Mean Girls–Can we be friends?

I’ve been wanting to write something about an experience I had with a couple of real life ‘mean girls’. This occurred back in 2010 (when I first moved to Texas) but it still stings a bit whenever I think about it.

I was already in my late thirties when I met Nicole (I’ll use fictional names). She was a beautiful, gorgeous girl with blonde hair and amazing blue eyes. We hit it off instantly and soon I was hanging out at her house almost daily. I hadn’t had many girlfriends in my lifetime and was ecstatic to call her my new bff in Texas. I fell in love with her and her family. I did. I don’t care if it sounds weird. (lol)

Anyways, I tried to do everything right. She had confided to me that her husband had cheated on her multiple times so I stuck by her side and was polite with him. He was very likable but I wanted to prove my loyalty to her, my bff. I wanted to prove I could be trusted since she had also had problems with girlfriends. Life was great for a whole year — until a third and then a fourth girl joined.

I guess I can’t fully put the blame on these new girls. I had realized that my beloved Nicole wasn’t the person I fell in love with. Still, there was something about her that was just magnetizing. Maybe it was her beauty? Everyone wants to have that pretty friend who appears to have it all. Except that Nicole made you feel exclusive. She made me feel like I was part of her family and as if only I would ever know her deepest secrets. She let me in her world and I felt sorry for her. She had gone through so much that I wished I could wrap her up in a comfy blanket and keep her safe in my arms. It felt great at first until I began to notice she’d tell everyone all her ‘secrets’. I realized this was her way of manipulating you so she could have your loyalty. Soon, she had everyone against everyone and she was the innocent one, without any fault.

With me, it began when she’d tell me how much she hated her neighbor. She would go on and on telling me how her neighbor was a drunk, abused pills, was emotionally cheating on her husband, etc. She’d end it with “I can’t stand her. I hate her.” I listened and tried to be there for her, emotionally. At the same time, I thought she was being fake and didn’t know what her motive was. You see, every time her neighbor went by her house, Nicole was nothing but pure sweetness towards her. I remember her and I even went to the neighbor’s baby shower and Nicole’s gift was just towering over the rest. How could you treat someone whom you hate with so much appreciation and kindness? I didn’t get it. I soon had a talk with Nicole and told her how uncomfortable I felt because I had nothing against her neighbor — and while the other two girls that later joined us were clearly mean to her neighbor, I didn’t feel I had any reason to be.

This is when our friendship began to shatter. I guess I wasn’t as loyal as I thought I could be. One of the mean girls (I’ll name her Tiff.) even went as far as punching the neighbor on her face to defend Nicole’s honor (I’m exaggerating. It was over some gossip that Nicole began herself!) The police even visited Tiff’s house and everything. I thought this was madness. How could a woman, with a family to take care of, give so much power to another woman? This would never be me. I did have my limits and I wasn’t willing to get into some pathetic high school drama at this late in my years. Ridiculous.

Not only did Nicole talk about her neighbor to me; she also would tell me things about the other two girls that joined in. I couldn’t stand it. There I’d be, sitting next to Nicole with an angelic smile, knowing what I new. The other two girls were trying to be just as loyal to Nicole and I’d know all the garbage that was being said about them behind their backs. NEVER did I think I’d be in this situation. Tiff was definitely trying too hard. The other wasn’t that bad and I trusted her the most. I’ll name her Connie.

At forty I had my Benjamin and now with a baby to take care of, I decided this would be how I’d weasel my way out of that group. I guess Nicole suspected what I was up to because she began changing towards me.  I suspected I was next one to be talked about and her neighbor confirmed that. I confronted Nicole and asked if there was anything we needed to talk about. She denied everything. I knew she was lying but I went along with things. I too didn’t know how to tell her straight out how I really felt. I didn’t know how to come out and tell her that I thought she was two-faced, a hypocrite, untrustworthy. How I felt uncomfortable every time she talked bad about Tiff and Connie behind their backs. I kept my mouth shut and thought it’d be easier if I weaseled my way out.

One Friday night I agreed to meet them at Nicole’s house. I sensed the thickness in the air that enveloped us in her garage that night. Boy was it thick. I should have left, ran right out of there, but I didn’t. I thought I could handle it. Tiff’s face was full of truths Nicole could no longer hide — and I knew. Connie was stuck in between and I noticed how she’d flop sides. At times she tried to make the best of the night and other times she’d try to instigate. Both Tiff and Connie swore to be my friends also except that they never came to me to talk about our little group’s situation. They both clearly showed their loyalty to Nicole. I was fine with that. After all, Nicole met them first. If I could only make it through that night, each time I’d see them less and less. But it wouldn’t happen that way. The thickness made it not breathable in that garage that Friday night. They would all ignore me at times and talk about how much fun they were having visiting each other’s houses. It hurt because in all the three years I had known Nicole, never had she just stopped by my house to see how I was doing. Even when I was pregnant and I went through a horrible month when I felt suicidal; Nicole was the one person I confided this to and I begged her to come visit me. She never came.

