Shell Of Defeat.
By: Sophia

Have you ever just had so many things thrown at you that just have no idea what to do to fix them?

I tell myself I have hit my breaking point, it’s time to crawl into this shell of defeat, where I can just hide from my problems. Where I don’t have to care about anything, don’t have to feel anything anymore. Sometimes this Shell of defeat just sounds so lovely and it will calls my name. In this shell of defeat I think everything will be better, I think I won’t have any worries anymore. We all know not having to have any responsibility’s or problems sounds so perfect right? In this shell of defeat all these problems and feelings disappear.
So I tell myself that this is my breaking point. Time to give up, time to crawl into this comforting shell. I mean it does seem really nice right?
But no, I refuse to let these problems make me give up. I will not curl up in this shell of defeat. “Keep going you little warrior” I tell myself. This is just a chapter of your life. These problems won’t last forever. Why is it in our society that being sad is a bad thing? It’s ok to feel sad sometimes. It’s ok to not always be happy. Because without feeling sad sometimes how can you truly be happy?
So I keep going. I put my warrior paint on my cheeks and keep moving. Because darling this is just a chapter of your life. This does not define your life. So I keep going, I am a little warrior.

Fight! Fight! Fight!
By: Karen

I have never been in a true fist fight.
There was one time in high school that a friend accused me of flirting with her boyfriend. When I tried to walk away from the argument, she smacked me in the back of the head.
A friend that was with me, looked at me and said: “I know you are not going to let her get away with that.”
In my head I was thinking, umm, yes I am. I am fine with letting her get away with that. Before I knew it friend two had spun me around and shoved me at friend one! She took this as an invitation to fight, and suddenly we were surrounded by teenagers cheering: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT! SO I did what any skinny, scared, white girl would do. I closed my eyes and started swinging. I do not think I even connected, and I kept praying for the lunch monitors to break it up quickly. I came out only slightly injured and missing some hair, and we both spent the next couple of days in in-school suspension. I am just not a fighter, or so I thought.
There has been much conjecture about what my life is like in Chicago, and what I am doing here. The truth is I am fighting.
I am fighting to finish school so I can support myself and hopefully provide more for my kids.
I am fighting to balance this full load of school and homework with two jobs, because right now I am fighting to make it financially.
I am fighting to make sure that the ballerinas I have in my care are well taken care of and happy.
I am fighting to piece together a life that I do not recognize, and to recreate what and where I thought I would be.
I am fighting to be healthy emotionally, mentally and physically.
I am fighting to be the best human being I can possibly be every day.
I am fighting not to let loneliness, fear, and disappointment overtake me, and to turn those things into positives.
But above all else I am fighting for my kids.
I want them to know that they are loved beyond measure.
That they took this wild child artsy protester and turned her into a mom, and in doing so changed my life and made me learn the true definition of love.
I want them to know that every time my alarm goes off and I want to hit snooze, I don’t, because I want to succeed that day for them.
I want them to know that every time I want to quit school and give up, I picture them at my graduation, and I keep going.
I want them to know that I want to be the best person I can be, so that I can be the best mom that I can be.
I want them to know that they are my light and my hope and all of my dreams wrapped into one.
I want them to know all of this, and so I fight.
In the beginning I felt like I was going at this alone, but slowly the crowd has begun to gather around me. One by one the bystanders have come, and together they have begun to form the circle. I hear them chanting when I want to give up….FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT. And I know I am not alone. This time though, I am not closing my eyes, I am swinging with eyes wide open.

I know like in high school, I will not come out of this completely unscathed and without wounds. But I know that I will come out the other side, and that I will be glad I did not walk away from this fight.

Being Raw

Being Raw
Written by: Sophia Rose

Everyone says that you are defined by who you are around and what your passions are in life.

Even if we like to think they don’t, in some way or another we are defined by them.


This year my life has been pretty crazy to say the least. A lot has happened.

In the beginning when everything felt like it was falling apart, everything I knew and had was fading and it scared me a lot.
Without those things that you thought made you, you, then who are you when they disappear? The raw being of yourself right?

I think everyone has come to that point in their life where they have lost so many things that made up who they are.
I thought long and hard how I would explain that feeling, what I came up with was the word raw. Is it the right word or not? For me it is the perfect word.

