I made a sticker!

You can join me on Patreon for the monthly sticker club!!!!!!

Another platform where I ask you for money? Can you believe it?! Gosh, Fiona!! Not gosh Fiona, but "GO, FIONA!" This is an incredible feat for me to take the next step in pursuing my dream of becoming a full-time artist (again.)

Please join my Patreon to be part of my monthly sticker club!

Here is the sticker for MAY!!!! IT’S SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL!!!! AND I MADE IT!!!!! FROM START TO FINISH- AN ENTIRE PROJECT!!!!!! AND WITHIN THE LAST WEEK???!!! GO FIFI GO!!!!!!!

I will continue to write on Substack, returning to weekly newsletters. Things have gotten in the way of achieving my goals in the last three months. Typically I would be shoulder deep in a shame spiral right now. Instead, I'm slowing way down to give myself grace, because (I must remind myself often) I’m a survivor of immense trauma at the hand of my parent from whom I've only escaped three years ago. Breathing deep I can accept everything that happened before right now is done, cannot be changed. We only have this moment and how we decide to move forward.

The “goals” were probably too lofty. Like a science experiment, I’m observing. This is a learning process. Valentine’s Day and balloons in general are intrinsically tied to my mom. This year I’ve navigated a hand full of balloon jobs and holidays with more ease than in the past. Then there’s the comedown. Only last week did I learn of the term “emotional flashback.”

When I encounter a “trigger” that pulls me back into any/all feeling of my trauma, I become stressed, stop feeding myself, experience jaw pain often loosing the ability to open my mouth wide enough to take a bit of a sandwich, passively want to stop existing, shame spiral, ignore showering, get dehydrated and/or find myself more anxious than usual, irrationally fear bugs are drawing on me and coming to get, etc. My body and mind regress into thee way I had to exist in the orbit of my mom: hopelessness, despair, fear, anxiety, shame, etc. Emotional flashbacks are virtually the same as a post traumatic stress disorder flashbacks, but survivors of complex-PTSD do not typically have strong visual elements and we often don't know we are in a flashback.

The depressions I fall into are probably flashbacks.

Luckily I no longer chose to beat myself. While these flashbacks awake the evil side of my inner critic, these aren’t my actual thoughts of myself. Sure, I still think them, and sometimes that little ferret in my head is loud and persistent enough that I believe him. Time for superhero Klonopin, a meditation from my girl Leah (I love that every meditation on Balance app can be modified and spoken by her; voices are so important!!), grabbing a chihuahua or two and curling up in cozy blankets for a nap.

Finally, FINALLY!!!!, I’m at the stage where I stop beating myself up for my body and mind’s actions when in freeze mode. My body is trying to protect me. My mind was shaped by a nasty little bitch. Emotional sobriety means I don’t have to blame myself because life is challenging. I can remain calm through these peaks and vallies. Roadblocks are only speed bumps. 🩷

I want to live the happiest, most fulfilling life I can. Finding happiness is an active, conscious process. Let me tell you again, it’s damn hard work to get to happy, especially when you have early (childhood) wounding. The higher up the happiness Kilimanjaro I climb, the more beautiful and prosperous life is.

Growth and comfort cannot co-exist.

Emotional flashbacks can last hours, day, weeks or months. I've been processing a lot over the past 72 hours. Simultaneously, I've been nicer to myself than ever before.

Having a name for the weight I’ve carried helped me realize I could set it down.

Keeping in mind I'm less than four years into this recovery journey, I've been doing remarkably well. Last May I quit my part-time jobs to make balloons full time. The timing was perfect (if you want to start your own balloon business, start at with graduation season: college announcements, grad parties, gifts from family who can’t travel, etc). Kicked off graduation season with a bang and was having fun being an awesome, talented balloon stylist again. Mid June, in honor of my youngest sister's birthday, I got a beautiful tattoo of a traditional rose growing up from broken ground framed by Billie Eilish lyrics “heart of glass, mind of stone”. Scheduled for her actual birthday, I was able to celebrate here in my own way. Plus, pain is temporary and I love tattoos! Even though I’m still deeply hurt and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, adding this artwork to my left forearm provided connection to a third of my heart left caged in Nashville, my child, my sister, my best friend. Some people carry photos in their wallet, I decorate myself. I am continuing on with my life in a way that felt positive. A day that brings me so much sadness turned into a celebration.