That was it. I excused myself and went home. I decided I was finished with the charades. The following Monday, Connie called me to make plans for Nicole’s birthday. I really believe Connie was attempting to include me and make me feel better. Nevertheless, I told Connie I was done with that friendship. We talked for a bit and she insisted I patch things up with Nicole. Ofcourse, I didn’t tell Connie everything. Still, I said I couldn’t talk about it with Nicole now because now, she was pregnant and I didn’t want to upset her. Connie said I was using that as an excuse because she just knew Nicole was a big girl and could handle it. Dummy me, I should’ve known I was right and taken my own advice. Instead, I chose to confront Nicole, though still not fully. I didn’t want to upset her too much. STILL, I came out as the insensitive one. How could I upset her now that she was pregnant? (I knew it!)

OMG. I could go on with our drama but maybe I’ll save some details for a later story. Till this day I’m not even sure what happened and how it happened. Just that in the end, I was the one who was shady and Tiff was Nicole’s new bff. I was hurt.What was I supposed to do? Tell on Nicole? Tell the other girls of all the bad things she had said about them? No. That would have been immature. A good friend of mine who was living in AZ advised me not to say a word and just get over it. She promised me that if I told, these girls wouldn’t listen and I’d be the one still looking bad. She was right.

Two years after Nicole and I were no longer friends, I decided to tell the other two girls. They swore we were still friends but I should have known better. They never came to see how I was doing either. I still remained in Texas one whole year after our fiasco and neither of them came. No one was calling me either. No texts asking how I was. Nothing on Facebook — no comment a regular friend would make. Still, I felt bad unfriending them. I told them partially what Nicole had said about them and much to my amazement, they continued being friends with her. My AZ friend was right. So, I finally got the guts to unfriend these two.

Another three years went by and I kept in touch with Nicole’s neighbor. We’d catch up every now and then and I finally told her also what Nicole had said about her only because she asked. I had no idea even she, also, was keeping a relationship with Nicole. I couldn’t believe it. What a strong hold this woman had on these three other women. The neighbor told me she confronted Nicole and Nicole denied it, ofcourse. I thought the neighbor would know better but I think she too wanted to belong to Nicole’s world.

One day the neighbor asked me, in tears, what she should do? I told her she should find forgiveness. She admitted that Nicole was making an effort to try to be back in her life and had written a really nice letter to her. I never got such a letter but I realized I never was meant to belong in their group. I was fine without them and needed OUT! So, I told the neighbor to forgive. In all honesty, I believe people can change, grow, be regretful. As for myself, I got out of Facebook, almost untraceable. Only those interested in my writing, mixing, etc, will find me. I’m also heading a path of becoming a healer. Therefore, ofcourse I forgive Nicole. I forgive Tiff, Connie, the neighbor and most important, I forgive myself.

When I think back on my ‘mean girls’ experience, I can’t deny a part of me misses Nicole. It’s too bad that in this life our paths went different ways. Nevertheless, it was an experience which helped me grow and I am grateful for that. =)



A Special Gift on Mother’s Day

My middle son gave me a special gift on Mother’s Day. All my boys are sweet, but this year, it was Everett’s turn to make me cry and boy…he got me good.

A few months ago I had told him how much I loved DR Seuss’ book Oh The Places You’ll Go! I had never known of such book until I had to read it in front of my son’s classroom last year. I barely got through the book but as soon as I walked out of the classroom, I couldn’t stop crying. It just had so much meaning to me, to my life at that moment.

I was forty-three or maybe I had already turned forty-four but I had just been going through so much in my life. It’s weird to think how different I am now from who I was last year. I was just waiting for earth’s gravity to squash me…pretty much.

But I hold Dr Seuss’ book close to my heart. It is so dead on. Watching those children in my son’s classroom that day, it just filled me with sadness knowing that each and every one of them would go through dark roads…and that some roads are only wide enough for one. I think of all my dark days and how many times I felt so alone. I wonder who these children will think of when these trying times grow near? God? Their angels? Their parents, family, a role model?…God, I pray whoever is their caretaker adds the tools they’ll be looking for so desperately when the time is needed.