So here I am the “raw” being of myself. It scared me, because I did not know who I really was without those things in my life. I was really lost with what to do with myself or what the future held for me. When I thought about the future it scared me so much, it just looked dark and empty, this was new for me. I’ve always known what I wanted my future to look like and how I was going to make it happen. So looking in to the future and seeing a sea of abyss scared me. I went on for a week or two just really confused being this raw being. I finally came to the realization one day that this is perhaps not a scary thing but an amazing thing. Me being this raw being didn’t mean I was empty inside, it meant I was ready to embrace what this world had planned for me. It meant I was empty inside but ready to receive. I’m ready to explore what this amazing world has planned for me. I will now find what I want to make me up who Sophia wants to be, instead of what the world wants me to be.

What this comes down to is that finding yourself is a scary thing. No one can help you find who you are. So I embraced the raw being of me and started looking. I still am finding myself. But some amazing things can happen by losing the things you thought defined you, and discovering what can go in its place.

Riding in the Way Back....

As a child we would take long car trips to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in our station wagon. This was back in the days of no seatbelts, so my older brother, my older sister and I would lay out blankets in the way back, and there we would ride. Inevitably in such a ride, when the out of state license plate game would get old, or we got tired of making faces at strangers out the back window, we would start to fight. It did not take long for it to escalate, and soon someone would be yelling from the way back: “Mom he hit me!” But not before they hit him back first. Even though we were tattling, we felt completely justified in hitting back just the once. After all we had been wounded. And it was our natural inclination, our right even, to strike back. Today we have seatbelts, and rarely do you see a kid in the way back making faces at strangers. But we still fight. And we still have that natural inclination to cry out from the way back: He hit me! Of course we usually don’t cry out until we hit back first. What is it about being hurt that makes us not just want to lash out and cause pain, but to feel completely justified in doing so? Recent months have provided many times for me to be proverbially punched, and unfortunately there have been many hits from people I love the most. It is still in there, that instinct to strike back. I read a study that said when people in a laboratory setting are asked to squeeze the person next to them with the same force they are squeezed, every single time the subjects would squeeze the person next to them with much greater force. It seems it is in our nature not to just strike back, but to add some pressure when we do. We hurt, and so we want others to feel that too. We somehow think it is our right to do so. If you hurt me, I need to hurt you too. I think the hardest hurt to sustain is the emotional kind, the kind where you feel judged, and rejected. We become self-righteous and are quick to lash out in return with something that will hurt them back, and maybe even more than they hurt us. It is what I call my “How Dare you!” instinct. It is there and it is strong. I fight myself on this all the time. What we fail to do is to view the other person as an actual living, breathing human being. Instead we only see an attacker. We do not take the time to put ourselves in their shoes. To ask ourselves why they are lashing out? Are they afraid by our behavior? Does something that we are doing challenge them in their own lives? Have they been “squeezed” recently, so they are simply squeezing the person next to them harder? If we take the time to not assign malignant intentions, but to try to understand, it takes a bit of the fight out of our game. Further, if we decide that it is better to just let one go, we free ourselves from the cycle. It is hard. I am not going to lie to you on that one. It is so hard to let a hurt go. I have had a lot of practice lately. I will promise you though, that there is such a freedom when we tamper that side of ourselves. When we give ourselves permission to sustain the hurt, and to turn the other cheek, we actually win. My counselor reminds me weekly to continue to behave with integrity and grace. Sometimes I don’t want to. Sometimes I want to kick and scream and fight back. Sometimes I want to feel justified and vindicated. However, what I have found is that when I do react with grace and integrity, when I do forgive and look the other way, things come around. Not always right away, sometimes it is days, weeks, or even months. But inevitably it happens that not striking back causes the other person to stop and think about their words or actions. Honestly with some people in our lives, it may never happen. But for me, it is far more important to be able to go to bed at night, lay my head on the pillow and to know that for this day I did not cause anyone any intentional pain. I think there will always be that part of us that wants to hit back. It is part of being human and vulnerable. Today, decide what you will do in the “way back” when you get hit. Will you tattle, only after you have retaliated, or maybe can you just forgive and move forward with your head held high?

