This website has been my brain child since February 23, 2016. It’s been my lifeline. It’s been ten years. The funny part is I wasn’t waiting for an anniversary. I was talking to Kid3 about my site the other day and telling him about the first post being an open letter to his Dad. We both smirked at that. Then I told him about the soft core porn I write and he was quickly over the whole thing. The passing of time is I feel, more about the moments.
There was the moment when I first started this website which started as a blog. It was a moment of defiance. I wanted to put my words out there. At the same time I was terrified of being found. It was a moment when I hid in the ambiguity of an anonymous writer on a website with a complicated name that held deep meaning to only me.
You can still see my original site as a WordPress site with the married name I stopped using when my divorce was final in 2017. You don’t have to look too hard. Here it is: WordPress Site.
It’s an abandoned site without updates, so come back.
The moments before the blog were moments where I felt shattered.
My marriage had ended and I was starting from scratch in so many ways. Trauma made it impossible to string a few words together and I was finally writing again. I was under the false impression that my thoughts put into words in my journal were what destroyed a marriage. I didn’t understand the concept of boundaries or that I had a right to privacy.
Being financially dependent for fifteen years meant I had no idea how to budget the lack of resources I had. I didn’t have a career. The blog started at the end of the second month of my very first full time job since I was a background artist working on tv shows in early 2000. I started my career at thirty-eight years old. For the first time since before my marriage, it was okay to have a checking account with only my name on it. I hadn’t dated or even had a crush in over fifteen years. For the first time I could look at a man or get his attention without worrying that I was going to be in trouble, yelled at or just trying to exist in fear. There were a lot of firsts that were buried in what I had never done, wasn’t allowed to do, and couldn’t wrap my head around.
It was a transitional time for my boys too. I fondly remember the first of many times my Dad came over with bags of groceries. My kids found new freedom in frozen tv dinners. I was expected to make home cooked meals and it was the first time convenience became an option. They were so excited and it was a moment where I was again supported in ways I didn’t know I needed. A few years later, my Kid1 showed up again, offering to make dinner for the family as he was not looking forward to fast food after my long work day and commute.
There was also the truth of who I am. It was revealed in conversations with new people. It was a moment of learning I could rely on myself, but also a lesson in community showing up and supporting me in ways I didn’t understand. It took a lot of time to accept support and I still struggle with that one.
It was one of the most difficult times I had ever lived through, and I showed myself that I could do just about anything I wanted to do.
I knew nothing about creating a website, and I was learning as I went. It’s still here. I no longer worry about SEO and rankings. I just don’t care. This is still my playground. I write what I feel like and it comes from the heart. Sometimes I just want somewhere to dump something creative.
My journey has always been about shifting my mindset and this website offered the nudge I needed to write my first book. I was telling a friend about the overwhelm I felt in the idea of writing a book. At that point, I had been writing daily blog posts. In quantity, I had already published a few books by the size of my blog posts. That was the shift. If every post was a chapter, how many chapters did I really need for a book? Looking in reverse, how many sentences for a paragraph. How many paragraphs for an essay/blog post/chapter? How many chapters for a book? What the fuck was I waiting for?
It was the challenge I needed. I had grown comfortable in my role. I had learned what it felt like to be respected and have my opinions valued. It was a time when I made a comment and was supported by my boss. I started writing while doing all of the things I was already doing. I was learning to golf with my cousin. I was going to work and keeping collections at or below 14%. This was at the stage in the start up where we were manually collecting and being kind to our customers. It was before we would just suspend unpaid subscriptions. The writing became release and pleasure. I wrote it to prove to myself that I could.
The second book was an f-you to an old boss. It was a different boss from the ones that allowed me to grow and thrive. I wanted a promotion. I got a 10% raise and was told not to talk about it with my co-workers. I reminded myself I didn’t need him to tell me who I was. I’m an author and I can write books. So I wrote the second one. It wasn’t the challenge I wanted but proof that he couldn’t determine my limits if I didn’t allow him that. We had the same bosses. The third one was much more recent. I made a choice.
With this last book, I was bored and a little lonely. I was talking to someone on and off for a year or two. I never wanted to be a relationship with him. We had different values. We were in different places emotionally and mentally. It was conversation. One day he was back in my town and it was just offer for dinner. That first dinner date was a disaster. I was happy to enjoy my meal and move on with my life but he asked for a second date. On the second date, I couldn’t deny the physical attraction. He wore a flannel over a t-shirt and worn jeans. Always a weakness. He was balding with facial hair. His body would make anything he wore make him look like a slut. He was great about chest day. His legs were solid. And his abs. (That was the package I opened later that night and I used to turn myself on just giving him a massage.) Totally my type. I figured, it was just a hookup. Just one night. Then it was him coming back into town the next weekend. It kept going from just one thing to something else entirely.
