave overnight. Add a tablespoon of olive oil to the mix for an intense overnight moisture treatment.
After using any of these methods, you can enhance your results by sitting with your hair in the sun for about 20-30 minutes. The sun is known for its brightening effect on hair, and the items listed above will further activate the sun's lightening power.
Lemon juice is by far the most popular method for lightening hair at home. Beware of commercial lighteners that claim to use lemon juice; they are often strong chemical products in disguise with very little lemon juice inside the bottle. Lemon juice in itself is strongly acidic, so diluting it will keep it from damaging your hair. It should be mixed with at least an equal amount of water, more if your hair is already damaged or if you are concerned with graying. This mixture can be rinsed through the hair by itself, or it can be combined with any of the ingredients below.
Olive oil contains lightening agents in addition to its undeniable ability to give hair a certain softness and sheen. It's excellent for counteracting any drying effects lemon juice may have on your hair. Mix a tablespoon or two of olive oil in a cup of water with one tablespoon of pure lemon juice. Massage mixture into hair and leave to soak for 30 minutes. Rinse well; two shampoos may be required to completely remove the olive oil.
Another old-fashioned method used for brightening hair is chamomile. Regular chamomile tea mixed with lemon juice can be rinsed through hair daily until the desired effect is achieved. Enhanced results can be seen if you boil the tea yourself using chamomile flowers. Using the natural flowers instead of tea bags seems to have a much stronger effect.
If you happen to be boiling chopped rhubarb, use the water leftover as a rinse to lighten hair. It can also give your hair a shiny gloss if used regularly.
Honey is a superb hair lightener because it naturally contains traces of hydrogen peroxide. You can mix a tablespoon of honey with a cup of water and let it sit for 30 minutes to allow the peroxide to develop. Then coat hair completely with the mixture and allow it to sit for at least 20 minutes. After applying the mixture, you can also cover hair with saran wrap and leave overnight. Add a tablespoon of olive oil to the mix for an intense overnight moisture treatment.
After using any of these methods, you can enhance your results by sitting with your hair in the sun for about 20-30 minutes. The sun is known for its brightening effect on hair, and the items listed above will further activate the sun's lightening power.
tsa agents took my son
tsa agents took my son - from My Bottle's Up
16OCT
2009
As I sit and write this post, 24 hours after this event took place, my hands still shake… with rage and with terror.
I woke up this morning to my husband’s alarm clock, sat straight up in bed and thought “Where’s Jackson?” with fear paralyzing me.
My worst nightmare took place yesterday. Worse than events that have taken place and that I have survived in my short 28 years of living. Worse than my wildest of dreams could conjure.
My son was taken from me.
Taken.
My son was taken from me by the TSA agents at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson airport yesterday.
He was taken away from me and OUT OF MY SIGHT because his pacifier clip went off when I carried him through the metal detector.
According to the Transportation Security Administration website, “We will not ask you to do anything that will separate you from your child or children.”
Bullshit TSA.
You took my son. MY SON.
Here’s what took place… minute by terrifying minute…
I had Jackson in his stroller, his diaper bag, and a duffle bag which contained my mac book as I entered security. I placed all of these items on the conveyor belt to go through the metal detector. Jackson was in my arms, and in the midst of getting all of our gear on the conveyor belt, my mistake was neglecting to take off my son’s pacifier clip that hangs from his shirt, which is metal.
The instant I walked through the metal detector with Jackson in my arms, we beeped. I knew exactly why.
I told the TSA agent, who asked me to back up and walk through again, “It’s my son’s pacifier clip, can I put it on the conveyor belt?”
“Ma’am turn around and come back please,” I was told.
Of course Jackson’s clip went off again. Both Jackson and I were then escorted to a 6 ft tall plastic holding box because I was forced to wait for a female TSA agent to search me.
At this point in time, all of my belongings were sitting at the opposite end of the conveyor belt, thereby backing up every other passengers belongings because I was not there to gather mine.
A woman out of the kindness of her heart (and if you are out there somewhere reading this, THANK YOU) saw me just standing and waiting in my 6 ft plastic box and gathered my belongings for me. She waited with my stroller, my diaper bag, my duffle bag and my mac book. This woman motioned to me that everything (including my flip flops) was all together and then she left.
She must be a mother.
She understood.
I was so grateful.