Everyone bear with me with this post.

"You know he's not even worth your tears?" My brother says to me. My brother and I are on a drive. He took me on a drive to get away from my thoughts. I just had my first heartbreak this week if you were wondering. So there we are my brother and I, just driving around, blaring music and me just crying. Finally that's when my brother turns down the music and says "you know he's not even worth your tears?" That's when I finally stopped and actually thought about what was happening. I only have been thinking about the major thing, which is having my heart broken. But lets actually think about this for a second, I say to myself. If any of you know me you know that I am not one to care what others think of me, nor do I care if a guy is done talking to me. I always say its their loss and move on. Not with this one though. I never knew being heartbroken over a guy could hurt this much. Its hard when they are the one who gave up on you, when you didn't want things to end. Who am I? This is not me. I don't cry over guys who drop me and treat me badly. So why is this one different? I don't know. I finally get myself together. I tell myself that I refuse to let this boy who doesn't even really deserve my tears, break me like this. It truly is his loss. So I say fine. I actually don't want to be with a person who doesn't want me. I'm not one of those girls to go back to a guy who broke their heart. So this is the last he will ever hear of me. Because You have to just move on. Why would you want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with you anyways? He is just a boy. Don't I sound like such a teenager? I know. Having your first heartbreak is part of becoming a bigger and better person.

Taking The Risk By: Karen Human Relations: Learning to Navigate Relationships. This was the name of an actual course I saw listed as a community workshop. Really? We need a class now to teach us how to get along with others? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that with the onset of so much technology and human interaction becoming more anonymous, perhaps we do. I know for me, human relations have never been a problem. Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that I can and do make friends anywhere. Give me a long line in Wal-Mart and I will come out with a few new friends. Living in Chicago I have tried to tamper it down, but still, wherever I am I seem to attract conversation with strangers. This drives people who know me and worry about my safety absolutely crazy! Recently I was on the train going out to O’Hare to rent a car. The train was crowded and I was dragging my suitcase behind me. There was an older woman doing the same right behind me, and she started telling me where she was going and what she was doing. In the 45 minute train ride I knew her whole life story, and when her train stop came she hugged me and told me it was the most enjoyable train ride she had had in a long time. On my return trip, I helped a mother with two young kids onto the train. She was so grateful, she began telling me how she had 4 kids under 6, and was finishing her medical degree. Her son somehow ended up on my lap, and when they got off I got a huge hug and kiss from the sweet two year old, who told me he would miss me. I know that living in the city I need to be more careful. I need to not be so trusting, and so open with people. But there is something in me that just can’t switch that part of me off. I am a story gatherer. I think every single person I come in contact with has something to share, a story to be told, and I want to hear it. I am of the opinion that human beings have become so polarized in our Facebook, texting world that they are just dying to be heard. Even if it means talking to the strange white lady on the el. All it usually takes is a smile and a kind hello, and they start talking. I never intend for it to happen. I am usually armed with one of my textbooks, ready to study and just ride the el. But inevitably it happens. I am in awe of what people want to share when someone will just listen. Now, I will say that none of these people are anyone that I will probably ever see again, the city is just too big. I have fought with loneliness in the city, searched for the deeper connection. Most of my dearest friends are far away, and I have to settle for the phone calls, the Facebook chats, and the texting. When I want human interaction I have to be brave, and go try new things in the city alone. I have made a few friends in the big bad city, but everyone is just so busy. So rather than sit around and wait for someone, I just go. I am so social by nature, that the solitary life has proven a challenge. But what I have found is that wherever I go, I find someone who wants to talk. None of that replaces the need for a deeper connection. I just can’t get the hang of settling for cyber chats and quick messages. I know there is a need. I know that even with me, my schedule is so crazy that sometimes a text or a Facebook message has to suffice. But still, I am left wishing for more. I think humans by nature are created to connect. We are meant to reach out to another human being, and say: Here I am, can you accept me? We are so vulnerable. We want to love and to be loved, and yet we fear reaching out. We fear the rejection that can come with extending your open hands with your heart wide open. So we hold back. We wait. We try to make sure that we won’t be rejected, but in doing so we miss so much. We miss the good stuff of finding someone we never knew before, who will look at us and say: Hey I know you…I was meant to be your friend all along. The one our heart recognizes as someone who was always meant to be there. Is it a risk? Yes, absolutely. Can we be hurt? Oh, in so many ways. But we also can gain so much. Every single person has a story to tell. Every single person just wants to be heard, and to be accepted. It is a part of us what makes us human. The hurt is part of it and the rejection too. But then there are those moments that you find someone who you make that instant connection with, and that is the stuff! My daughter told me about a girl she met in school, and how quickly they have become close because of shared experiences. What if she had not risked that contact? Had not risked opening herself up? As I begin to take that risk to get to know the people God so graciously sends me, I need to remember to be brave. To not shy away because I am afraid of the hurt. To remember that to risk is to also to gain. It is easy to talk to someone on the train. Someone you know you will never see again. There is no risk there at all. But to risk connecting with someone, to hope that there will be the potential for a true friend, there is absolutely nothing more worthwhile. Take the risk, take the time. Listen to the stories, and be prepared to have your heart changed.

