books, writings, shoes & nudes

Tag: self

  • it got better baby

    Friday. Fell asleep in your cozy safe bed, living between the books and the thunderstorm sounds being the only violence we see these days.

    Saturday. Blueberry muffins and bitchin coffee in a small quiet town. Adding books to the collection. Spaced themed movie night. Outfits, break dances, galaxy cookies, & shooting star charcuterie. Inside jokes and OoTD in the lobby. I know it warmed his heart. Cool kids at the cool kids table.

    Sunday. Coffee. Moosh. Tasha. Book club, let me nerd about this book. Tabs on tabs. Stitch & bitch. Tell me about your trauma and your deviant behavior. Democracy is dying, but hey cool fireworks; dressed to the 9. 8 adults, one kid. Our people. Our asses slid closing the space between. Glowing glasses, headbands, bracelets and floggers. We sang our hearts out and laughed even harder. This little world where everyone belongs. The most sober people drunk on community.

    Monday. Holiday 5ks & pumpkin spiced lattes. Fambams and birthday trips with the gal I love the most. Hotel beds with tall ceilings and shoe shopping.

    It gets better baby. Just hold out a little longer.

  • dear paternal issues,

    I don’t write about you too often because you’re so 1900’s trauma, but today I am feeling particularly gynarchal. I don’t even know you, but I still have a lot of recordings of the speeches you gave me on repeat in my brain. Even now. 34 years and the daddy issues are still there. 

    I am reclaiming those. You were never an actual dad (insert Mim’s dad joke here) so I can’t REclaim being my own dad, so I will just have to claim. 

    I am now my own Daddy. Back up bastard mentality I gots some shit to say.

    I was a 4.0 student, Dean’s list, merits out the ass. I am a successful business owner. A business that was built on brutalization that I survived by myself. I am the strongest of all the sons. I went ahead and got all the therapy so I could stop that generational trauma. I’m not a cheater, so that’s a huge win from the blood line. I crawled through glass of my own guilt and loneliness to get to be overwhelmed with the amount of people who love me. I get to be authentically me and people still adore me. I have a hot bod, great feet and I am really fucking good at educating myself. I’m financially independent and own 2 cars, including my dream car. I have no children, so no child support court cases in my routine. I speak up for myself and others. I am an undefeated state champion in Brazilian jui jitsu. My skeleton is broken, like super broke, but I am still joy, I still coach, I still run and I’m still great in bed. I fucking taught myself how to read and read more books than Valkyrie’s professor does in a year while my brain is actively trying to make up letters and sounds. I will be Dr Lindsey fucking Falcon and I’m really fucking proud of me for that. I sometimes still have dirt under my fingernails and my hair is always a mess. But I’m fucking funny. And quite frankly I’m the best damn father I’ve ever had.

    So you sit in your unfaithful 18th marriage, and I’ll be sippin’ cold brew out of my #1 Best Dad mug.

    Sincerely,

    The spite-filled oldest daughter.

  • i will let the past have it

    I loved you deeply, as deeply as I think I could love a sister, but I had to love me more. I miss your curly hair and the tone-deaf duets of Christmas music we would sing in the car.  I think about you often. How I could change your entire existence with the magic of Thrive. But I must let you be lost in the tight grip of the past. 

    I wanted so much more for you. I wanted you to be great. I wanted you to be traveling some far off place and not have to keep you at least 500 feet away from me at all times. You chose the end for both of us. I will eventually paint over the blown kisses and butterflies. 

    I chose you repeatedly. I dropped everything and ran when you called. All I needed was for you to love me. I wiped your ass, canceled your cable, spent money I didn’t have, and you still chose to save your poison over me. 

    I broke myself for you. I lost sleep, I lost days, I lost time. You got drunk. I cleaned up your blood, your drool, your piss and your vomit. You got high. I looked high and low and every fucking nook and cranny in-between to fix it. You looked for an escape. I stressed over your daily being; you gave no fucks. You were perfectly ok with making a mess and having me safely clean it up.

    You made a mess of things. I trusted you without ever trusting you. I believed your buckets of trauma and sob stories just to kick those buckets over when I had enough. You were 6 feet 7 inches of territorial diaper wearing mommy issues. 

    I trusted you with my NDA.You weaponized my secrets. You went against the one thing you can not do. The one thing. “I know you.” You’re so careful to never say it. But you said it in the worst way you could have spoke it. I’d rather be strangled, because this was so constricting. Although I won’t be letting the past have you, I will be letting the past have the version of me that allowed you access. And you’ll never even know it. 

    I will let the past have it all.

  • tell me

    Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me something that will change how I feel. Tell me I am making the correct decision. Tell me there is a bigger meaning. Tell me there is a god and my small human brain just doesn’t see or understand the bigger picture. Because I feel like I’ve figured it all out. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me there is more than this. Tell me I don’t have to gaslight myself for the rest of this existence. Call me, text me, DM me. Do something so I can have even the slightest glimpse of faith. Tell me this is the fire and we will regrow through the ashes. Tell me this is as worst as it gets. Please tell me something. I’m losing the spark. I’m telling you I can’t hold it much longer. Please tell me something. Please.

