Tag: Love

Reflection

Disastrous Encounters – Life of a Dancer

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Let me set the stage for you. There’s this super “inspiring” story about a young woman in her early 20s, growing up in an environment filled with violence, poverty, and utter lack of education. Oh, and let’s not forget her “wonderful” attitude problem.

Now, this girl has been on her own since she was a mere 14 years old, and boy, did she fail spectacularly. I mean, who wouldn’t when you have no one to guide you, right? So at the ripe old age of 23, she’s sitting there, staring at her sad excuse for a cupboard, which consists of one lonely can of chicken with stars from Campbell’s chicken soup. Yep, that’s the highlight of her culinary collection.

Not only is she struggling to feed herself, but she’s also drowning in a pile of bills she can’t pay. Oh, and did I mention that she recently experienced some sort of traumatic event that left her unable to work long hours? Life just keeps hitting her with the good stuff.

But guess what? Just when things couldn’t get any worse, she loses her baby, and the cherry on top? Her own lovely mother swoops in and snatches away her last $600. Family, right? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

And then, out of the blue, this mysterious, dark, and oh-so-handsome man saunters into her life. He throws her a bone, claiming he can teach her how to never be hungry again. Who can resist an offer like that? So, this woman with an already hardened heart decides to give up on humanity altogether and becomes the “best” female dancer in Houston, Texas. Bravo.

But hey, who needs a real job, stability, or emotional support when you can dance your way to success, right? What a fantastic story of perseverance and sarcasm in the face of adversity.

Ah, the elusive nature of courage, forever intertwined with our old pal, fear. You see, I once had a deep-rooted fear that I would become a spitting image of my mother. A life of poverty, perpetual anger, endless hunger – you get the charming picture. But hey, guess what? I defied all odds and emerged as a confident, stunning woman who could stand on her own two feet. A true masterpiece in the making, if I do say so myself.

But hold onto your hats, folks, because life loves throwing curveballs. In walks this dashing, charming man, offering to whisk me away to a life better than my wildest dreams. Oh, how foolish I was. Little did I know that behind that charming façade lurked the ultimate scoundrel, the master of deception.

Yep, ladies and gents, I won the jackpot when it comes to disastrous encounters. This so-called savior turned out to be a walking, talking example of everything despicable. Ah, the irony. Trust me, I’ve met my fair share of scoundrels, but this one took the cake. And trust me, that cake tasted a little too much like betrayal and heartache.

So there you have it, folks. Life likes to throw us punches just when we gather the courage to face our fears. But fear not, for in our journey of self-discovery, we uncover the beauty in our strength and resilience. And as for those debonair charlatans? Well, they make for one heck of a story to tell.

Courage, fear, scoundrels – the grand tapestry of life’s little surprises. Keep following the blog for the sequel to this where I reveal just what this louse did. Make no mistake, I was culpable…

Reflection

Dissociative Amnesia – A Defense Mechanism

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

When I was a toddler, my mother bought me the most adorable little green dress paired with cute white bloomers. It was the early 60s, a time when children were encouraged to go outside and play. It was a more innocent time, and neighbors looked out for one another’s children.

One day, I found myself at my grandparents’ house, where my great grandparents were staying as well. As I tiptoed outside through the swinging screen door, the sound of it banging shut echoed through the yard and sidewalk. It was then that one of my great grandfather Sam’s friends called me over to his front porch. Filled with curiosity, I eagerly climbed up the stairs, taking each step with my tiny body, and settled down next to the man.

He engaged in conversation with me, our exchange filled with the simple joy of connecting generations. After a little while, he kindly invited me inside his home for a cookie. If you can imagine the unthinkable, that’s what happened. I was a toddler growing into a child. What he did damaged me not only physically, but profoundly as the years went on. What I am not going to do is list the details of this event, because to do so would give credence to any pedophile who might read this book and I will not engage. What he did was fundamentally wrong he changed the course of my life forever.

