IN WHICH I TALK ABOUT MY DECISION TO LEAVE TEACHING

 

my very first classroom

When I made the decision to leave teaching for good in 2021, it was a relief. I had left a few times previously, but I always went back because I missed it. I taught for eight complete years, and in 2021 I left a few months into the school year. I thought I'd regret or feel bad about choosing to leave mid-first semester, but all I felt was relief. 

I started in January of 2013 at an alternative school. It was hard and amazing and wonderful. From there I moved into traditional schools and found my niche was with low SES schools connecting with kids who were struggling. I wanted to help them. I wanted to make sure they knew that someone believed in them and knew they could achieve great things. I loved my students, and I keep in touch with many of them still today. It's a privilege to see them accomplish things in their life and be able to be a part of that. 

I think my disconnect with teaching came my last year teaching in Oklahoma. I was teaching junior high students, and everyday during fifth hour Language Arts two students sat on the floor by my desk after the lesson during independent work time. They would do their work and chat with me. It was one of my favorite parts of the day. 

Then came the day when the principal called me to let me know that one of those students had killed himself. It was devastating for everyone. I still think about him and wish he was able to experience life. I wish I could have taken his pain. 

I taught for a year after that when we moved to Arizona, but I found myself guarded. I liked my students, but I didn't let myself connect like I had previously. I wasn't as good of a teacher because of this. Sure I still taught them what they needed to know and treated them well. It just wan't the same because I couldn't reach those struggling kids the way they needed to be reached. I was scared to feel that hurt again. The hurt of losing one. Of not being able to reach one. 

When I attempted to go back in 2021 it was hard. The guardedness was still there. I knew I didn't want to be there. Then my grandfather died. He raised me, so that hit me really hard. I was relieved when after we got back from Florida that I had a positive Covid test because that meant that in addition to my week of bereavement I would be out for a mandatory ten days. I taught via zoom for the majority of those days. But I knew I did not want to go back. I knew that my mental and physical health was not up to the task of teaching. 

I sent in a resignation and it was denied. 

I was in shock. Who doesn't accept a resignation? I was told by the district that in order to break my contract I needed to pay them a $1000 fee. After getting letters from both my psychiatrist and a general practitioner, I informed them that I was not paying that and asked why they would want to force a teacher who was struggling with their mental and physical health into a classroom? They had no good answer and released me from my contract. 

Honestly, my experience teaching at that high school in the Tucson metro area was the worst one. During my time there I was consistently harassed by my assistant cheer coach (who has since been arrested for embezzling money from the cheer team - that happened after she became head coach after I left) as well as her husband. I was emotionally exhausted from fighting her on everything to then also fighting to build a successful cheer program and teach a subject I'd never taught before and had very little background in. 

Sometimes I still miss teaching. I miss connecting with students. I miss seeing their AHA moments. But I know that part of my life is over. I will cherish the connections I made for the rest of my life, and I will always be there for any past students. I will celebrate them and cheer for them. 

I will share with new teachers to be careful about how much of yourself you give because it is emotionally exhausting. We need good teachers, and we need ones who don't burn out because they give everything for a system that gives them nothing. I do consider going back to get my PhD to teach at a collegiate level. But it's a lot of work, so I want to make sure it's something I really want to do. 

I loved my time teaching secondary education, and I look fondly on the majority of my memories. It was hard and rewarding. I hope everyone gets to experience something like it during their lifetime. 

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IN WHICH I TALK ABOUT MEDS

 

me, Cynthia, & Dakota

I have had a tumultuous relationship in being on medication for my mental illnesses. I am, like many bipolar individuals, notoriously bad at what the doctors refer to as "med compliance" meaning I often will take myself off of my meds. Sometimes with disastrous consequences. Sometimes with no consequences. 