Early on, I decided I would make our into my next book. You’ve been reading along and should know by now I’m not always a nice person. Each interaction became a creative moment expressed in a poem. That became the book. I knew I was lowering my standards. I never thought I’d willingly become the other woman. He made it clear he didn’t want to be in any kind of relationship. I was fine with that because I didn’t want any kind of relationship with him. I justified it to myself. I looked at my lower standards as research. The money I spent became an investment. Getting waxed for him. Making a detour whenever I ended up in LA. I saw it as mileage. I saw it as a write off, even if I was taking the standard deduction. I paid for the photoshoot that would be my book cover and doubled down on the investment by using those pictures in texts that kept his interest. That book doubled my income tax return. Emotionally, it was hollow. Physically, it was fun. I walked away confidently. We used each other for different things. I had a great time. I don’t regret anything. The feelings were real. Some days I would surprise myself with how deeply I felt, while keeping a mental distance. There were so many moments of being so excited and happy to hear from him, while reminding myself I don’t want a boyfriend that is a cheater. He was cheating with me. I never wanted to replace his girlfriend, but I kinda shared some of their moments. I was with him for both of their birthdays last year. I think of him fondly, but I’m also happy to leave all of my memories with him in 2025.
Oh, come on. You can’t read my smut and think of me as a person with pure values. That being said, when we were hooking up, I wasn’t dating anyone else. That says about me what you interpret it to. It’s really not my business.
It’s been seven years since I published my first book. I won’t lie, some passages make me cringe. When I was at my lowest in 2022, I couldn’t even read the words I had written. I didn’t recognize myself and it was painful. But I wrote my first, then my second, and now my third book. I designed book covers. I designed the book interiors. (I cringe at that too.) I did it all for fun and it was another of my hobbies, like my website.
This website has journeyed through my moments of looking for something to fill a void and filling my days with stuff. The more I wrote my thoughts down, the less my mind raced. I have a gift for writing stuff down and then forgetting it. I was writing every single thought. I was sharing every deep reflection. I made myself busy, racing traffic to catch a sunset in Santa Monica. That used to be my favorite city, but working there broke that for me. I was exploring LA and finding new hiking trails. I was online dating like I needed to find my person. I found her. She’s me. I would do anything for me.
I’ve settled down in so many ways. Not every idea I have is shared anymore. Not every interaction becomes public. I have more hobbies and I’ve learned to settle into my skin and take ownership of the space I claim. I have learned to enjoy the quiet because it’s no longer lonely to enjoy my presence in my life. I show up for myself and remove myself from situations that don’t serve me with much more urgency.
Dating has become a side quest that I don’t always have the energy for. I spent so many moments over the last eleven years trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for some random man when I couldn’t keep his attention. It took a while, but now my question is more Yessica centered. Do I want this person to take up my free time? Usually, the answer is a solid no. If we can’t talk or enjoy the silence, I’m not wasting my good vibes that can sit alone and enjoy my own thoughts. If he can’t extend the same level of respect I’d get from someone not interested in fucking me, I’m not into it. I’m still online dating, but I mainly like the pretty pictures. I still swipe right on everyone I see that I know in real life, just for kicks. One day I realized I wasn’t all that interested in what most men were offering. I don’t think I’ll ever remarry, but I never say never.
I still and will always appreciate a good crush. My current one makes me feel like a teenager. Shy. Excited. Uncertain. Giddy. I ran into him the other day and almost tripped over my own feet. It would be cute if I wasn’t always so tongue tied around him. It’s always the ones that I really like, that I get awkward around. If I’m confident, I’m probably not into it. And it costs me nothing. I don’t stay up wondering about loyalty or having doubts about where this might go. I smile at him like he’s just made my day, and as far as he knows I’m just a happy person.
My boys have grown into incredible young men. I’m very proud of them and very blessed to have the relationship we each share. The website started after the hardest years for my older two as autistics in a world that caters to neurotypical children. The journey once the website was launched was more about advocating for them in a school system that wasn’t set up for them to be heard or supported. It was about making them behave a certain way, instead of holding space for them to navigate the sensory world that no one else knew. We have a different journey ahead of us, but I generally leave their stories for them to share. If you’re still going through it, things get better.
Ten fucking years, bro. My website has been here for me. Always ready for me to pick up where I’ve left off. Just a post away from over sharing. And my dear readers. The messages that pop up to tell me how I’ve impacted someone always brings me so much joy.
I hope you know you’re not alone.