Blog by Yessica Maher, los Angeles Native.

She explores life after marriage, starting a career in her late 30's, relationships, breaking cycles of abuse, online dating, self care, fertility and depression. 

It's all over the place, but so is living. 

Small Pleasures

My week has been a rough one since Monday evening. Even today, the calls and texts kept coming and at one point I had to step away from my desk to walk off my anger.  At another point, there was no time to choose my reaction after a call and I was again a victim to anger that wasn't mine, but it broke over and around me and I sat in stunned silence.  The tears came without warning but I was sitting in my corner without an audience and grateful for the time of day when others around me had left for the day.  I blinked away those tears because the timing still wasn't right. At one point today I stepped into the tail of familiar scent.  Immediately the smell was a trail to a name that became a soothing repeated track that echoed through my mind like an anchor holding me still in choppy waters.

Tonight there was a call to my sister.  I whined to her.  We talked.  I complained some more.  She understood.  She felt like home.  I made her laugh.  It was terrific.

There was retail therapy and deep discounts.  My Victoria's Secret matching set came with 4 extra panties and was $26 on my shiny black and gold card.  Dinner also came with a discount and a Scooby Snack and a familiar face that I was really happy to see.

Sometimes I feel like I need the catharsis of a deep cry.  It still has not yet come. Last night the plan was to go out on my front porch with the rushing sounds of flowing water from the pond I built and let run over with plants, and cry silently under moonlight out of sight of my kids.  I received a random text message instead and my snark demon came out.

It never fails when I'm at a more vulnerable point and I'm emotionally bottomed out, a random person from my online dating phase will get lonely and bored, and he won't realize I was passing on his offer, even if I tell him directly so I become mean and friendly, drawing him in before cutting him down. I haven't decided why I haven't blocked him yet, but I'm leaning toward how fun he is to mess with.


He seems to sense my low points and in my passive aggressive way, I become someone I don't like later. I justify it when I remember he thought I would be okay as his top one of three. He thought I would like to be told what to do because he didn't listen to what I said and for a while I feel like he deserves to be treated this way because he doesn't listen to me while he's busy looking at my selfies that were sent months ago.

I stop short of asking what he thinks this will get him and instead tell him all about my man crush and he is surprised that I'm still quite smitten since the last time he reached out and I haven't gotten bored because this discussion has been had about several others in the short time I've known him since early May and it's been longer than normal for me, but he forgets I was a faithful wife for a decade and a half and I can stay focused intently. Intensely. Too deeply. Too much. But he's safe to me.

A day goes by and I remember his heartache and his need to control his romantic life when I'm just focused on controlling my reactions. I feel remorse and it looks like shame in who I have let him shape me into. The aggressor with teeth tastes blood in the water and he's an injured mammal flailing and I enjoy the taste of fear but he doesn't know I want to hurt him.

It's evil and vile and somehow it feels good. Does that make me bad?

Bottled Bruises

My Self