4 female TSA agents stood at the end of 2 conveyor belts, gloves on their hands, none of them searching anyone, none of them doing anything but watching luggage pass through the conveyor belts.
It was at this point in time that I realized my flight was leaving in less than 45 minutes. I had not even been searched yet. I began to panic.
Through the 6 holes in the plastic box that contained Jackson and I, I began asking for help. I waved to all 4 female TSA agents, each of them looked at me and then looked away. Then I started speaking through the 6 holes, and said, “Can someone please search me? My flight leaves in less than 45 minutes.”
Each of the 4 women answered me using the same exact phrase…
“Ma’am you need to wait. I don’t care about your departure time.”
Eventually one of the four female TSA agents opened the door and let Jackson and I out of our plastic containment box. We were escorted to a chair that was opposite from where my belongings were. I asked if I could bring my belongings over or take a seat closer to where they were. I was told no and to take my seat.
At this point in time, my heart began to race, thinking we would miss our flight and I would be stuck in the Atlanta airport with Jackson for who knows how long until there was another flight to Baltimore.
The female TSA agent stood in front of me while I sat with Jackson and she continued to watch luggage come through the conveyor belt.
“Ma’am, can someone please just search me so we can be on our way? We are going to miss our flight,” I said.
The female agent then called an older gentleman, also a TSA agent over. The male TSA agent stood in front of me and said “I’m going to have to pat down your son.”
With Jackson still sitting in my lap (he was being so good despite all of this chaos) I said ok and continued to hold on to my son, expecting the male TSA agent to start touching Jackson.
He then told me, “I’m going to have to pick him up to inspect him.”
I rolled my eyes and sternly told him “It’s his pacifier clip that went off, can’t you just run that back through the belt and let us go. We are going to miss our flight.”
The female TSA agent, who had been standing there the entire time said to me, “You need to adjust your attitude and do as you are told.”
The male TSA agent repeated, “I’m going to have to pick him up to inspect him.”
I handed him my son.
I handed him my son and he walked away with my child.
My eyes welled up with tears, I stood up from my chair and I asked the female TSA agent, “Where is he going? Where is he taking my child? Why is he leaving?”
Jackson, while being whisked away looked at the male TSA agent awkwardly and repeated “no no no no.”
I started crying.
The female TSA agent did not answer me.
Panic set in. My hands began to shake. My body was sweating. My breath was short and my heart was racing.
They had taken my child and not told me.
Jackson was out of my eye sight.
I could not see my son.
Now sobbing, I repeated my questions to the female TSA agent.
She told me “Ma’am, we’re trying to be nice to you. We don’t know which one of you went off in the metal detector. Stay here so I can search you.”
“But my son… where is my son?” I asked over and over again.
The female TSA agent called a second female TSA agent over as she began to search me. Apparently the second female TSA agent could hear me protesting and asking for my son.
“Ma’am you need to calm down or I’m going to have to involve the authorities,” she told me.
Now I was pissed.
Horrified. Terrified. Enraged.
“You fucking get the authorities,” I told the female TSA agent while the other continued to wand me and forced me to unbutton my jeans because the button beeped when she went over my abdomen with her wand.
“You get the goddamn authorities right the fuck now and tell them to GIVE ME MY SON,” I said.
I began to black out. I knew I was having a full on panic attack. I feared passing out.
I was told to take my seat again, after being searched, but I was not allowed to collect my belongings.
My cell phone was within reach and I grabbed it without being seen by the TSA agents.
I called my husband. I do not remember what I told him on the phone in terms of Jackson and what took place.
I do recall asking him to calm me down because I could not breathe. As a father, he couldn’t. I imagine any father would do the same. Paul had questions, tons of questions. Questions that I was not capable of answering because I literally was losing my breath and on the verge of blacking out.
I hung up and called my mother.
“Jackson’s gone,” I remember telling her. I do not remember what she said in return, but she instantly could tell I was having a panic attack. She began breathing with me on the phone in an attempt to calm me down.
She told me, “Nic, you’re going to have to stop crying. You need to be strong for Jackson. He’s going to be that much more scared if he sees mommy so upset. In through your nose… out through your mouth…” I think she may have counted, or had me count, I don’t know.
Jackson was still gone.
My guess is that all of this took place within a period of 10 minutes or less.