As I made my way back to my great grandmother’s room, blood trickled down my legs. A heavy sadness weighed on her face. It was a different time back then, where tragedies and traumas were kept tightly locked away within the confines of one’s heart. Seeking help from psychiatrists was unheard of, and even if they were available, people rarely sought their aid. Family matters were held close, secrets hidden beneath calm facades. She took my panties off, cleaned me up, put new clothes on and tossed the bloody mess in the trash can, along with any voice I might ever have.

In the aftermath of what had happened to me, silence prevailed. The incident was never spoken of, never acknowledged. Its impact on my mind, however, was profound. That day marked the birth of my dissociative amnesia, a defense mechanism that allowed me to detach from the memories that haunted me. It became my means of survival, a coping mechanism I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

In a world where support was scarce and talking about personal struggles was frowned upon, I found solace in the ability to dissociate myself from the trauma I endured. It became my shield, guarding me from the overwhelming weight of my experiences.

Though those times have changed, the impact of my dissociative amnesia remains. It is a testament to the lengths we go to protect ourselves in a world that may not always offer the understanding and support we need.

Reflection

Fun! Journey Down Memory Lane

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Age 6 – Let me take you on a little journey down memory lane, back to the good old days of being a kid and growing up in a budget-conscious household. Now, we weren’t just your run-of-the-mill kind of poor. Oh, no. We were the “bills don’t always get paid” kind of poor. But hey, it shaped us into some pretty resourceful little food wizards!

You see, we didn’t have the luxury of eating fancy meals night after night. Nope, we were all about stretching every penny and getting creative in the kitchen. Leftovers were our best friends. In fact, our meals were like a culinary adventure, never knowing what interesting concoction we’d come up with next. Who needs jelly sandwiches when you can have a cool aid and sugar extravaganza, right?

Now, here’s where things get interesting. The government swooped in with their powdered milk, cheese, rice, and good ol’ peanut butter. Those were the routine staples that graced our humble kitchen. And you know what? We made those ingredients sing! We turned them into masterpieces that would make even the most renowned chefs green with envy.

But you know what really brings a smile to my face when I think back to those days? Waking up each morning and engaging in the ultimate race to the floor vent. Oh yes, you read that right. We would snuggle up under blankets, strategically placed over the vent, and dress ourselves in those cozy warm layers. Why, you ask? Well, because dear old Mom had to turn off the heat at night to save every penny she could. So until our house warmed up, we had our little heating methods to keep us toasty.

And you know what? Despite the hardships and the chilly mornings, I look back on those days with a sense of pride. We may have been short on cash, but we were rich in resilience and creativity. So, the next time you think back on your childhood, remember that even the pinch of poverty can add a dash of character to your life story.

Ah, those were the days.

Reflection

Formidable Woman – Natural Warrior

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Age 60 – Let me take you on a journey into the remarkable life of my mother, a woman who defied all odds and inspired us with her unwavering strength.

Born into a world of turbulence, my mother faced adversity from the very beginning. Abandoned by her first husband, she found herself single and shouldering the responsibility of raising four children. To make matters worse, her dating life was fraught with disappointment, as she encountered selfish men who couldn’t comprehend her value.

But my mother’s childhood was no walk in the park either. She was shuffled around, given to her grandmother because she felt unwanted among her own family. Yet, despite the challenges that seemed relentless, my mother pressed on.

Working in a factory dominated by men, she earned merely a fraction of what her male counterparts did. Yet, tirelessly she toiled, striving to make ends meet for her children. Often taking on two jobs, she taught us the meaning of independence at an early age. Together, we learned the importance of sharing household duties, pitching in with cooking and cleaning.

In those moments, I couldn’t help but marvel at the strength exuding from my mother. She seemed invincible to me, not just a mom, but also a friend. Despite the mere twenty-year age gap between us, our bond grew stronger with each passing year.