Riding the Bus... By Karen.

I ride the bus to work every day. Bright and early at 7am I begin my pilgrimage to work. This means walking through Boystown, down Broadway to Halsted and hoping on the number 7 bus. By car this would mean a ten minute drive. Using public transportation it takes me an hour. Since I begin my voyage at the beginning of the bus line, the seats are always there for my choosing. However once we start down Halsted the morning commuters pile on unceasingly. About halfway into my commute it is wall to wall people. I can’t begin to tell you the variety of smells and sounds that will accost you when the bus is that crowded. Being a writer and an avid people watcher it is all fodder for my imagination, but at times it is also exhausting. Yesterday when I left work , traffic was horrible. I was tired, and had three papers to start on for school when I got home, so I just wanted to be there. It took me well over the normal hour on the bus! It was so crowded, and people were crabby from their day. It was also over 90 degrees, so the pressed bodies were not very pleasant. Just as I was about to sink into a pool of gloominess, I saw a very pregnant, very tired woman climb on board. I was already standing so there was not a thing I could do. However, I witnessed as four people offered her their seat, and everyone moved out of the way in order to help her sit down. Then an elderly woman with grocery bags climbed on, and three different guys took her bags and passed them back to where someone had offered her a seat. In spite of the heat, in spite of the crowd, and the traffic, and the end of a long day, people on the bus remembered their humanity and common bond as commuters. Everyone tells me that living in the city is too anonymous. That people are selfish, self-centered, even mean. I have not found that to be the case. I see people all around me just reaching out for the tiny bit of human connection. People who will smile at you on the street. People who will give you directions or offer you their seat. On my way home from that long bus ride I dropped my keys and was juggling my backpack, my coffee cup, and my phone. A jogger stopped, picked up my keys, and said: You are almost home, hang in there. Simple human kindness. People who know me in Chicago have told me I may be too nice and too naïve to live in the city. I talk to everyone, everywhere. I do not want to lose that. I do not want to become jaded or solitary. I want to be me, and still be smart and street savvy. What I have seen over these past months is that it is possible. That people everywhere are essentially looking for the same thing. They are wondering: Do you see me? Does my life have significance? Do you want to hear my story? I know I need to be careful. I know not everyone is good, and not everyone is to be trusted. But sometimes on a crowded bus, at the end of a very long day, you can be reminded that we are all in this together.

Darling Be Your Own Hero Suck it up darling, keep going, one foot in front of the other. Sometimes you just have to repeat these little things in your head to keep you going. Whether it's stress at school, being lonely, or wanting to just give up. Sometimes you just have to repeat little things to yourself. So here I am telling myself: me, myself and I, we got this. You can't always count on other people to keep you moving, because you aren't the only one going through something in your life. Everyone has things going on. "Darling be your own hero" this is one of my favorite things I tell myself. Because, like my mom says being lonely doesn't have to be a bad thing, you can learn how to be self reliant and learn just how strong you actually are. So stop relying on others to make you happy. Naturally you should be your own hero.