It felt like hours… days even.
My son was gone.
Sobbing and seated, I watched both female TSA agents walk away from me and go back to monitoring luggage come through the conveyor belt.
Finally the male TSA agent who took Jackson brought him back.
Jackson was in my sight and immediately started yelling, “Mommy!”
I was hysterical.
Running to my son and grabbing him from the male TSA agent’s arms, I sobbed and yelled obscenities at every single TSA agent who stood guard at the end of the conveyor belts.
One of them asked me if I wanted to speak to a supervisor.
Through tears I told him (or her, I don’t remember) that I had a flight I was about to miss.
With Jackson in my arms, I gathered our belongings, through him in the stroller and ran to the elevator that took us down to the tram to take us to our concourse where our plane waited.
B-25.
Sobbing as we traveled down the elevator, then during the tram ride, and up the next elevator to our concourse, I began running to our gate. I approached two female Delta agents at the desk of gate B-25.
“How much time do I have before this flight leaves?” I asked, knowing I needed to get to a bathroom due to my panic attack.
Looking at me concerned, I was told I had 5 minutes.
I ran to the bathroom. I placed Jackson on the diaper changing station with his juice and then I hit the floor. I could not see. I had no peripheral vision.
Channeling my mother, thinking of my phone call with her, I began to calm down.
I had an emergency Xanax in my jeans pocket. I always carry an emergency Xanax in my pocket. The result of severe anxiety.
I took the pill, but it did very little. I was so traumatized that it would’ve taken probably 4 Xanax to get my blood pressure back down to a normal level.
Splashing my face with cold water, then grabbing Jackson, I ran back to gate B-25.
Both female Delta agents looked at me and asked how they could help. I told them that my ticket had me at an aisle seat and if I could switch to a window (Jackson LOVES the window).
They told me that if I didn’t mind sitting at the back of the plane, they could give me an entire row to myself.
I started crying again. I told them a shortened version of what had just taken place and how grateful I was for their kindness.
One of the female Delta agents walked me down the jetway, helping me with the stroller and getting it a gate-claim ticket.
I hugged her. I thanked her. I got on the plane.
I had my son and we were on the plane.
I called my mother again, telling her briefly that I was on and to please call Paul. I didn’t remember that I had spoken to Paul earlier, and thought he did not know any of what had taken place.
Mom said she would call Paul and tell him everything. She reminded me that I had my son and we were on our way home.
Both Jackson and I slept during the flight. I held him so close that when he woke up, his head was drenched in sweat.
Our nightmare ended once the plane landed in Baltimore. Jackson and I exited, walked out of the concourse and Jackson demanded to get out of the stroller.
He ran to his daddy.
We were home.
**********
I’m unsure how to end this post. I do not know what my story will lead to (if anything) but I needed to do more than file a complaint or write a letter. My hope is that this post of mine will be read by mothers and fathers, passed along to parents traveling with their children… most of all, my hope is that NO PARENT HAS THEIR CHILD TAKEN FROM THEM.
TSA TOOK MY SON IN ATLANTA HARTSFIELD-JACKSON AIRPORT.
THIS SHOULD NEVER HAPPEN TO ANY PARENT. EVER.
Filed Under: TSA took my child, anxiety, help, parent's worst nightmare, parenting, traveling with a baby
16OCT
2009
As I sit and write this post, 24 hours after this event took place, my hands still shake… with rage and with terror.
I woke up this morning to my husband’s alarm clock, sat straight up in bed and thought “Where’s Jackson?” with fear paralyzing me.
My worst nightmare took place yesterday. Worse than events that have taken place and that I have survived in my short 28 years of living. Worse than my wildest of dreams could conjure.
My son was taken from me.
Taken.
My son was taken from me by the TSA agents at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson airport yesterday.
He was taken away from me and OUT OF MY SIGHT because his pacifier clip went off when I carried him through the metal detector.
According to the Transportation Security Administration website, “We will not ask you to do anything that will separate you from your child or children.”
Bullshit TSA.
You took my son. MY SON.
Here’s what took place… minute by terrifying minute…
I had Jackson in his stroller, his diaper bag, and a duffle bag which contained my mac book as I entered security. I placed all of these items on the conveyor belt to go through the metal detector. Jackson was in my arms, and in the midst of getting all of our gear on the conveyor belt, my mistake was neglecting to take off my son’s pacifier clip that hangs from his shirt, which is metal.