Yes, my mother made mistakes along the way. The pain etched into her journey sometimes unleashed waves of anger and confusion. But amidst it all, I never ceased to admire her unwavering determination. No one dared to criticize her children – she was the epitome of a protective “momma bear.”

As time waltzed by and years turned into memories, our relationship blossomed further. Our hearts intertwined, forging an unbreakable connection. My mother’s resilience and love knew no bounds.

To me, she wasn’t just a survivor – she was a warrior. She triumphed over the trials that life hurled at her, refusing to surrender. Through her actions, she taught us the power of perseverance, instilling in us the belief that we too could conquer any obstacle life threw our way.

Reflection

Spaghetti Diaries – Stretching the Food Bill

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Once upon a time about the age of 8, in the land of tight wallets and creative kitchen endeavors, we found ourselves turning spaghetti into a magical dish that lasted an entire week. Those spaghetti strands saw us through thick and thin, from Monday’s dinner to Saturday’s leftovers. It was a wild and wiggly affair, but hey, we believed in the power of pasta!

And oh boy, did we get inventive with our protein sources too. Picture this: adorable little bunnies hopping around our backyard, blissfully unaware of their delicious destiny. Yes, you guessed it right. We “hopped” into action and turned those bunnies into a tasty feast. It was a “hare-raising” experience, to say the least.

It wasn’t just our meals that got resourceful, oh no. We had some serious beauty hacks going on too. Laundry soap doubling as shampoo? Check. Fabric softener moonlighting as conditioner? Oh, you betcha! We even embraced a clean and hygienic lifestyle by swapping out cleaning supplies for our personal grooming needs. Who needs fancy potions and lotions when you’ve got the versatile magic of cleaning products?

And let me tell you, the outcome of all those frugal choices was nothing short of legendary. My skin, my friend, is a testament to those thrifty times. It’s tougher than a superhero’s cape, more rugged than a cowboy’s boots. Dare I say, my skin laughs in the face of harsh elements. Ain’t no wind, ain’t no rain, ain’t no wrinkles that can bring it down!

So here’s to the days of penny-pinching and resourcefulness. They shaped us, they challenged us, and they made us appreciate the value of every dime. But fear not, dear reader, for the era of scrimping and substituting has long passed. We’ve come a long way since those days, armed with the knowledge that life doesn’t always have to be a budget-strapped adventure.

But every now and then, when life gets a little too comfortable, we fondly look back at those spaghetti feasts and bunny banquets. Because they remind us that even in the most challenging times, laughter and a pinch of creativity can turn the blandest of days into an epic adventure. May your wallets be a little fuller now, but may your hearts always be filled with the memories of the days when you had to embrace the quirkiest solutions life threw your way. Cheers to rugged skin and tales of thrifty triumphs! 🩷

Inspiration

Cleaning Chronicles: A Musical and Comical Journey

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Ah, the good ol’ days of childhood, where cleaning was a bizarre source of joy and laughter.

1. The Musical Interlude:

Picture this: a small, modest house filled with the delightful tunes of Patsy Cline, Tammy Waynett, and the legendary Cher. As we embarked on our Saturday cleaning rituals, these legendary artists became the soundtrack of our choreography. The lyrics blending with the hum of vacuum cleaners and the swish of brooms created a symphony of cleanliness.

2. Choreography, Siblings, and Shenanigans:

In our little 900 square foot kingdom, each sibling had their designated cleaning task. My eldest sister owned the kitchen, my younger sister took on vacuuming and dusting, and I, with all my youthful enthusiasm, was entrusted with the formidable job of tackling the bathrooms. We were a well-oiled cleaning machine, meeting in the middle of the house to exchange stories, share laughs, and most importantly, belt out some unforgettable tunes.

