Even in the darkest moments is a ray of light. Often we let it slip through the cracks of our minds because we are too caught up in our thoughts and too comfortable in our routines and daily patterns. But if we see the light, find the strength to grab it and the courage to hold on to it, life will change. It is hard, though, and I am often failing too.
It’s the small things that affect us the most. A word in a sentence that makes us snap at a good friend. A song on the radio that makes us dance. An unexpected text message that makes us smile. A voice message that lets our hearts race.
Life is a string of choices, decisions, and lessons. Life is filled with feelings and emotions; there is no logic – we cannot (and we must not) understand everything that happens. Sometimes we get hurt. More often, we are not. The expected pain is worse than what we are actually experiencing in the end.

Still, we chose to focus on our sadness and hurt too many hours of the days, and it keeps the light and happiness from our hearts and minds. If our energy were spent showing kindness, compassion, and empathy instead of taking every word, every view personally, it would mean a huge step forward in our emotional development.
Oh, I am guilty of negativity too. I wallow in it all too often. I feel neglected, abandoned, for no other reason than my mind suggesting that I am not good enough or lovable anyway. I ask for a kind of attention that others are not willing to give consistently, which pushes me in a vicious circle of evil thoughts. The thing is, I support and listen to people unconditionally and without judgment, why the f*** can’t I feel the same kind of support in return? Could it be that I am simply not able to understand the love or affection of others? Am I emotionally inept?

I read this on the almighty, all-knowing internet a while ago:

The reason why I am jealous is that my biggest fear is to be easily replaceable.

I don’t know who wrote it. It was an RT on Twitter that I wrote down in one of my notebooks (around October 2015), but it sums a big part of myself up. It’s part of my truth. I am afraid to be forgettable, to be replaceable. I want to be unique – and yet I want to be able to vanish in a crowd without being noticed.

I am a weird person. Full of mood swings. Overly emotional at times. Impulsive. Still, all those things don’t overrule my qualities. I care. I worry, and I want other’s happiness more than my own.

I know that I have a hard time finding my balance because I am not taking enough care of myself, my mental health, and my needs. To speak up when I feel neglected (even if it blows up in my face) would be to admit that I am demanding and damaged. It scares me. I don’t want to bother other people with my shit, and I don’t want to appear obsessive when I sent daily messages to the people who matter most to me. It would be important to allow myself to be and to realise that it is not selfish but healthy. I am slowly breaking out of my old patterns, and I am actively working on becoming and staying a better version of myself. But it is so damn hard.

Again, every choice I make along the way might not be the most popular or the one you would have made, but I don’t believe in regrets. Things that are set to happen will happen. In their own time. In their own right.
That said, right now, I feel the rays of light gently caressing my skin, and I plan on holding on – the winter will be long and cold as it is.

I am grateful for everyone who is with me on that journey. I apologize to everyone I hurt or will hurt in the process. Know that it’s not you, it’s me. (As cliché as it sounds).
I hope that you can find the light too, if you haven’t already. You are worth it. Because you are one of a kind. Valuable. Loveable. And this earth needs you. You matter, and I care. (More than I allow myself to show.)


Feathers in the rain

Yesterday, my daughter received a set to make glitter tattoo. She was practically begging me to have one too. I looked through the sheets of horses and hearts and saw this little feather. I liked it and I conceded that Giulia was allowed to put it on me. We chose the spot together and she did the rest. I like the way it looks, even if I am not too fond of glitter. It is pretty.

Today, I worked a lot in the garden. I don’t like that kind of work, but it has to be done. And then it started raining. I had blue tooth speakers outside and I began to smile. I couldn’t suppress it. It work was done and we were putting our stuff away and then I just stood there.

I closed my eyes and raised my arms. I looked at the sky and smiled again. My eyes closed and my hips began to sway from side to side. Gosh… I love to dance in the rain. Of course I was told to stop being silly and go inside. And yet… That moment made me happy. Really happy.

It’s the little things.

By the way, my daughter has a silver horse tattoo on the same spot…

Good day today.



I am kneeling

Trying to see the sky

But the shadows conceal its beauty

Staggering through the laughing crowd

The blood is pounding in my ears

A song plays behind my eyes

I need to move, or else I will combust

My twin is laughing; my soul is weeping

And I see your thoughts

And I feel your words

I am hiding

Maybe I will find what I need while

I am on my knees.

Together apart

An ocean apart, united in our hearts

Shining like bright stars.

I send soap bubbles up to the sky,

filled with love to fly up high.

And as my thoughts drift to you

I keep asking myself “what to do?”

Do I hide and lock myself away

Do I forget my pride and pray?

If I knew the answers, I wouldn’t cry

My bubbles burst, I have soap in my eye.

Our hearts are united but we are oceans apart

Who knew that falling for you would be this painful and hard?

parenting (or not)

I am a mom of three. Two girls (9 and 10) and a boy (14). I became a parent for the first time when I was 21 (4 weeks shy of my 22nd birthday).

Sometimes it is hard to be an authentic and honest parent, even more so when your mind is broken or fragile or unquiet.

I did not have a great childhood. It’s a part I rarely or never talk about, because who would really understand? No one who wasn’t in a similar situation. I was not beaten, I was not molested. I was ignored and emotionally blackmailed. I cared for a grown woman who was supposed to care for me, even though many adults were around. But apparently, even a 5 year old is old enough to wipe her mother’s butt  – I will never understand why my older sister didn’t have to do these things.

