Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

This is hard to write.

Very hard.

I am trying so hard to cope.

Most of the time I even can trick myself into thinking things will be ok.

Then I hear their voices.

And my heart sinks.

I am back to any given  day of my life between age 6 and 15 and I would hear my father’s voice.

I – we, only had peace when he wasn’t home.

Most importantly, my mother was only safe when he wasn’t home.

The minute I’d hear his voice, I knew I had to brace myself for the worst because the worst often did happen.

Loud voices.



Awful insults.

Noises of things breaking.

My father traveled often so we had days in a row, sometimes even weeks where we could pretend life was normal, when we could sleep.

But I could never sleep when he was home. How could I?

I knew I had to be on the ready because at any time of day or night it could happen. Yet another trip to the hospital.

I didn’t happen every day, of course. But we never knew when we were going to get Dr. Jekyll and when we were going to get Mr. Hyde.

It was not a matter of if. It was a matter of when.

Upon hearing my father’s voice, all bets were off.

And it’s happening all over again.

I can’t sleep yet again.

I know that at any time of day or night I’ll hear their voices, my heart will sink and I will go back in time.

Like just now….

My heart weeps

There are no words.

How do you console a mother brutally robbed of her son, with no hope for justice.

How do you comfort a woman – a mother of three, whose life has been destroyed because she was in danger and dared to try and warn the offender.

What do you tell those three children who now have to grow up with no hope of having a somewhat normal childhood and no hope of having a right sense for justice.

What do you do when women get their eyes gauged out or their fingers cut off by their husbands because they dared to dream of an education. When girls get shot because they have a thirst for knowledge.

What do you tell countless other children and women around the world. How do you protect them. How do you keep them safe.



I had a nice little break.

It felt good.

But now, it’s back to the daily grind.

The anxiety bouts that started about a year ago are now reaching alarming levels.

I recently wrote a post on Canvas about it: Is this what getting better mean?

Unfortunately, I am facing a few challenges right now. Both life and work related.

The old monster is awake and threatening to break free. My last two therapy sessions were rather painful and I am really not looking forward to the next one.

There are some good news. Like my trip to California in two weeks. My daughter and her boyfriend are going to a wedding in Sacramento and it just so happened that they got hired to be part of a commercial being shot that week in San Francisco. So, as a mother’s day present, she’s bringing me with her! We’re spending the week in San Francisco and the weekend in Sacramento, where I’ll get to go to the famous Sacramento Music Festival.

I am very much looking forward to it. I keep reminding myself of this. I keep telling myself it’s going to be great. San Francisco is in my Bucket List and I still can’t believe I’m going.

But I feel myself losing my footing. Slowly slipping.

The sadness. The pain in my stomach.

The darkness that lurks just around the corner.

The bad dreams.

I haven’t lost hope just yet.

But I am terrified.

I chickened out

This week was auditions week at Swing Dynamite.

I signed up for the Jam Crew, as intended.

Then, in a moment of bravery, I also signed up for TNTeam.  My dream team. The team I have always wanted to be in.

The audition for Jam Crew was on Wednesday.  It went very well and I have no doubt I’ll make the cut.

The audition for TNTeam was this evening.  Earlier today I made the mistake of asking my daughter (who will be coaching TNTeam as usual) how many people had signed for the audition.  5 men and 10 women, she said.

So I chickened out.  Didn’t show up for the audition.  I knew that at least 4 of those women we practically in so I’d be fighting for one spot with the other six.

I couldn’t deal with the thought of defeat.  I couldn’t deal with the pain of not making it.

But now I’ll never know.  I could have been that one.  And I’ll never know.  Because I was too much of a coward to show up and give my best