3. Memoirs of Bathroom Adventures:

Cleaning bathrooms is no small feat, especially when you’re armed with rubber gloves and cleaning supplies. From scrubbing toilets with the determination of an Olympic athlete to battling against soap scum with fierce determination, my bathroom-cleaning escapades led to some unforgettable experiences. But through it all, the laughter and singing never faded.

4. Improvised Dance Moves and Questionable Lyrics:

Who needs professional dancers when you have a trio of siblings armed with mops and brooms? Our cleaning sessions turned into impromptu dance rehearsals, complete with spins, twirls, and occasionally, some questionable interpretative moves that could rival any contemporary dance performance. And if the lyrics didn’t quite match the original song, we simply made up our own version, adding hilarious twists to the melodies.

5. Laughter as the Ultimate Cleaning Product:

As we scrubbed, dusted, and danced our way through the house, laughter became the magical ingredient that transformed cleaning from a mundane chore into an adventure. Stifled giggles turned into infectious laughter, allowing us to cherish those moments of camaraderie, even when faced with the most stubborn stains or the treacherous shower grime.

In the grand scheme of things, cleaning may seem like a trivial task, but when infused with music, laughter, and a sprinkle of sibling mischief, it became a cherished part of our childhood memories. These moments taught us the value of finding joy in the simplest of tasks and the power of shared laughter amidst the chaos.

Reflection

Epic Betrayal – Lust & Violence

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

Age 19 – It was through Chris, the guy I was dating at the time, that I met Dave. We became friends, or so I thought. One evening, we all found ourselves at my sister’s party, having a good time. But little did I know that this night would be etched into my memory like a nightmare.

As the night wore on, it became apparent that we needed more beer. The apartments we all lived in were conveniently situated within the same complex, so I suggested Dave and I go on a quick beer run to his place. Little did I know what horrors awaited me in those few short moments.

Dave’s large frame, towering at 6 foot 5 inches and weighing 320 pounds, struck an imposing figure. But I trusted him, naive to the darkness that hid within. We climbed the steps to his apartment, and as he unlocked the door, a wicked smile danced across his face. A chilling premonition should have gripped me, a warning to escape, but I remained oblivious.

As I stepped inside, Dave followed me, but instead of joining me in the room, he turned the key in the lock. Panic began to bubble within me, and I asked him what he was doing. But silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating my words. Dave, with purposeful strides, approached me, his face contorted with a twisted sense of entitlement.

In a voice laced with menace, he declared that he knew my true intentions. He claimed I had orchestrated this visit to his apartment because I desired him. No matter how vehemently I protested, my pleas fell on deaf ears. His hands forcefully grabbed me, and the next 30 minutes dissolved into a blur of physical dominance and my desperate attempts at self-defense.

I fought back, but his sheer strength overpowered me at every turn. In my agonizing vulnerability, I pleaded for him to stop, to reconsider, but he tore through my resistance, violating my boundaries in ways I can barely bring myself to recount. Once it was over, I emerged from that apartment broken, battered, and consumed by shame.

With blood staining my body, I fled back to the solitude of my sanctuary. I washed away the physical evidence, but the emotional scars ran deeper than the crimson streams that flowed down the drain. Despair engulfed me as I crawled into bed, my pain hidden away from the world. The weight of my silence became my penance, locked within the prison of my own mind.

For years, I carried this secret burden, never finding the courage to share my story. But now, in the telling, I hope to break the shackles of silence. No one should endure such terror alone. If my words reach even one person, giving them the strength to speak out, then perhaps some healing can begin.

Inspiration

An Unfinished Life – Taken Way Too Soon

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

When Shari was only six years old, I distinctly remember the first time she attempted to take her own life. Sadly, this was not an isolated incident. I witnessed many moments where she would retreat to the back of a closet, seeking solace from the world or persistently trying to bring an end to her suffering. It breaks my heart to recall these memories because Shari was truly an innocent and delicate little girl with a remarkable sense of humor. If she had ever pursued a career in comedy, she surely would have found immense success.