When I first spoke to a doctor about how I was feeling as an adult, it was a GP, and he said I was just anxious and maybe a little depressed. He prescribed me Zoloft. The results of the Zoloft prescription were pretty bad. I went into a rapid cycling bipolar phase where I was manic and then in a deep depressive state every few weeks. It was untenable for both me and everyone around me. I had zero impulse control. I ended my marriage, and although ending the marriage was best the way I did it was entirely wrong. 

Over the years as a teen and young adult, I did take anxiety meds or sleeping meds on and off, but nothing ever really seemed to fully help and so I would take myself off of them. 

I finally went to an actual psychiatrist, who diagnosed me as bipolar one, OCD, with anxiety and PTSD. For the first time in my life I felt like I wasn't crazy. That might seem counterintuitive, but I had reasons for my behavior that meant I wasn't just wild or unmanageable. I was dealing with some circumstances beyond my control, but I could take control through meds and therapy. It was empowering for me. And it was also devastating as I realized I could never stop being vigilant with my mental health. 

I have tried various medications for these issues, and I encourage you to talk to a psychiatrist if you think you have mental health issues. Although my GP meant well, he just wasn't equipped to diagnose me and his prescription turned my life into a waking nightmare. He should have referred me instead of prescribing something. Currently, I am on lamictal for the bipolar and have emergency anxiety meds as well as meds for sleeping and a med for night terrors. It may seem like a lot, but the only one I take daily is the lamictal. The others are just as needed. I also get med checks every other month, as well as therapy. 

In addition to the medications, I also try to maintain some other things in my life to help stabilize myself. One of these things is sleep, which is one of the biggest disruptors of mental health especially those with mood or personality disorders. I try to keep the same general schedule in my day as routine tends to help as well. Overall, there are a multitude of things that can help each individual. What works for one person may not work for another. It's up to us to advocate for ourselves and find the magic combination for us. 

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THAT TIME I GOT BULLIED OFF THE INTERNET

 

my old blog header circa 2011

I started my first blog around 2009. I had moved to Oklahoma from Florida in the summer of 2008, and I was feeling the need for a creative outlet, it was essentially a way for my family and friends to keep up on my new life. And at first that's all it was, but then blogs started ramping up and being wildly popular. I started selling ad space on my blog, and soon I was making a significant amount of profit each month. Plus sponsored posts. 

It was the first time I felt like I could probably make money from my writing. My blog grew to have over 15K subscribers, and I felt very proud of it. I had blog friends all over the world, and I mostly managed to escape a lot of the scrutiny that many bloggers faced. 

As Twitter became more and more popular, all the bloggers were using it to connect and promote which was both amazing and ended up being terrible. For me, at least. Obviously I joined Twitter and began to connect and promote. 

I had been blogger for many years at this point, and I felt pretty secure in my ability to ignore hateful comments or any vitriol said about me specifically. 

I was so wrong. 

I can't remember exact dates or even what the disagreement was about. I only remember who, and no I will not say who it was because I never want to experience what happened next again. It's also why I get super weird about fandoms that don't accept any valid criticism of the fandom or the person/thing whatever that the fandom is based on. 

It was circa 2013/2014, I was on Twitter and disagreed with a very popular (think millions of followers) blogger. We were mutuals and had spoken on a number of occasions. They had given me advice on blogging. The disagreement was not a personal attack, and I was not mean or vindictive about it. They disagreed back, then retweeted it and encouraged their fans to go tell me how wrong I was. 

For weeks, I continued trying to fulfill my ad agreements to their contracts, but I couldn't see through the hate mail. It filled my Twitter, my public Facebook page for the blog, my email inbox, and my blog comments. I was told to just "KYS". Everything was made fun of including how I looked, my kid, my then husband, my home, literally nothing was off limits.  Eventually I stopped posting on social media and then I gave up my blog once I ended the contracts I had. 

The thing that was my lifeline, my creative outlet, and to be quite honest the majority of my social life was ruined for me. I couldn't handle the massive amounts of commenting that was pure cruelty. I deleted everything. No social media, no blog...nothing.