The instant I walked through the metal detector with Jackson in my arms, we beeped. I knew exactly why.
I told the TSA agent, who asked me to back up and walk through again, “It’s my son’s pacifier clip, can I put it on the conveyor belt?”
“Ma’am turn around and come back please,” I was told.
Of course Jackson’s clip went off again. Both Jackson and I were then escorted to a 6 ft tall plastic holding box because I was forced to wait for a female TSA agent to search me.
At this point in time, all of my belongings were sitting at the opposite end of the conveyor belt, thereby backing up every other passengers belongings because I was not there to gather mine.
A woman out of the kindness of her heart (and if you are out there somewhere reading this, THANK YOU) saw me just standing and waiting in my 6 ft plastic box and gathered my belongings for me. She waited with my stroller, my diaper bag, my duffle bag and my mac book. This woman motioned to me that everything (including my flip flops) was all together and then she left.
She must be a mother.
She understood.
I was so grateful.
4 female TSA agents stood at the end of 2 conveyor belts, gloves on their hands, none of them searching anyone, none of them doing anything but watching luggage pass through the conveyor belts.
It was at this point in time that I realized my flight was leaving in less than 45 minutes. I had not even been searched yet. I began to panic.
Through the 6 holes in the plastic box that contained Jackson and I, I began asking for help. I waved to all 4 female TSA agents, each of them looked at me and then looked away. Then I started speaking through the 6 holes, and said, “Can someone please search me? My flight leaves in less than 45 minutes.”
Each of the 4 women answered me using the same exact phrase…
“Ma’am you need to wait. I don’t care about your departure time.”
Eventually one of the four female TSA agents opened the door and let Jackson and I out of our plastic containment box. We were escorted to a chair that was opposite from where my belongings were. I asked if I could bring my belongings over or take a seat closer to where they were. I was told no and to take my seat.
At this point in time, my heart began to race, thinking we would miss our flight and I would be stuck in the Atlanta airport with Jackson for who knows how long until there was another flight to Baltimore.
The female TSA agent stood in front of me while I sat with Jackson and she continued to watch luggage come through the conveyor belt.
“Ma’am, can someone please just search me so we can be on our way? We are going to miss our flight,” I said.
The female agent then called an older gentleman, also a TSA agent over. The male TSA agent stood in front of me and said “I’m going to have to pat down your son.”
With Jackson still sitting in my lap (he was being so good despite all of this chaos) I said ok and continued to hold on to my son, expecting the male TSA agent to start touching Jackson.
He then told me, “I’m going to have to pick him up to inspect him.”
I rolled my eyes and sternly told him “It’s his pacifier clip that went off, can’t you just run that back through the belt and let us go. We are going to miss our flight.”
The female TSA agent, who had been standing there the entire time said to me, “You need to adjust your attitude and do as you are told.”
The male TSA agent repeated, “I’m going to have to pick him up to inspect him.”
I handed him my son.
I handed him my son and he walked away with my child.
My eyes welled up with tears, I stood up from my chair and I asked the female TSA agent, “Where is he going? Where is he taking my child? Why is he leaving?”
Jackson, while being whisked away looked at the male TSA agent awkwardly and repeated “no no no no.”
I started crying.
The female TSA agent did not answer me.
Panic set in. My hands began to shake. My body was sweating. My breath was short and my heart was racing.
They had taken my child and not told me.
Jackson was out of my eye sight.
I could not see my son.
Now sobbing, I repeated my questions to the female TSA agent.
She told me “Ma’am, we’re trying to be nice to you. We don’t know which one of you went off in the metal detector. Stay here so I can search you.”
“But my son… where is my son?” I asked over and over again.
The female TSA agent called a second female TSA agent over as she began to search me. Apparently the second female TSA agent could hear me protesting and asking for my son.
“Ma’am you need to calm down or I’m going to have to involve the authorities,” she told me.
Now I was pissed.
Horrified. Terrified. Enraged.
“You fucking get the authorities,” I told the female TSA agent while the other continued to wand me and forced me to unbutton my jeans because the button beeped when she went over my abdomen with her wand.
“You get the goddamn authorities right the fuck now and tell them to GIVE ME MY SON,” I said.