I’m forty-four now, soon to be forty-five. I’ve been through clear roads, scary roads and hopeful roads. I’ve been alone at times and with company at others. I can definitely say that I am still learning so much, every day. Today, I am less afraid, less sad…because I’ve faced many of my fears and demons but I’ve had help. There is ALWAYS help.

I realize now I am a spirit…having a human experience…that I have a home, in another place…but that I CHOSE to come here for a reason…a reason my children and strangers help me remember every now and then. That reason is simple…to spread LOVE so that this planet can heal. Slowly, I am beginning to realize Dr Seuss was very right…

“And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)”




Past Lives

(Sorry if I jump around too much. It was four in the morning when I began typing this and was still sleepy. lol  But I knew if I didn’t do it then, I wouldn’t do it. I might fix it later.)

When I was a little girl, maybe around kinder or first grade, my mom tells me I used to tell her about my mother, Manuela.

“Yes…don’t you remember her? You two were friends!”

My mom says at times I’d give her chills with some of the things I said. LOL

I do remember something about me having a sister–who pinched me and wore glasses. Oh and that we had a little dog…white poodle or something like that.

Then, in my young adult years, I began having dreams that I had been a man, a very good-looking, young man; and I had messed around with many women. These women were so attracted to me, they’d do anything for me. They were so gullible and I took advantage and broke many hearts. I took it as a weird dream but wondered what it meant.

When I was a teen, about thirteen, my mother would tell me what an awful feeling she felt when I was born. She said as soon as she saw me she thought, “Oh NO! It’s HER! NO! NO! NO! Please! NOT HER!” And she felt an awful feeling in her gut, as if someone had punched or kicked her. At thirteen, this hurt my feelings. I mean, COME ON! But then, I had always felt my mother didn’t love me and I figured it was just her being mean to me, again.

As an adult, I grew tired of her telling me the same story…about how awful it was once she saw I was a girl…once she recognized me and I was HER. I couldn’t believe she’d tell me this. So, for a long time, I dealt with depression. I felt unloved by my parents but mostly by my mother. It was a pain so deep, I sometimes didn’t know how I was going to make it in this life. I figured, “what was the point of living if I didn’t have my mother’s love?” My depression went on for so many years…maybe thirty years because I felt it since I was a child.

I tried to kill myself twice. They were clumsy attempts really. The first time I was about ten and the second, a young teen—but my parents never knew. Around my mid twenties, I ended up seeing psychologists and psychiatrists, and little by little, I met amazing people who helped me grow strong, mentally.

It was weird because although my mother and I did not get along and she always made me feel like I was the “other woman”, we did come together at times…these were the best of times. She did teach me about God and kinder things. We connected when we talked about books, reading, spirituality, a loving God, hypnotherapy, past lives, regression…She was always reading a book and she’d share it with me.

I began getting interested in my spirituality and read many books she recommended, like Dr Brian Weiss, and others I came across on my own—but I’ve felt I’ve been searching for answers as to why she has pushed me away.

To cut this short, it wasn’t until earlier this year, once I made up my mind that I didn’t care if my mother loved me or not—and I recognized I was loved by many other important people in my life—that I came across a friend of the family who helped me figure all this out.

She used Spiritual Response Therapy. At first, I was skeptical and a bit scared. I wasn’t sure what to think but it ended up providing me with the answer I’ve been searching.

But first, let me jump around some more…in the past, I also had dreamt a shocking dream and woke up thinking, “I was the other woman!” In my dream, my mom and dad were not related to me but they were an item. I was a frivolous woman and had an affair with my father, her man. The woman, my mother, never forgave me. It makes sense because in this life, I have felt a deep respect with my fellow females and I have been careful about not making them feel I’m a threat. I’ve never been about taking someone’s man, competing for a man or anything like that.

So, back to this family friend. She came back with a surprising story but it made sense to me. She said she only went back so much but that my mom and I had been an “item”. She had been very cruel with me and emotionally, mentally abusive, to the point that I killed myself in despair. She told me that was why I suffered from depression in this life.

It took a couple of days for me to put together all the clues. I summed it all up: When I was a man, I broke a woman’s heart. She finally met her match in another life but I took him from her—he and I had an affair. We met again romantically, this time her, the woman and me, the man— but she had not forgiven me…and emotionally abused me and manipulated me so much that I took my own life.

In this life, I am now her daughter. That’s why she recognized me at birth. That’s why she had thought “NO! NOT HER!” That’s why she was jealous of my relationship with my father and made me feel like I was THE OTHER WOMAN. That’s why she told me once to take care of my own husband and to leave hers alone—I used to think my mother just had a sick mind. That’s why she was doing it all over again in this life, being emotionally and mentally abusive towards me. That’s why I felt depressed and wanted to kill myself…again…because no matter what I had done to show her I was sorry, she hadn’t forgiven me…and I hadn’t forgiven myself.