  • I’m not that girl. I won’t be that girl. I have worked too hard to become a good human. I worked too hard to like myself. To be someone to be proud of. I won’t become someone little Lindsey wouldn’t be proud of. Nothing is worth that little girl’s opinion.

    I will stay determined. I will stay focused. I will not break. I will not be weak. I do hard things. I will be the most regulated adult in the room. This will not be my story.

  • I hope I still live there.

    The house I methodically built.

    Filled with different voices, moments, and energy.

    I hope the smell of wild flowers and honeysuckle still clutter the front lawn.

    I hope vacations and trips make you home sick.

    I hope I still live there.

  • Some people are held captive by their own minds.

    Some people are ripped apart and tortured by the person they see in the mirror.

    I can’t do that.

    I can’t look at you, knowing what we know and hate you.

    I see the x-rays, and I feel the shifting bones.

    I know the damage and the stories carved into this body.

    If I let you be my enemy, then I will be truly alone.

    You, my mighty protector.

    My house still standing after the big bad wolf came to blow you down.

    You still stand after the fire, the hurricane, the earthquake and everything else he threw at you.

    How can I hate these feet that keep me moving?

    These legs that spent years being cradled and sobbed on?

    I feel the divots and sharp edges of what’s left of your rib cage.

    You were crushed over and over but these organs still working.

    I’ll take the occasional pain as reminders.

    How can I hate Cleopatra when she still gives such pleasure, beauty and power after being brutally invaded and violated. Saving me from much worst warfare. Being the sacrifice.

    How can I hate these arms that protected my face from becoming a billboard of my past.

    The dark memories are vandalized on the wall of my skull.

    This mind of mine was once my safest, happiest place to live, how can I hate it?

    It’s where I hide the treasures.

    The things just out of everyone’s reach.

    The only place he had no key to.

  • your heart is an empty room.

    The piano sounds Apple says I listened the most to in 2024.

    Her hyperness when her meds wear off.

    The green of his eyes I see every time it rains.

    Good morning texts.

    Holding of hands that once shielded the abuse.

    My blue couch.

    The tone of her voice when she says, “GUTTER BITCH or titty baby”, her fake Italian grandmother’s accent.

    Blue

    Showers too long.

    Giggles, stories, jokes.

    Seeing her face walk through the door, knowing she won the war of getting out of bed.

    Cinnamon Tea, and coffee, Hallmark movies.

    Doris Doloris, who will be the biggest heart break of all.

    The shock in a broken face meeting strength for the first time.

    The Professor getting excited to tell me about the girl he likes or the sex he had.

    Books in The Nook.

    Blankets and hockey sweats.

    The end of the day when I lay my head down and remind myself this life is real, and I will wake up still safely in it.

    Smells of honeysuckle, sugar plums, and favorite flannels.

    Lovers that forever stain the walls of this heart.

    So much feminine rage and way too many damn shoes.

  • dear girl,

    Stop apologizing for living. No one knows what they’re doing and no one’s doing it right. Which means everyone is. Stop saying sorry for making mistakes you’re not making. It’s just a plot twist.

    Dear girl,

    Leave him. Please leave him. He’ll never change, and you’ll just end up with a fucked up skeleton that makes you fall on the kitchen floor needing someone else to help you. Or he’ll kill you. You’re too important to lose. Somewhere out there there’s another little girl that needs you to tell your story to save her.

    Dear girl,

    Stop being afraid to tell someone you want to join them. Take the chance. People like you. Geronimo baby. Make your own fucking rules.

    Dear girl,

    Stop letting those demons in your head work overtime. I’m sure they’re tired.

    Dear girl,

    Explore the world. And do it alone. Do it with people, but only people that don’t suck.

    Dear girl,

    Your family are not the people that surrounded you when you were born. Family are the people that show up on a rainy Saturday morning just to support your dreams.

    Dear girl,

    He’s wrong, you’re right. Stop shutting up. You are smarter than that. You could run circles around those tiny tittybabies. Also dawk them in the face.

    Dear girl,

    Be gay, be so fucking gay. Be open and be proud.

    Dear girl,

    Brag about yourself, you’re so fucking cool.

    Dear girl,

    Say NO. A lot. All the time. Never stop.

    11.9.23

  • i spoke

    Early Tuesday morning I sat in a crowded court room.

    I remember practically nothing.

    Only two people knew I was there.

    Neither being my spouse or mother.

    I’ve never disassociated so well as I did when the attorney pointed the remote to the tv.

    Probably 40 people.

    Dressed nicely.

    Watching my rape like it was the morning announcements in high school.

    Just another Tuesday.

    For the judge, the attorneys, the accused.

    “Is this you in the video, Lindsey?” The attorney asked.

    Snapping me out of my safe disassociated state.

    She repeated herself.

    “Is this you in the video, Lindsey?”