Over the years I've gone back to social media and blogging, but it wasn't until recently that I started to actually try to do it again. I want to fulfill my dreams as an author, and in this time period social media is the way to reach the most people. The internet has not gotten nicer, and one could argue that it's gotten much worse. 

I still think I have too much social media because of the whole "niche down" concept. But I do balance it better now. Although I do still find myself cringing when I see these out of control fandoms that attack others for disagreeing with someone, and to be 100% honest I often do not express my disagreements with popular creators online for fear of being attacked again. 

I'm still traumatized by the whole ordeal. It does still control my actions in the online sphere. But I am learning to protect my peace and mental health, so while I often scroll away from disagreements I do still speak out when it's something really important, like human rights. 

It's a balancing act and we're all on a tightrope. 

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THAT TIME I TOOK A TRIP WITH MY EX

 

Me in Mexico July 2017

In 2015, my marriage was at the beginning of the end. If I'm honest with myself, it was a marriage that never should have happened. I lost so much of myself, but that's a deeper reflection for another read. (You can read it in my meNoir that comes out in 2025)

By 2017, I had moved out into my own apartment. He was dating the woman he told me I didn't have to worry about because she was "just a friend". My son (that he adopted) was getting ready to start his senior year, and we had (I had) already pre-paid for a four person family vacation to an all inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta. 

It was suggested to me that I forfeit my ticket so the new girlfriend could attend, which I felt was ludicrous, especially considering that I had paid for the entirety of the trip. I told my ex that I didn't care if he forfeited his seat, but that I was under no circumstances not going to be in Mexico for that week. And so four of us: me, my ex, our son, and our son's best friend headed off to Mexico for a seven days and six nights. 

I spent my days drinking in pools, or on the beach enjoying all of the restaurants and food carts within the resort. Buying crafts from people who were selling them on the beach or in the cutest little market down the street from the resort. I went on excursions and snorkeled by a bird sanctuary island. I went sailing. I rode jet skis. And the majority of it, I did alone.  

I have fond memories of many things about this trip. I think one of the fondest things is that I felt free. It was actually the most me I ever was with my ex. I didn't worry about what I was wearing or how I did my hair or that my tattoos were showing or what he would think if I was drinking margaritas before noon. Even though he was there, I was the one in control of me. It was pivotal for me to know I was going to be okay, better than okay, after ending a decade long relationship. 

It was the start of me finding myself again. And now seven years later, I feel incredibly free and more like the real me than I have felt in many years. I still have moments of doubt and pain and questions, but I think that's normal. 

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WHAT'S IN AN AUTHOR NAME?

 Rhonda Marie...writes books.

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Why would I choose to publish under only my first and middle name? 

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It's because I wish I had gotten rid of the last name that I took of my ex-husband's when I got divorced. The reason I didn't is because it's a huge pain in the ass to change everything over, and I wanted to have the same last name as my son. Now that my relationship with my son is essentially non-existent, this last name is a reminder of everything I gave up in my life. It reminds me of how I spent a decade trying to change myself and be someone I wasn't in order to make others happy. It reminds me of the ignored pleas for things to change. It reminds me of losing my confidence in myself and everything I loved. 

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I believe that I am a good writer, and I think my ideas will be ones that people like. I hope that I will find success through my writing and stories, so I don't want that last name attached to that hope. That last name symbolizes a loss of hope and a loss of confidence. So I dropped it. 

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I have to keep it as my legal name, or get it changed which is wildly expensive to just change a last name! Although it has to be attached to my barrel racing and rodeo dreams, it doesn't have to be attached to my author dreams. And for the barrel racing and rodeo dreams, I look at it as he always told me I couldn't do it...so I will and I'll bring along his last name. He couldn't get that last name to any of the big shows, so I will. ;)

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FEELINGS on a FRIDAY

 

I've started and restarted this blog a ton of times because I'm angry, and I don't want to just spew my anger onto the world or say something that we will all regret.