In this life, as her daughter, her opportunity to forgive me is evident. She had me inside of her, I was a product of my father and her. I came into this world from her womb. She’s had to bathe me, clothe me, feed me, clean me, watch me, soothe me…yes…SHE’S HAD TO LOVE ME. Growing up I sensed her mixed feelings of love and hate towards me.

As for me, in this life as her daughter, being female I had to feel what other women I hurt have felt. More importantly, I had the ultimate test and opportunity…an opportunity to realize that I had to FORGIVE MYSELF…that it didn’t even matter if my own mother, who is supposed to symbolize love and life, didn’t forgive me. I rejoice because I first forgave myself because I knew God loved me and his love was much, much greater. Knowing His love was what saved my life and what has brought me to this conclusion.

Finally, I approached my mother with all this information. I figured I’d give it one last try and asked her to be open minded. After all, I knew she believed in past lives. I ended up telling her everything I knew and apologized one last time.

“Mom, if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one, I am sincerely sorry.” I meant it with all my heart. She didn’t comment about what I had just told her. She just listened and I could tell her brain was absorbing it. But she did say, “Me too. I’m sorry if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one.”

That was good for me. In this life, her as my mother and I as her daughter, we’ve had to love one another no matter what our past has been. As a daughter, I’ve had to respect her and as a woman, I’ve had to understand her. And her, as my mother, she’s had to care for me and forgive me and as a woman, she’s had to empathize with me.



When is the Right Time to have a Boyfriend?

Back in junior high I was such a shy kid. I wore my bangs all in front of my face, making sure they covered my whole face. If a boy liked me, I’d just go and hide under a rock, seriously. It was so scary to me. Once, a boy grabbed my butt and it scared me so much that I avoided going to my locker (his was next to mine) for as long as I could. This was in 8th grade. I had no idea why anyone would want to touch my butt. As far as I was concerned, it served two purposes: to sit and squeeze out the poo. Why a guy would want to touch it was freaky to me.

High school was even worse. I was Death-Rock (now Goth) and wanted to have an artistic, complicated, Alien Sex Fiend (a band back in the day) kind of boyfriend. But how? I had no idea how to flirt; how to talk to a boy; how to even kiss. I felt I was falling behind in the ‘love’ area and it wasn’t long until the pressures of high school social life cornered me. I didn’t want to be the last girl to finally kiss a boy but I didn’t know why none of the boys wanted to go out with me. I thought I was ugly. I thought my teeth were crooked, my thighs humongous, my butt too flat and to make it worse, I was Mexican.

All my life I had heard bad things about being Mexican. Since I can remember no one wanted us in the US and my parents were fixing their immigration papers. They were a mess, trying to fit in and attain residency while little ol’ me, I was a mess just knowing their stomachs were in knots every time we’d come across border patrol. The hundredths of questions we’d have to answer as the officers shuffled through the stack of papers my parents had to carry with them at all times.

I just had too much to deal with and all this time I just wanted a boy to like me. Not like me and grab my butt, but the like me like Sixteen Candles, where the girl gets the handsome boy, who’s way out of her league, but he likes her because she’s got self respect. But what self respect if I didn’t even like myself? I hated my body, one boob bigger than the other; I wasn’t white enough to be death-rock and lure in that death rocker I liked; I was even the wrong type of Mexican. Often I’d hear other Mexican’s talk bad about those from Mexico City. I had no clue why but I knew my parents lost friends because of it. I thought we were all the same but apparently not.

So here I am, a mess. Not knowing where my place is but I just know I want to daydream; where the boy is sweet and carries my books to class. Instead, I start settling for less. I ended up kissing loosers. Really. There was this one kid who was a trouble maker and I kissed him after school one day. We kissed a few more times after that and I even allowed him to touch my butt, but nothing else developed from it. I was sad because not even the “worst” kid in school asked to be my boyfriend.

The moral of this blog is to advice young ladies when is a good time to have a boyfriend. I’ll say this, “It is when you can look in the mirror and see yourself and you like what you see. Love yourself, respect yourself; protect that which is most precious, you; because if you don’t, you WILL regret it. Watch my video on Youtube. I’m typing away and cutting so much out because I don’t want this blog to go on and on but I do say some meaningful advise on my video. Many times our parents have so much baggage and they just can’t help us with these types of life choices. I wanted to share a bit of my life and family so you can see how we all have something that can be used as an excuse to convince ourselves why we are not worthy. But I’m telling you, we need to raise our standards. Watch my video and remember, love yourself and accept nothing less.