I began to black out. I knew I was having a full on panic attack. I feared passing out.
I was told to take my seat again, after being searched, but I was not allowed to collect my belongings.
My cell phone was within reach and I grabbed it without being seen by the TSA agents.
I called my husband. I do not remember what I told him on the phone in terms of Jackson and what took place.
I do recall asking him to calm me down because I could not breathe. As a father, he couldn’t. I imagine any father would do the same. Paul had questions, tons of questions. Questions that I was not capable of answering because I literally was losing my breath and on the verge of blacking out.
I hung up and called my mother.
“Jackson’s gone,” I remember telling her. I do not remember what she said in return, but she instantly could tell I was having a panic attack. She began breathing with me on the phone in an attempt to calm me down.
She told me, “Nic, you’re going to have to stop crying. You need to be strong for Jackson. He’s going to be that much more scared if he sees mommy so upset. In through your nose… out through your mouth…” I think she may have counted, or had me count, I don’t know.
Jackson was still gone.
My guess is that all of this took place within a period of 10 minutes or less.
It felt like hours… days even.
My son was gone.
Sobbing and seated, I watched both female TSA agents walk away from me and go back to monitoring luggage come through the conveyor belt.
Finally the male TSA agent who took Jackson brought him back.
Jackson was in my sight and immediately started yelling, “Mommy!”
I was hysterical.
Running to my son and grabbing him from the male TSA agent’s arms, I sobbed and yelled obscenities at every single TSA agent who stood guard at the end of the conveyor belts.
One of them asked me if I wanted to speak to a supervisor.
Through tears I told him (or her, I don’t remember) that I had a flight I was about to miss.
With Jackson in my arms, I gathered our belongings, through him in the stroller and ran to the elevator that took us down to the tram to take us to our concourse where our plane waited.
B-25.
Sobbing as we traveled down the elevator, then during the tram ride, and up the next elevator to our concourse, I began running to our gate. I approached two female Delta agents at the desk of gate B-25.
“How much time do I have before this flight leaves?” I asked, knowing I needed to get to a bathroom due to my panic attack.
Looking at me concerned, I was told I had 5 minutes.
I ran to the bathroom. I placed Jackson on the diaper changing station with his juice and then I hit the floor. I could not see. I had no peripheral vision.
Channeling my mother, thinking of my phone call with her, I began to calm down.
I had an emergency Xanax in my jeans pocket. I always carry an emergency Xanax in my pocket. The result of severe anxiety.
I took the pill, but it did very little. I was so traumatized that it would’ve taken probably 4 Xanax to get my blood pressure back down to a normal level.
Splashing my face with cold water, then grabbing Jackson, I ran back to gate B-25.
Both female Delta agents looked at me and asked how they could help. I told them that my ticket had me at an aisle seat and if I could switch to a window (Jackson LOVES the window).
They told me that if I didn’t mind sitting at the back of the plane, they could give me an entire row to myself.
I started crying again. I told them a shortened version of what had just taken place and how grateful I was for their kindness.
One of the female Delta agents walked me down the jetway, helping me with the stroller and getting it a gate-claim ticket.
I hugged her. I thanked her. I got on the plane.
I had my son and we were on the plane.
I called my mother again, telling her briefly that I was on and to please call Paul. I didn’t remember that I had spoken to Paul earlier, and thought he did not know any of what had taken place.
Mom said she would call Paul and tell him everything. She reminded me that I had my son and we were on our way home.
Both Jackson and I slept during the flight. I held him so close that when he woke up, his head was drenched in sweat.
Our nightmare ended once the plane landed in Baltimore. Jackson and I exited, walked out of the concourse and Jackson demanded to get out of the stroller.
He ran to his daddy.
We were home.
**********
I’m unsure how to end this post. I do not know what my story will lead to (if anything) but I needed to do more than file a complaint or write a letter. My hope is that this post of mine will be read by mothers and fathers, passed along to parents traveling with their children… most of all, my hope is that NO PARENT HAS THEIR CHILD TAKEN FROM THEM.
TSA TOOK MY SON IN ATLANTA HARTSFIELD-JACKSON AIRPORT.
THIS SHOULD NEVER HAPPEN TO ANY PARENT. EVER.
Filed Under: TSA took my child, anxiety, help, parent's worst nightmare, parenting, traveling with a baby
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