Lately, I have been feeling sad. Like a nostalgic sort of sad where I miss my family and friends from my past. I have been thinking about times I missed to spend with those that are dead. I wish I had learned my grandma's recipes. I miss "helping" my uncle when he would work on my cars. I miss my grandpa and going to breakfast with him. I miss those that live far away. I miss hanging out with my mom, seeing my nieces grow up. I miss the friends I had back then; they're still my friends but from a distance. 

I think the breaking up of friendships in my life recently has made me reminisce about having true friendships and people who are real in my life. 

It's also been an emotional time as I've decided to rehome some horses that we had taken in. It's always emotional for me when they leave, but I know that in order for them all to have the attention they deserve then it's time. Read more about it over at my horse blog. Here!

It's sort of been a culmination of things that have gotten me feeling just a little sad. But this season will pass as they always do.

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IMPOSTER SYNDROME

Imposter Syndrome?

I struggle with Imposter Syndrome, and I always think that with just a little more experience or a little more education or a little more something that it will go away. I remember when I was in grad school for my Literature degree, and I was talking to professors who were all doctoral degree holders, had published multiple papers, and were recognized in their field of expertise and nearly every single one of them felt imposter syndrome. Especially the women. 

When I think logically about what I know and what I've accomplished and who I am, then I know that in certain areas I am an expert. I am not an imposter. I do have the right and have earned the right to be an expert in those things. And I also know that being an expert doesn't mean we stop learning or adjusting our thoughts based on new research and new evidence. 

I recently had some people I thought were my friends attempt to shake my confidence. They're still attempting through some pretty immature and childish methods. But this is the thing...they are the kind of people who do not have imposter syndrome at all. And I'll get to why that's an issue as much as those who deal with imposter syndrome all the time.

People who struggle with imposter syndrome are always questioning their expertise and if they should feel confident in their knowledge or experience. This is because they have the knowledge to know their limitations. These people are quietly sharing knowledge, and when they do share people should listen and learn. 

Those that feel as though they are experts on everything and speak as though they are I have found are the ones that know the least. The ones yelling the loudest about how smart they are or how much they know usually should be the ones to sit down and listen to try to learn. If you never question your expertise on anything or reevaluate your knowledge compared to new research or methods then you're stagnant. And you're not an expert. 

If you have wrong information, and when confronted with that wrong information you staunchly deny that you could possibly be wrong...YIKES. 

So yes, I do have imposter syndrome...about a lot of things that I probably shouldn't. But that's better than the alternative. 

**this blog is speaking in generalities and does not take into account individual personalities or nuance..please be offended if you want, but complain about it elsewhere**

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FRIENDSHIP FUNERAL

 

I recently made the decision to stop being friends with a group of people after I realized their behavior was not one time flukes and that their whole vibe just didn't mesh with what I want in my life. 

I had stopped being involved with them in business for a multitude of reasons including differences of opinion on how things should be done involving horse care. Then I started finding out some of the shady practices that I felt were unethical, and some that I was sure were illegal. I did not want to be involved, so I left the partnership. 

After I left the business partnership, I found that the friendship fizzled. Suddenly, once I could no longer benefit them they didn't talk to me...and if I reached out the conversation was stifled. Plans were made and never followed through on. Meanwhile, I was struggling seeing all of their social media posts because I knew they were all fake. I knew the behind the scenes, and it made me feel gross. 

So I did what anyone should do if they don't like what someone is posting on social media, and I unfollowed and unfriended them. 

Immediately following that I began to get a TON of messages on multiple social media platforms from fake looking accounts telling me I better not talk about these businesses or I'd regret it. *cue confused look* I also got messages from people we knew mutually asking me what happened with me leaving the businesses and why they would be getting messages telling them I'm untrustworthy and not to believe anything I say. I was pretty confused by all of this because I never said anything bad about them or posted anything negative, yet they apparently felt the need to say negative things about me? 

