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I'm going to say something that may be highly controversial, but here goes.

We need to stop framing religious dialogue in political conversations as if there is only one appropriate and acceptable religious practice in the United States and that all others are threats and dangerous.

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This type of narrative directly threatens the integrity of the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. Weakening one right makes it difficult for the people to defend every other Constitutional Right.

Instead, I propose advocacy and civil dialogue.

You don't have to attend a mosque, a synagogue, a Catholic Church, or any other religious organization to understand it, but it's better to at least get to know the people who do.

Most meeting places welcome respectful visitors, giving you an opportunity to learn about others directly. I have, and those experiences have taught me how to be different without treating people as my enemies.

If you have never entered a mosque, synagogue, Catholic church, Hindu temple, or another religious space you criticize, have you considered how much of your opinion comes from firsthand knowledge — and how much comes from fear, headlines, or what other people have told you?

Have you read any of the books that shape how people think and why?

Have you ever thought to listen to someone who practices a faith differently than you do, talk with them, ask questions without judging and stay curious?

Listening doesn't require you to abandon your own convictions. If you're firmly rooted in your own faith, a conversation won't threaten it.

But you will be seen as respectful and as someone they can talk to because you showed a willingness to dialogue. You will have real information to discuss a particular teaching, but not enough to assign motives to every person within that faith or tradition.

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You're speaking in generalities and relying on what you heard or read online.

When I lived in Miami, I embarked on a very curious journey to understand religions practiced by various faiths. My goal was to better understand cultural practices and really get to know people who were different from me.

That journey involved attending a mosque, going to a Hindu Temple, a synagogue, and visiting a Catholic Church (before I converted). It involved talking to Hare Krishnas, sitting with Mormons, and pretty much any and all faiths I could have a conversation with; I did.

I formed friendships across all religious lines. I had intense conversations with Imams, ahmadi muslims, Sunni and Shia Muslims. The friends I made attended church with me, read the Bible with me, and, in exchange, taught me about their culture, beliefs and languages, including Arabic and Urdu.

The truth is that many immigrants come to the United States for reasons that have nothing to do with taking away anyone else’s freedom.

Extremists exist in all religious, cultural and political groups, but they do not represent every person who shares their identity. Why assign ill intent without first listening to the people within that culture or community?

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Not every American Muslim wants you to wear a hijab. Not everyone expects you not to eat pork or eat halal. Not every American Jewish person expects you to keep kosher or observe the Sabbath. Not every American Amish person expects you to go without electricity. You get the point.

How do you even know what Americans who practice faith want if you don't get to know any of them? Posting online and talking about what you fear can feel like awareness, but ask yourself: awareness of what?

Our great free nation protects religious freedom in the First Amendment and the Fourteenth Amendment.

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Respectful interfaith dialogue is hard. But it’s also a civic virtue that supports our system of religious liberty, even if it’s not a legal duty.

In his 1796 Farewell Address, George Washington argued that religion and morality are indispensable supports for political prosperity. He stated, "In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens."

The First Amendment contains two protections concerning religion: the Free Exercise Clause and the Establishment Clause. It protects the exercise of religion while prohibiting the government from establishing a religion. It does not give any one group the authority to force its religious practices upon everyone else.

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Government can pass laws, but trust must be built through one-on-one relationships. Change happens when people are unafraid to speak to each other civilly.

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Aria Gmitter, M.S., M.F.A., is an editor, writer, astrologer, tarotist, numerologist, and mother of four children. She has a degree in comparative religious studies. Her syndicated works have appeared around the world. Instagram: @ariagmitter

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There is a 14-year gap between children in my household. I learned a lot from my mistakes with the first two and decided to do things differently with the others. One thing I did wrong was always telling my older ones what they needed to do, and I was a bit more like a typical parent who said, “because I told you so.”

One of the things I decided to change was to have my kids do what they were supposed to do because they made the decision for themselves. I did this through family meetings about once a week or whenever it felt like we were getting off course, starting around the ages of 3 and 4.

I absolutely cannot stand micromanaging. Let me restate this so it’s crystal clear. Micromanagement is probably the number one thing I absolutely hate with a passion. I will do anything and everything under the sun not to micromanage another human being.

As a result, I have never wanted or desired to micromanage my children at all whatsoever. But I definitely wanted and needed their buy-in to accomplish the things that a household required since I was the only at-home parent they had.

I decided to start this thing called family meetings to address topics.

Anything and everything they could voice an opinion on, argue over or give me a logical (it did not matter if I agreed with their logic or not) reason for went on the family meeting topic list, and then we would have a sit-down discussion.

Meetings had a time limit and (lots) of food.

To make this really special, I would order food. I’d ask them what they wanted to eat, and then get their favorite food items. We would each get a notebook or some paper to make notes. Obviously, their notes were not that great at 3 or 4, but they could write down what they wanted. And we would hash it out civilly, going through each item and using interests, strengths and weaknesses. Until, pretty much, the list was conquered and the food was gone.

We had goals.

What I mean by that is let’s say I had a list of chores that needed to get done, but one kid hated to mop or dust, and the other didn’t mind it; they would decide who would do what. If they told me they absolutely couldn’t stand it, then I never gave it to them. Why? Allowing children to reject certain chores was not about teaching them that they never have to do unpleasant things.

When you’re an adult, you can figure out how to solve these types of problems and delegate a task. You learn to negotiate, trade responsibilities, delegate when possible, and still ensure the necessary work gets done.

They were the ones who made all the decisions.