And don’t let me get started on my father. I don’t know him well, he left when I was a baby and my mom was already in a wheelchair. I like him, he is a fun man now, but when I was a child he was not there. Never there. He did not throw ball with me, he didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, he didn’t teach me to swim, he was nonexistent. He taught me how to run away from difficult situations – which I never did. He is a stranger. The worst part: I resent my parents. They shouldn’t have had a second child. My mom knew about her diagnosis when she was pregnant with me. I should not have been born – something that my grandmom never tired to tell me from an early age on.

I don’t visit my mom. I haven’t in a long time, years. And I know I should, but I can’t. If I talk to her or if I visit, I have a hard time recovering or coping. My mother lives in a home for disabled people. She is in a wheelchair and is not able to eat or do anything on her own anymore. Her mind is lucid, but her body doesn’t cooperate. I don’t have a relation with her anymore. She doesn’t try to get in touch either. Not even to ask about the kids. And my dad? He is a proud grandfather, but he never gets in touch on his own. My half-sister is our middleman.

I feel heartless and cold when I write things like this. But I feel rootless. I was depraved of love and affection when I was a kid. I didn’t talk to anyone outside of my home until I was 7. And no one seemed to mind. I was simply the shy kid. As I am working with kids and am in a special training about speech development, I can’t understand why no one sent me to a specialist, not even the teachers. Then again, I grew up in a very small village were everyone knew everyone. My family was the weird one anyway. So many adults on one heap, my mother, disabled, divorced with two kids from an Italian. My grandma tried to keep up appearances.  And everything that was not normal was put under a rug. We had large rugs…

Oh well… This was not really what I wanted to write about when I opened the app. I am an affectionate mom and apparently, I am hard but fair with the kids. We have rules that are defined for every kid and they know it. If we play by the rules everything is fine. And if we don’t, mom grumbles, but there is no yelling and rarely there are any punishments at all. (and if there is punishment, it is of the kind that the kids aren’t allowed to watch TV or they will not get a new book from the store that month – they get new books every months, because they asked for it.) And I spoil them all the time with little things. I am not afraid to be silly or to be lazy with them. Not every minute of the day needs to be planned, and we love to lie in on Saturdays and Sundays. They are intelligent kids, emotionally intelligent too. They are at the age when they ask about the self-harm scars on my arms. I never really know what to say. I don’t want them to feel that it is okay to deal with inner pain in such a toxic manner. I don’t want them to see how much of a failure I was and still am on occasion. And so, I often reply that I will tell them at a later time and change the subject. It is not my proudest parenting tool, so if any of you knows how I should deal with this situation, tell me. I am open to suggestions.

But this is not what I meant to write about either… I am unfocused.

Have you seen the movie Rambo 3? There is a scene where John Rambo goes to pick up weapons that were delivered for him. He is shown a suitcase with everything and the guy with him looks through the stuff. He finds a stick and asks “What’s this?” Rambo snaps it and replies “it’s blue light”. The guy nods. “What does it do?” “Turns blue.” Duhh!

Although that is not a children’s movie, it is a quote that is used at least once every day and is the first answer when asked “What’s this?” or “What does it do?” and yet, after a smile or a roll of the eyes (I hate when they do that) they get their deserved and rightful response.

Then there are the “Why?” questions. There are two kinds of “Why-questions”. A lament or an interested question. To the lament, I always reply “Because I said so, that’s why.” and that leaves no room for arguments at all. The other questions are answered to my best knowledge. If I don’t know something, I look it up with the kids together. It is not a shame not to have all the answers and admitting it. The kids are learning that it is okay to do research. I like that a lot. Kids ask questions, as they should. How else are they supposed to learn?

My kids also know how to do their own washing and they are very proud of that. They love cooking, and reading, and they like to be informed (watching or listening to the news.)  But, I am careful with giving them “adult” tasks. I want it to be fun for them and not an obligation because I cannot do it on my own. I make them unload the dishwasher everyday too, but that is because I want them to help with the daily chores. My ten-year old loves cleaning the bathrooms. I don’t. She uses way too much product, but that is okay, as long as it is fun in her eyes. We bought a new wireless vacuum cleaner, they fight about who is allowed to use it first.

Don’t get me wrong, my house is not spotless, far from it, even with the kids’ help. There is dust on the sideboard and there are a couple of folded laundry baskets in the living room that are waiting to be put away, there are greasy finger prints on the front of one of the kitchen cupboards, and at the entrance are dirty footprints from wet shoes. The beds aren’t made either. But, who cares? My kids are growing up in a home where there is lots of love and laughter.

What is happiness? My kids are my happiness.

It is raining again. I should grab the girls to go outside and jump in puddles. After their homework is done.

Not sure why I felt compelled to wrote this now; even more so after claiming that I was done with the blog. Apparently, I am not. Who would have guessed?!




I guess I am just chasing the light

But I blow out the candles out of fear the fire will burn me.

I guess I will never find what I am searching for

Too blind. Too scared. I give up. Forever alone with my broken mind.

Fade away

Fading away

Gaping wounds on my soul
Ice in my veins
No one will cry
Or put flowers on this grave

See me fading away

Uncomfortable silence
Comfortably numb
Falling down
Drowning in a puddle

Stop beating heart
Stop shaking hands

Fading away

Turn off the lights
Close the door
Absolute loneliness
Look the other way

I faded away.

The truth is, in the end, I am alone. When I need a shoulder or an ear, no one is available. Reaching out takes a lot of courage and energy. Being rejected – and I don’t say it is on purpose, but being unheard, unheeded, it does more damage than not reaching out at all.

Three people who insist and pretend to be always there… Just a message or a call away. The truth is, in the end, we are all alone.