It feels weird to grieve the loss of friendships that were never real, but I got my hopes up and felt that these were real. Maybe it hurts even more to realize that the whole thing was one sided. I don't know. 

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Ignoring Red Flags

 

As I write my meNoir, I am reminded of a lot of situations that I'd rather forget. But I think that by living my life and experiences out loud that might help someone else learn from my mistakes or recognize some traits in themselves that will lead to getting help sooner than I did. As I write I find that I am not as healed from some things as I believed myself to be, which is fine. 

For instance, I shared on my instagram a picture taken from the night I met the first person I was exclusive with after my separation from a ten year long toxic relationship. I remember it because of the reaction of how I looked, which in retrospect should have been a red flag that so much emphasis was placed on how I looked instead of anything meaningful. And I remember it because he ended up being a big fat married liar who used me to fulfill a fantasy. 

I honestly hadn't thought about him in years, but in writing about my experiences in toxic relationship after toxic relationship and what I've learned about myself through analyzing them is that I was still angry at him. I also learned a lot about my friendships with other women through that particular fiasco, which is a whole other memoir. There is just entirely too much woman on woman hatred over men. And for what?

A mid man with a slightly below average sized appendage? 

Seriously not worth it y'all. 

A large theme in my meNoir is me ignoring red flags because I did not have the self worth to stand up and say I didn't deserve that treatment, so I would accept small slights which turned into larger slights and sometimes into actual criminal treatment of me. 

To be clear, I do understand that it was not my fault that I was treated poorly by men. I do understand that their behavior is the despicable side. However, I also acknowledge that my low self esteem and desire to feel loved and appreciated contributed to my repeatedly ending up in relationships with men who absolutely did not deserve me. Although not my fault that I was treated poorly I did contribute to the direction my life was taking. 

Obviously, I am now in a stable, safe, happy relationship where I am valued for who I am. That's why I am able to write about these things and acknowledge them. 

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This is the story of a girl....

 Let me tell you this story. 

It's about a girl, woman really, who wanted a stable life and family for her son so badly that she entered into a relationship and marriage with someone who, on the outside seemed like, they wanted the same thing. And how that person destroyed her. 

When my son was seven years old, I was finally ready for another relationship after being single for almost two years following a physically and mentally abusive relationship with a man that left me depressed for over a year. That's when I met T. By all outer appearances, T appeared like a stable nice person who worked, helped his mom and sister, and also wanted to find someone to build a life with. 

And a life was built. 

However, during that life I found out that things are not always as they appear. It wasn't until after I moved to Oklahoma after dating long distance for a year that I began to learn more. I saw a lot of red flags, but I ignored them because I was desperate to provide my son that nuclear family, and T was an excellent dad to J. A little too strict, but it was clear that he loved him a great deal and would do anything for him along with the rest of his family. For that, I was willing to overlook the toll the relationship was taking on me. 

When I began to ask for things to change, I was always assured that they would and then they never did. This cycle went on repeatedly for years. To even get T to take me seriously I would have to threaten to leave, then the same empty promises that things would change would occur, rinse and repeat. 

Over the course of nearly ten years, I was made fun of (by my then husband) about my stretch marks from being pregnant, about the weight I gained when my physical health began to decline (and let me put this in perspective: before this man got his weight loss surgery he was over 400 pounds with me never making fun of his weight struggles), my hair was too straight, my eye was crooked, etc. 

I was also told that I would never fulfill my rodeo and barrel racing goals because I wasn't a good rider. I had never ridden a nice horse. I didn't have the skills to do this. And even though it's been years, I still struggle with confidence in riding. I literally hear his voice in my head telling me these things. 

As my mental health began to decline, I began having wilder swings with my undiagnosed bipolar. My anxiety was uncontainable. I lost my impulse control. The only thing tethering me to any sort of reality was my son. And slowly T began to take that as well. Outings with my son were controlled. I was told that the things we liked to do together like see movies, or watch certain shows together, or read books was useless and stupid and I needed to grow up. It was a fight every time I wanted to take him to a midnight premiere of something we loved or go spend the day doing something deemed "stupid" by T. 