    I couldn’t speak; an issue I rarely have.

    I looked at my shaking hands placed in my lap.

    The writing that covered the left palm read “Today, you become his nightmare.”

    I lifted my head, stared right into the cold eyes I once felt not good enough to look at.

    And spoke the biggest thing I’ve ever said.

    “Yes.”

    11.9.23

  • calgon take me away

    Everything is changing.

    I like it.

    But it’s still change.

    Beautiful home with good smells and throw pillows that remain in the same place they were 12 hours earlier.

    But it’s still change.

    Quiet sleep with the middle of the bed being an option.

    Long showers with no one interrupting to ask if I know where the TV remote is.

    5 fucking seconds of peace and quiet.

    But it’s still change.

    New routine catered to my own self care.

    Being able to make decisions based on joy and happiness instead of traumatic based fear.

    But it’s still change.

    Scary

    And exciting.

    But it’s still change.

  • cherry

    You took her.

    I said I was ready, but I didn’t know what that meant. Not really.

    You took her forcefully and fast.

    I didn’t even know you. I didn’t even love you or trust you.

    You didn’t deserve her.

    I was so young. Too young. You were young too.

    I don’t remember much about that place where you took her. But I could remember every other detail about that day. Your smell, that dumb laugh. I remember the blood, the confusion, and the tear-filled bus ride home.

    You weren’t nice, but neither was I. I don’t even know if you are to blame for taking her.

    I’m sure at some point you figured in out in life.

  • rules.

    • Always pee after sex.
    • Don’t wear sweatpants in public.
    • Text your friends you made it home.
    • Shave your armpits…everyone.
    • Shave your downstairs, no one wants to go diving into Chewbacca.
    • Fuck yourself daily.
    • Drink water.
    • Don’t be nice to people who annoy you. You will regret it.
    • Try new things.
    • Don’t get attached to anything.
    • Don’t get married, it’s a trap.
    • Elope. Weddings are a waste.
    • Kids ruin everything.
    • Vacation often even if you can’t afford it.
    • Don’t save yourself for marriage, you’ll miss out on prime sex years. Prime experimental sex years.
    • Never forget your birth control.
    • Spit, don’t swallow. No man is worth that.
    • Try all genders.
    • Learn self-defense
    • Choose violence sooner rather than later.
    • Don’t do hard drugs.
    • Admit to nothing.
    • Don’t let anyone sleep in your bed.
    • Sleep naked.
    • Go skinny dipping.
    • Trust no one unless you have dirt on them.
    • Send nudes, but never show face.
    • Keep all dirty photos of exes for blackmail.
    • If someone threatens suicide to hurt you, hand them the knife and tell them to take it outside.
    • Don’t stay in a relationship more than 3 months and you will always be “the one that got away”.
    • Shave your head.
    • Travel the moment you’re legal.
    • Nothing last forever.
    • Believe you are the smartest person in the room, and you will be.
    • People don’t roofie soda.
    • Don’t give too much of yourself to anyone.
    • Always have a run away fund.
    • Keep your own secrets.
    • Go to therapy.
    • Fuck all your friends’ dads.
    • Fuck all your exes’ dads.
    • Don’t be late.
    • Don’t say the “R” word
    • Assume not everyone loves your pets.

  • When my husband and I started boning, we weren’t super serious, but definitely way more than sexers. There was a moment. A simple text. Saint Patrick’s Day is my favorite holiday, it was once my birthday. At that time in my life, no one had first names or correct information.

    The text came in at the exact moment I landed in Chicago.

    “Happy Birthday, I’m in Chicago as well, can we celebrate your day?”

    That was the movie moment where the plot twist could have happened. I didn’t know Stephen that well yet and marriage was a not-on-my-radar, not-in-a-million-years kinda thing.

    I stood there celebration and friends around me. Phone in hand staring at the green river in my favorite city, wearing my sexiest green heels. Having a very wealthy man, who is fantastic in bed reaching out ready to make my birthday memorable.

    I blindly chose Stephen in that moment and for all the moments to come. I chose to break the cycle that my paternal curse had put on me. Not only did I choose Stephen, I chose Lindsey. I gave myself a chance to deserve something I didn’t think I was worthy of. I chose happiness, loyalty, hardship, grace, impulse decisions, hockey games, movie nights, Chinese food, and laughter. I made a choice not knowing the outcome. I chose the right door and I fucking won. I can forever say I never tainted this pure childish real love.

  • My mom is the most complex human. Christmas time last year I was pregnant with our gummy bear angel baby Daniel. We ended up having to terminate the pregnancy. It was still heavy pandemic time so I had to go in alone.

    My mom and I had been fighting since June. That didn’t matter in that moment. Nothing mattered except pure mother need. My mom showed up, held my hand, laid in my bed and cried with me. In that moment everything was forgiven and I felt loved. She knew exactly what I needed and showed up when it mattered. She dealt with my in laws, cooked me dinner and cleaned my house. She walked into my home being the person I needed her to be.