Love big or go home! xoxo

When you don’t approve of your son’s girlfriend…

I’m not sure if I gave this one an appropriate title but I’ll leave it alone for now.

Where should I even begin with this one? I swear I’m going to write a book about this guy one of these days. So the other day my eldest overheard me say I wasn’t happy he had gone back to his gf. You see, back in February, they got into an argument where she ended up smashing his tv, called me up, told me he was a piece of crap, basically, and I had done a lousy job raising him—and I needed to go pick him up at her place.

Never in my life did I think I would receive such a call. I was angry, ofcourse, but I kept my cool and just told her I’d be on my way. I got in my car and headed over there. Within two minutes she texted never mind, she’d give him a ride (his car was in the shop). My immediate thought was the hell you will, and I hurried over. Once there I stayed outside and texted my son. I heard some squeals and saw my son coming out of an apartment with her crying behind him, begging him to stay. WTH? I’m confused. He forcefully said, “NO” and I couldn’t have been more proud. Her little boy peeked out the door and yelled something at my son. I was horrified at the situation.

I tried telling my son everything that was wrong with that picture. He made me believe he was done with her emotional outbursts. I pleaded with him to stay away but did he listen? Nooooo.

Immediately she blew up his phone with every promise imaginable. He said he was confused because no one had loved him that much. I warned him it was manipulation. (I mean, the girl wouldn’t even let him come spend time with us!) That night she called me and I answered (though I regret it)—I answered because I told myself she was young and troubled and I just couldn’t turn my back since my son must have had some fault. It always takes two to tango (I really shouldn’t have answered). First thing that came out of her mouth was that she was sorry, ofcourse, BUT that he had hurt her so much and she had given him multiple chances. I asked her then why did she want him back? Obviously he was no good for her then. In a nutshell (because I’m not going to go on a rant about her), I told her to get over her divorce first, take care of herself and her son and then think about being in a relationship. She didn’t listen. She didn’t call me again but instead kept bugging my son. She did come by with a card and a flower but I was cold with her and she got an attitude with me. I mean, come on! In her card she said how loving and caring my son was (I thought he was a piece of crap? “A horrible human being?); how mature he was and how lucky she was to have him in her life. WHAT?

I cannot stand this girl. This is when I wish my son’s father would come around and talk to him about this stuff. I feel because my son has been estranged from his father for many years, that he didn’t get that identity he needed from him. Instead, he got mine, in a way.

Having all boys, I’ve come to accept there are some things men just get from other men. I can talk and talk and give him the best advice and back it up with proof from psychological statistics and data but he won’t get it; until another male comes along—a male he respects—and tells him the same as I just told him; then he’ll get it. Sadly, all the men in his life are MIA when these issues come up. I wish my dad, my brother or my husband, one of them; I wish they’d sit down and talk to him—take him out for a baseball game, a football game, something; not just sit and scold and remind him what a kid he is, no, not that because we’ve all been there. He needs men in his life who make him feel he matters; that he deserves to be treated with respect.

I wasted so many years being depressed and not loving myself that this is what I’ve shown him. I tell him there’s a better kind of love out there; he just doesn’t know it because he can’t imagine it. I tell him how a healthy relationship should be but he can’t visualize it. This girl has got him like a crutch and it hurts me to sit back and witness it. It hurts to see her little boy in between all of this mess. I want a woman who will make a man out of my son but I see her enabling him, manipulating him into a co-dependent relationship. This can’t end well, but all I can do is wait it out. I told him my fear is that she’ll get more aggressive, more violent and next outburst will be worse. I fear that this girl can get my son into some real trouble. I tell him to just walk away if she ever gets like this again; to call me asap but do NOT stay and try to reason with her.

For anyone out there experiencing something similar, RUN THE OTHER WAY. People who are this angry, willing to destroy property and cause bodily harm, have been scarred for a long time and need help. It is a rage that has been planted in them since childhood. Most likely it is learned by watching their caregivers and it forms into a cycle. The daughter sees her mother’s anguish and anger caused by her father; she forcefully repeats the very same in her relationships as an adult. In her mind, there is no other way. I could have a whole new discussion on this subject but I’ll leave it for another time. As for my son’s low self-esteem, he saw me with one for many, many years. All my bruises were internal and left there by those who claimed to love me the most. It’s taken me years to get rid of my martyr ways. I’d like to end this by urging everyone to learn how to love yourselves. It’s URGENT—because we do pass this along to our kids!

Love Big or go Home! XOXO