I believe that witnessing my mother’s frequent fits of rage, where I bore the brunt of her anger, must have profoundly impacted Shari. The full extent of her motivations remained a mystery to us, but as I matured and sought therapy for my own struggles, I gradually realized that Shari’s depression ran deep. She was a young girl who lacked the ability to effectively communicate her fears and inner turmoil. It became apparent that something was gravely wrong, and yet, Shari carried this burden throughout her nineteen years of life, unable to change her desire to put an end to her pain.

Then one evening when Shari was 19 years old…

I received a call that shattered my world, a call filled with rage and despair. It was my sister on the other end, struggling to deliver unthinkable news. My younger sister, Shari, had been taken from us in a cruel twist of fate – a victim of a sudden and tragic car accident. The words pierced through me, but my mind struggled to grasp their meaning. I collapsed to the floor, my body unable to bear the weight of such devastating truth.

Through the blur of tears and confusion, my best friend Linda came to my aid. She lifted me up, guided me into a cab, and together we arrived at the hospital. I stumbled towards her room, my heart pounding in my chest. And there she lay, my sweet Shari, so small and fragile. Her face was marred by bruises, unrecognizable to my bewildered eyes. I wept uncontrollably, my desperate prayers filling the air, begging for a miracle that would never come.

As if to compound the agony, the doctor entered the room, his words forever etched in my soul. He confirmed what I couldn’t bear to accept – she was gone, forever lost to us. The weight of such surreal news crashed upon me, leaving me numb and drained. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the anguish consuming every fiber of my being. And then, as if in a cruel twist of fate, the doctor delivered another blow. My shattered family awaited me in the chapel, ready to discuss the unimaginable – the end of her life.

I leaned over her, planting a tender kiss on her bruised cheek, and whispered the painful truth that hung heavy in the air. After all the struggles, after all the battles she fought within herself, it seemed as though she had finally achieved her wish. The lights of hope dimmed and darkness engulfed us all.

In that devastating moment, my world shattered into a million pieces. Waves of grief and sorrow crashed over me, threatening to drown me in their depths. The pain, oh the pain, felt insurmountable. It was as if a weight had been placed upon my soul, crushing it with an unyielding force. How could I bear this agonizing loss?

Her absence, the absence of Shari, felt like a void that could never be filled. She was so young, just nineteen, yet she had already faced her own battles, her own demons. How many times had I tried to shield her from the pain of our shared upbringing, only to realize that I couldn’t save her from herself? And now, I wouldn’t have the chance anymore. She was gone.

The tears ran dry, leaving me empty, hollow. I stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to find a sliver of light, a glimpse of hope. But despair enveloped me like a black tunnel, its grip tightening with each passing moment. I collapsed into the arms of the doctor, seeking solace, seeking any semblance of comfort.

Looking back now, I wish I had possessed the knowledge and understanding I have acquired over time. It pains me to think that there may have been ways to support and help Shari if only we had been equipped with the awareness and resources we have today.

The tears may have stopped, but the ache in my soul remained. In this desolate landscape of sorrow, I vowed to find a way to honor Shari’s memory and find solace in the love that still surrounded me.

Reflection

Crash! Shattered World

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2024 – Rebecca Nietert

I was 22. I awoke abruptly, my heart pounding, the taste of fear on my tongue. Confusion flooded my mind as I struggled to comprehend my surroundings. Where was I? What had happened? Panic set in as I surveyed the wreckage around me.

The cab of the truck I had been driving was mangled, an unrecognizable mess of twisted metal. Both the front and back were crushed, leaving me trapped within its confines. With each passing second, my terror intensified, knowing that escape seemed impossible.

I frantically attempted to open the door, my hands shaking with adrenaline. But it refused to budge, as though it was mocking my desperate attempts for freedom. I felt a warm wetness on my back and immediately knew that blood was seeping down, painting a macabre picture of the danger I was in.