As J got older I felt him slipping away with the constant making fun of me and things I liked and promoting things that T liked. And by time my kid was in high school and the marriage was finally done, I had been painted as a crazy impulsive mentally unstable person. And T had come out as the victim of this person who tried his best and failed because I was just "too psychotic". 

Looking back I know it was gaslighting and mentally abusive. I actually didn't realize it was mental abuse until I was telling my therapist about some of the things I was struggling with that had been said to me by him and she just told me. I still have trouble with it. It has and continues to follow me. 

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I'm going to write the full stories in my MeNoirs which I am working on, but I wanted to share some excerpts of what I'm working on here as well. The writing of this meNoir in which I explore my propensity for toxic relationships with men is cathartic. It is bringing up all of the buried shit that I need and want to deal with. 

I hope y'all love it. 

Hello 2024

 

This picture is taken in a time when I was deeply unhappy, my mental health was off the deep end, and I was on the verge of destroying my life because of the combination of those two things. 

I'm not even close to the same person that I was in that photo. 

And in 2024, I'm going to embrace even more being who I am. My word for the year is authentic. 

As I work on my memoir collection, I want to share openly about my life and the things I've worked through. I want other people to know that they can overcome the same things that I've overcome. I want them to know that it won't be easy, and it won't be linear...but it can be done. 

I often hold back out of fear of being "too much" or something. But if I'm too much then they can go find less. I'm heading into 2024 letting go of my insecurities and my fear of what others thing or fear of failing. For me, 2024 is more about letting go of things that no longer serve me instead of trying to become something I am not. 

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The Last Day of 2023

 

As 2023 closes I tend to feel a little introspective. I try to look back at the year objectively, but we all know how hard that can be. I tend to be pretty hard on myself. 

I gave myself a word of the year this past year, and I don't feel like I lived up to it. My word was consistency. I tend to get distracted or discouraged which keeps me from maintaining consistency. But I did not do it. At least not to the point that I wanted to. I hope to continue working on this in the future as well as being more organized and managing my time better. 

Overall, I can't complain too much about 2023. We moved onto a larger property, got a bunch of new chickens, worked out getting some new horses and mini donkeys in the beginning of the new year. Rescued a desert horse that had been turned loose. 

I closed Lust + Lore, which was a huge relief. I found an amazing business partner and friend for Neon Daisy Co., which made me want to keep that business going. I am starting a passion project next year with teaching horsemanship and beginner riding in a homeschool class once a week as well as starting a Barrel Racer University class one night a week. The farm is moving forward, and it will soon be making some money with farm products. I'm excited as far as career moves that I am making. 

I am about to apply for a PhD program that I'm super excited about. 

Things are going pretty okay. 

How was your 2023?

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Social Media Activism: Politics in Bookspaces Online

 

Sorry no folklore Friday. Just a little chat about why I run my online spaces in the manner that I do! 

I don't really talk about politics or current events online. I try not to get into political arguments, and I don't really just outright share my opinion on things. Occasionally I will share a passing thought when I think the conversation can be just a conversation and not a debate. I almost always regret it because there is always one person who attacks or makes it personal or otherwise cannot behave like an adult.  

I wasn't always like this online. 

I used to argue with the best of them and share my political opinions. I used to share every belief I have and fight for them. I used to try to get people to share my opinions and beliefs and stand up with me for human rights. But these days I am mostly over social media activism. 

Why?

That's an incredible question. 

One of the biggest reasons is I feel simply posting online changes nothing. People can post their opinions to "raise awareness" regarding issues all day, but does it help to change those issues? Likely not. What I found in these spaces is that a lot of the people jumping on bandwagons regarding certain things in politics have not actually done any substantial research to support their claims, yet they proudly tout their opinion as fact. They relied on a lot of misinformation and once they formed their opinion it never changed, even in the face of fact that proved their original theory to be completely unfounded. So what's the point of debating online when opinions don't actually change? 