A party
dimly lit,
but not dark
anymore.

Illustrated and inked by Alyssa Cavallo at - I think I actually cried happy tears at the end. This was my first time at Red Elk Tattoo in Abbington, which I award five (bloody) daggers to 🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️. Maybe I’ll go back this year! ACTUALLY! I will bee going camping Vermont with my girlfriend and a bunch of her friends on my sister’s birthday. It’s going to be an even brighter Flag Day.

Fast forward approximately 3 weeks later.

Satan himself had other plans: my mom's envious little, close-together eyes burned with fury. Within a matter of weeks I received notice of an Order of Protection taken out against me on behalf of said sister. The OOP claimed I'd been harassing and stalking the kid, whom I hadn't seen or been allowed to communicate with since October 2020- my mom even changed her phone number within months of my leaving Tennessee. Initially I just laughed at what an out-of-touch nut my mother is, followed by explicatives about having to hire a lawyer. Eventually, after figuring out the entire court date was probably a set up (spoiler alert, it was and many parties involve believed she was trying to have me arrested), I decided not to contest the OOP. You might wonder why, as I surely would have won. My lawyer needed a lot of explaining as well, so you’re not alone. My mom isn't just the kind of terrible person who exists in here own dumpy bubble of misery. She's the kind of terrible person who throws flaming bags of dog poo at any one who doesn't wholeheartedly agree and surrender to her. I mean, helloooooo! I'm her own birthed child. She straight up told my other sister I was dead to her, because I was leaving the business, moving to Massachusetts, and trying to get healthy. “It’s me or Fiona.” My sister said she wouldn’t pick, so my mom deemed her unworthy of talking to ever again.

If I won the case, my mom would have appealed it, tried again and dragged my poor sister to so many court hearings. Multiple lawyers thought it best for a third party to interview my sister for the case without my mom nor myself present, so they could find out how she really felt. All the hair stood up on the back of my neck. It wouldn’t matter what thee kid said, if the case didn’t go the way my mom wanted that child would be blamed. I didn't contest the OOP, so my sister wouldn't be the target of my mom's wrath any more than she already has to. It’s sad to think of her living alone in that house, no one to protect her, no one to step in and take the shit my mom loves to throw. By shit I mean drinking glasses and feet and fiestaware bowls at heads.

We are sisters, with bonds that seems far more fused together than children raised with emotionally mature parent/secure households. The only way we survived my mom was because we had eachother. As soon as my mom didn't need them to watch us or drive us around, my sisters and I were isolated from our family that lived in our city. Once I got my license, my mom was able to ice out those people. She didn't “need” them anymore. Fiona could do school and daycare pick up and drop offs. Fiona could cook dinner. Fiona could get them ready for bed and make them do homework.

“It’s not babysitting/chores/unfair! They are your sisters! Do you want them to have an awful life?! Girls, Fiona wants you to have an awful life! If she loved you, she’d do {fill in the blank}. Go ask her to take you.” -my mom

She figured there's no reason to keep around a person who might influence your child or your husband that you might not be a good person. My mom worked tirelessly to destroy our relation ships with out grandmother, great-grandmother, step-grandmother, step-grandfather, step-great-grand-mother, and step aunt. People Maddie and I loved every much. Even worse, my mom constantly told us those people didn’t love or care about us. If they did then they would drive over or pick up the phone and call. The overwhelming consensus from “the other side of the story,” aka everyone who isn’t my mom, aka the reality of the situation, is my mom told people they couldn’t come over and either ignored their call or was mean on the phone.

Oops! I’m still in PJs and it’s time to leave for work, so I’m gonna pop some gf pizza in the microwave and slather sunscreen on my face.

Keep on crushing it and support gay art!