My gaze shifted to the shattered back window, a small glimmer of hope in the midst of my terror. Summoning every ounce of strength left within me, I willed my body to maneuver through that narrow opening, the fear and pain pushing me onwards.

As I emerged onto the cold, unforgiving ground, the full extent of the wreckage became apparent. It was clear that someone had recklessly crashed into me from behind, propelling my truck into the brick and mortar store ahead. My mind raced, trying to comprehend the force that had caused this devastation.

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. In that moment, I became acutely aware of the life growing within me. I was pregnant. But the impact had taken that precious gift from me, leaving behind a void that seemed to echo with sorrow.

Dread filled my veins as I surveyed the deserted scene. The person responsible for this horror had vanished. I was left alone, injured and terrified, facing an uncertain fate. Time was against me, fading away with each passing moment.

A sudden rush of pain coursed through my body, jolting me back to the cruel reality of my situation. The blood continued its descent, a chilling reminder of the loss and danger that surrounded me. Morning had arrived quietly, indifferent to the nightmare unfolding before me.

And then, as if surrendering to the weight of my fear, my body gave way. Everything faded into darkness, my exhausted mind seeking respite from the terror that had become my existence.

Human Interest, Inspiration, Journal Entry, Opinion, Reflection

Witness to the Brooding Storm Within – But Remember Our Worth

Reba Nietert

Copyright 2022 – Rebecca Nietert

I will never comprehend the actions of someone who chooses to take offense without engaging in constructive discussion. Instead, they resort to screaming, blocking, and shutting out any opposing viewpoints. It reminds me of a child throwing a tantrum. In a healthy relationship, conflicts should be resolved with love and understanding. However, when one party refuses to reciprocate that love and understanding, the relationship becomes selfish, one-sided, and ultimately doomed. Some temper tantrums leave irreparable damage. It’s truly disheartening, but sadly, it is the reality we sometimes face.

Recently, I experienced this kind of behavior firsthand. The person in question simply stated, “I spoke my mind,” believing that was the end of it. It did not matter how their words were delivered, the emotions they stirred, or the hurtful things they said in anger. In their mind, they had the right to express their thoughts without being held accountable for their actions. They expected the recipient of their anger to passively agree with everything they believed, and any form of contradiction was unacceptable. When I attempted to explain that their personalization of issues in my life was misguided, the response was immediate – I was blocked and mocked.

It is with a heavy heart that I recount this story. It serves as a reminder of the challenges we face when trying to navigate human relationships. The inability to engage in meaningful dialogue, to empathize with others, and to understand that communication is a two-way street can have devastating consequences. It is my hope that we can all strive to approach conflicts with love and openness, ready to listen and learn from one another. In doing so, we may find the path towards healing and genuine connection.

It’s disheartening to witness how some individuals, despite their professional façade or seemingly loving demeanor, can harbor a brooding storm within. For those of us blessed with the inability to desert, it can be a heavy burden to bear.

Yet, in these moments, it’s crucial to remind ourselves of our own worth. We must remember that our friendships hold value, even when surrounded by individuals whose true nature remains hidden. It’s important to affirm ourselves and refuse to internalize the hateful words that may come our way. We must hold steadfast to our path, always striving to do what is right, regardless of how others may behave.

This is what defines a person of character, especially in times like these. And if the storm persists, if the toxicity becomes unbearable, it is okay to take action. It is okay to light the match and set the bridge ablaze, severing ties that no longer serve our emotional well-being.

Remember, dear reader, you are not alone in your experiences. The world is filled with souls struggling with similar challenges. But it is in recognizing our own worth, staying true to our values, and being unafraid to let go of those who bring us down, that we can find solace.

So, as you traverse the untamed waters of life, hold onto your character. Embrace the sadness that may come, but let it fuel your determination to remain true to yourself. And know that as you set those bridges aflame, you make space for new connections that will bring you warmth, joy, and a sense of peace.

You deserve it.