A New Normal

My dad was white. My mom was black. But I didn't know it. I was young, maybe 6 or 7. I remember being in a store with Mom, and seeing 2 men talking. We were close enough to hear them talking. I couldn't tell you the exact conversation that was shared between them. I remember the look on my mom's face. It was not her normal happy or determined face. She had a look of disappointment and uneasiness. I didn't know why. She wouldn't tell me. Later that night sitting around the dinner table, my parents were talking. Ian ate happily, but I couldn't help but try to listen. I looked back and forth at their lips, trying to catch what they were talking about. I don't remember the exact conversation, but I do remember knowing she was talking about the two men. My mother said something about how one man was "black." I was confused. Mom, what does a "black man" mean?  They looked at me, then each other. Dad simply said, "It just means hi

It was late. My husband was sound asleep, and knowing that he would be waking up in just a couple of hours for work, I didn't want to wake him. My heart was pounding, my breathing was shallow, and my body would not calm down. My panic attack was taking over my mind, it started imagining the worse.  What are the worse possible things that could happen with this new job? The worse thing could be that no one will like me. Maybe I won't be good enough. Maybe I won't be able to keep up with all the responsibilities that I am going to be putting on my shoulders.  What some people may not realize about panic attacks, especially those attacks that accompany PTSD, is that expecting the worse is not always pessimism. It's not easy to just "flip the switch." It just is.  It's how the mind is processing information. It's not accurate, it's biased, and it perceives the bias as truth. And so at this moment, I felt like every possible thing that could