The Game Has life ever felt like a game to you? Well lets just say I've gotten pretty good at this game of life. In this game called life people try to make you lose, they try to make you believe this game is just way to hard and they really make you believe that all this hard work is not worth winning this game. IS it? Is this game of life worth it with all this work and hardship? Sometimes you just really don't know. You can't give up I say. Put your poker face on and win this game. I will not let this game defeat me. I refuse to let this game be played by anyone but me. So here I go, my next big move.

Did you hear the reverberation of the starter's gun going off? It happens every single Monday around 7am...the marathon race to the end of the week has begun. Going back to school full time and working two part time jobs, at times I feel in over my head. Way in over my head. I have not been in a classroom for 21 years! In fact, the last time I was in a classroom I was typing my papers on my handy electric typewriter.I remember towards the end of my sophomore year we were introduced to the computer lab and the "word processing programs!" It seemed incredible. Now, as I sit in class, and they bring up the power point presentations that are linked to our on-line blackboards, and they tell us our quiz will be online and timed, I feel completely overwhelmed. I want to finish school, so badly. I know that I owe to myself to see it through. I promised my mom 21 years ago before I got married that I would finish school, and that is a promise I intend to keep to her. But more importantly I want to keep that promise to myself. I dropped out when I was a junior. I had given birth to this incredible human being that we named Jessica. She was weeks early, and a little bit of nothing in your arms, but to me she was all of a sudden the entire world. I just could not see leaving her in daycare while I went to classes. So I stayed home, and I never regretted it for a single second. I loved being home with all of my kids. There is not a second of their lives that I could see missing in order to have done anything differently. They were the greatest education I ever received and I learned what I needed to learn at that time in my life. They taught me to love unconditionally, to be patient, to appreciate little accomplishments, to laugh at myself, to cry out of exhaustion, and to ignore the mess in order to play. These were the classes I aced and graduated during their childhood. However now, through a combination of events, life and timing, I find myself at a turning point. So I go. I walk into the lectures, and click on to the online classes, I take those timed tests, and I put one foot in front of the other. I am sure that I will begin, a step at a time, to feel more comfortable in the classroom again. I am sure my brain can learn to function again. It can learn to comprehend a Criminal Law book, and learn to churn out research papers. It may even be taught how to memorize and retain facts and dates again. "I think I can" will be my mantra. Each and every day I doubt myself. Each day I tell myself to forget it, and just go and get some waitressing job and call it good. But I know that I can do more, be more, achieve more. I recently called my oldest on a particularly stressful day. I told her that I missed being with them day in and day out way too much. I told her I was just going to come back to our home town and figure something out. She told me no! She told me she would be disappointed in me. She asked me what I would be showing them if I just gave up and quit. She told me she was proud of me. She told me she was proud of me... This first child, this child that turned me from college student into mom in the blink of an eye, is now giving the gift back. She is telling me not to choose anymore. That I can be mom, and be the college student, and that she is proud. I can't wait for class tonight. I know I can do this.

What do you do when you have been a dreamer your whole life, but have stopped dreaming? When your whole life has been made up by this big dream but that dream is slipping away? You are hit smack in the face by reality. The impact of reality can be a rough thing to face. I try to hide, its to hard to face I can't handle it. I want to go back, back to a time where I don't have to face this scary thing called reality, where I can just been in my own little world full of dreams and hopes. But no I can't those are long gone, I can barely see them in the distance now. So Here I am, sitting alone. Me and this reality. I sit here a long time. I don't say anything, I can't face it. Eventually, I get my strength and I look reality straight in the eyes. I feel the tears falling and feel my heart pounding, but after awhile I smile. I did it, I say. I faced reality.

An introduction to our new blog!

I would like to take the time to introduce us both. I am Karen, the mother. I am 42 years old, and I am currently living and going to school in Chicago. It has been 21 years since I last stepped into a school room, so it is pretty intimidating. To top it all off, I am seperated, and living away from my three beautiful babies! Who are not really babies at all. Jessica is 20, Nick is 17, and Sophia is 16. Sophia and I have both been writing a lot to kind of cope with the situation we are in, and all the obstacles that presents. There is at times, a lot of emotion, confusion, and ups and downs. We figured the best way to get through it was to just write about it....so here goes nothing! Sophia is 16, and a sophomore in highschool. She is a beautiful writer, dancer, and human being. She is strong willed, tenacious, and beautiful. Enjoy!