I was thinking about it while doing dishes the other day, and I was wondering if I was just less idealistic now...perhaps a little more jaded because of some of the things I've learned and seen during my career and in my research journey, or if it was something else, like a growing disdain for the people who speak the loudest and do nothing worthwhile outside of their social media activism. 

I think it's a little of both. 

In this age of social media people rarely research things to figure out if it's actually propaganda before they either declare it fact or fake news. Then once they make their declaration, they cling to it like a drowning human clings to a life preserver. 

Through the course of my research, in both of my graduate programs and subsequent careers, I learned quite a bit about humanity and the absolutely awful things they will do to one another, especially once they convince themselves the people on the other side are less than human. We've done it since time began, and we probably won't stop anytime soon. So while yes, in my time offline I research and work on things to help humanity and help underserved communities and make changes to make the Earth a better place, while I am online I'm just here to share things and find a community and have fun. 

Compartmentalization is key for anyone working in spaces where they are confronted with the worst of humanity. When people are unable to have a space away that is when they burn out and cannot help anyone.  

I was recently accused of being a person who complains about politics in book spaces because I want to close my eyes to the atrocities in the world. And while yes that is partially true as I do sometimes need to close my eyes to the world, it is not because I am ignoring them in totality. I also do not care if others discuss politics in their book spaces; I just don't follow those people because for me my book space is a space to escape. I just want the respect of not being judged by what someone does not know about me for making that decision. I don't judge them for relating all of their reading to politics, so I expect the same respect back. 

Many people who, like me, don't want or are unable to discuss current events or politics or human rights online constantly are being judged rather harshly and unfairly for not sharing our views online. We are told that we aren't doing enough or sharing enough or bring enough awareness. And with all due respect, feel free to do whatever you want in your corner of the internet. 

In which I lived across the street from a serial killer

 Okay, so as I write out these stories of things I've weirdly experienced in my life I find that they're not really that exciting beyond the initial shock value of them. 

TW: serial murder, SA, robbery, arson

So far, we've learned about how I found a dead body, was in two drug raids/busts, and today I'm talking about living across the street from a serial killer. 

Growing up I lived for 2.5 ish years on a street where there were about 5 or 6 houses and we all knew one another. In four of the houses there were all kids in the same age range, so we all played together and hung out basically all of the time. I'm still friends with two of these women. 

I'm not going to use any of their names, but I am going to link an article about the serial killer at the bottom of this blog if you want to read it. 

I remember hanging out at my friend's house all the time. They had an in ground swimming pool with a slide, so of course all the neighborhood kids would go over there and swim. Her mom started dating this man and eventually he moved in. I honestly remember him being super nice. I don't think I ever heard him yell or get angry a single time. 

This man would play with the kids in the pool, play tag, whatever we asked. And then at night he would go to "work" which meant he raped, robbed, and killed elderly people. The first confirmed time was in 1991 which is when we still lived across the street from him. Then after the first federal drug raid we moved since my stepfather went to federal prison. 

Then the killings seemed to ramp up. 

He worked as a handyman which gave him access to their home, then he would later come back and commit these heinous crimes. He was sentenced to death, but he was killed in a prison riot before the sentence could be carried out. 

Read more about him and his crimes here.

I did not know him much more than the boyfriend of a friend's mom who was around when we were at their home. But from what I remember he wasn't someone I would have immediately assumed "that guy is a psycho killer". 

I do think about the families of the victims and how awful these crimes were. I also think about the fact that he was arrested a few times in different jurisdictions, but because of a lack of interagency cooperation and intel sharing it took him committing multiple homicides before he was caught. It's one of the things I wrote about extensively in both my Law & Criminology degree and my Intel Studies degree. 

Maybe this case was the opening for my interest in that particular topic. But that's my story of my encounter with a serial killer. 

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Not one, but TWO federal raids in my lifetime

 

It's weird that a person would experience one federal raid in their life, right? 

I mean, unless that person were a federal law enforcement officer, which I am not and never have been. 

Yet, I've been in two federal drug raids. And I'm going to tell y'all all about them. 

**FIRST FEDERAL RAID**

The first one was when I had just turned 11. I was sleeping. It was like 0300 on some random weekday because that's like a super good time to raid drug dealers homes since they're probably asleep. The element of surprise is not just something they aim for in movies and procedural crime dramas (which I loooove). 

Also let me just tell you that I am so glad the first raid happened because I was about to eliminate my stepfather myself (more on that in another blog) if you know what I mean. 

It seemed like there was about eleventy billion officers in tactical gear that entered our house at once telling everyone to not move while putting my stepfather in handcuffs. An officer stayed with me in my room. She was super nice, although I think she misunderstood my questions when I asked who they were there for and thought I was sad that he was going. I was not. 

Then I just went back to sleep, got up a few hours later, then went to school for a day of fun fifth grade learning. 

**SECOND FEDERAL RAID**

Equally not as exciting really, but when I was 18 I worked at a bar in Ybor City, Florida. They got raided for selling drugs in the bar. 

After just looking this one up it was only state and local agencies that did the raid. 

Essentially we were just working and they came in to execute the warrant. We all had to sit outside and give statements and have our stuff searched. It was super uneventful for those of us not selling drugs in the club. 

It's just weird that I've been in TWO drug raids in my lifetime. Side note: I have done tons of drugs, but never been arrested for them. And it's all been pure circumstantial luck that it never happened. Stay tuned for more stories about that. 

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That time I found a dead body

 

Iris, our ferret
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Let me start this by saying that as a kid I was obsessed with forensics and true crime shows. I wanted nothing more than to be part of the FBI's Evidence Response Team. 

Also...trigger warning because I am about to talk about finding a dead body. A homicide victim. 

That being said, I used to ride my pony around the neighborhood looking for "crime scenes" to investigate. Part of that was always being on the lookout for a dead body. And I used to watch and take notes on the decomposition of animals I found that were dead. For science. 

I also had (still have) a very very active imagination. I was constantly writing new murder mystery books as an elementary schooler. 

Sooooo, when I came home one morning from riding my pony and casually told my grandparents that I had found a dead body in the woods they were suspicious* (end note). They did call the sheriff, and it turns out other people had called the sheriff as well then we drove down there so they could confirm. 

I was riding, as I did every single morning, and I saw something over a gate in these woods. I rode up to inspect it and saw a naked man who had been badly beaten lying there. I called out to him to see if he responded, and he didn't. The neighbors had come out to say hi to me (it was very small town vibes wherein everyone knew everyone) and I told them that there was a bloody naked man on the other side of the gate. 

They told me to immediately come to them. They went over and looked then told me to "go on home" and they called the sheriff. This was like the early nineties, and I can't even find an article about it online anymore. 

Now, some people might ask if this traumatized me. The answer is no. I do think about this man from time to time, and I hate that he endured such a terrible end. I also think about the two kids (they were like early twenties/late teens if I remember correctly) who had beat him to death after stealing his wallet, and I wonder if they feel remorse or what their lives are like after having done this. It was a very horrific crime and entirely senseless. But I don't have nightmares or flashbacks. 

And it definitely didn't stop me from continuing on my journey of wanting to work in forensics or investigations of some type. I think, if anything, it heightened my interest because I saw the real life need for people who could look at a crime scene, know it didn't happen there, and help rewind back to figure out what did happen. 

Honestly, people get so weird when I tell them I've found a dead body, but it isn't a super exciting story. 

*Also when I share the story people often fault my grandparents for not really believing me, BUT the year prior I had been 1000% convinced that there was a dead body in the drainage pipe by my elementary school to the point that the police were called to confirm it was garbage because I absolutely would not stop talking about it. Like I said, super imaginative. 

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