My job was to moderate and guide them to their conclusions. That was always something I emphasized. As they got older, they started to naturally negotiate with themselves between meetings.

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My ultimate parenting goal was to teach them to be in charge of their lives, and eventually, one day, they would have to be on their own as adults who made good decisions and knew how to problem-solve.

Once the items on the agenda were resolved, a final document was written up with all of us in agreement and put on the fridge. When anyone forgot, I just reminded them we had that doc until the next family meeting.

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As they got older, they added things they wanted to talk about to the family meeting list, and we had a conversation. Very simple. No problems. Just what food we were going to order. I honestly believe this is one of the parenting wins that helped me raise them as self-sufficient, self-driven, problem-solving individuals who strategize solutions.

I also think it’s one of the many reasons why we have never had an argument among the three of us. This has continued for their entire time being at home with me, and the meetings became less and less frequent but still remain even to this day. I have never had to lecture on chores.

I’ve never had to push any agendas. I’ve only had to say that I honestly don’t like to micromanage you, and I need you to lead yourself.

As anyone who knows my children or me will tell you, they have never heard them fight with me or with anyone else. Have we experienced tension or disagreement? Of course. But we have never had the yelling, screaming, door-slamming battles that many people assume are inevitable between parents and children.

Aria Gmitter is an editor, writer, astrologer, tarotist, numerologist, and mother of four children. She has a degree in comparative religious studies and is a graduate of the NYC School of Oracles and Midwest School of Astrology. Her syndicated works have appeared around the world.

A few weeks ago, my daughter and I were in Orlando for a fencing tournament.

During a break, we went for a walk to keep her muscles warm. As we headed back toward the gym, we saw a young homeless man digging through a garbage can for food.

The look on his face when he found nothing is something I will never forget.

He clenched his fists. His jaw tightened. His whole body seemed frozen in frustration.

He wasn’t drunk.

He wasn’t high.

He was hungry.

There was pizza inside the gym. My daughter didn’t want hers, and she was entitled to two slices, so we grabbed them along with a bottle of water and a banana. Then, we hurried back, hoping we could find him.

When we reached the garbage can, he was gone. I felt crushed.

Then my daughter stopped walking. “Mama,” she said quietly. “He’s behind us.”

I turned around. The young man was crouched near a closed restaurant, picking through discarded chicken bones on the ground to see if there was any meat left on them.

There wasn’t.

I called out and asked if he would like some pizza.

He stood up slowly. His head remained low. He nodded.

When he took the food, I expected gratitude. Relief. Happiness.

Instead, I saw something else. Something I couldn’t quite name.

Later that night, while washing my hair, I found myself thinking about him again. And then another thought struck me. If I were in his position, what would I actually feel?

The answer surprised me. I think I would be angry. Not at the people offering the pizza. At everything.

At every moment I had suffered alone.

At every unanswered cry.

At every night spent wondering whether anyone cared.

The pizza would matter. The kindness would matter.

But it wouldn’t erase the pain. It wouldn’t touch the mountain of grief underneath it.

That’s when a Bible verse I have heard my entire life came rushing into my mind.

“Love is patient, love is kind.”

Most people read 1 Corinthians 13 as a description of what love is.

I suddenly wondered if it was also describing what love does.

What if this passage isn’t merely a moral standard?

What if it’s a blueprint for healing?

Because when people hit rock bottom, they don’t need solutions.

They want someone who can endure the pain of recovery.

Love is patient.

Healing takes time.

Grief takes time.

Trust takes time.

People do not recover from years of pain because someone showed up once with a pizza.

They recover because someone stayed.

Love is kind.

Patience without kindness becomes cold.

Many people can tolerate another person’s suffering for a little while.

Far fewer can remain gentle in its presence.

Healing requires both.

Love does not envy.

This one struck me differently than it ever has before.

If you’ve ever given and secretly resented how much you were giving, you’ve probably felt envy.

Not jealousy.

Resentment.

The feeling that someone owes you because of what you’ve done for them.

But love doesn’t keep score.

The moment kindness creates a debt, it stops being kindness.

Love does not boast.

Love doesn’t constantly remind people what it has done for them.

It doesn’t collect receipts.

It doesn’t seek credit.

It doesn’t say:

“You wouldn’t be here without me.”

Love serves without making itself the hero of the story.

Love is not proud.

Pride often prevents empathy.

If I believe someone’s suffering could never happen to me, I stop seeing them clearly.

If I stop seeing them clearly, I stop loving them.

And suddenly something else about 1 Corinthians 13 began to make sense.

The passage isn’t describing a feeling.

It’s describing a process.

A way of relating to people that slowly creates the conditions where healing becomes possible.

For years I’ve heard people debate whether love is an emotion or a choice.

I think it’s both.

Love often begins as a feeling. But lasting love survives because of choices.

• Patience.

• Kindness.

• Humility.

• Generosity.

• Forgiveness.

These behaviors create emotional environments, and emotions are contagious.

• Fear spreads.

• Anger spreads.

• Bitterness spreads.

But so does love, and love covers all the others through kindness and patience.

Maybe that’s why Paul ends the passage the way he does.

“Love never fails.”

But not because love prevents suffering.

The young man in Orlando was still hungry. His problems didn’t disappear because we handed him pizza. Love didn’t erase his pain. Instead, love magnified it.

Love magnified his pain so it could interrupt it and then heal him from the impact of his pain.

For one moment, his suffering was met with patience and kindness.

Every act of genuine love does the same thing. It cracks inner darkness. So light and healing can begin.

I wish I could have done more for that young man. I received so much more than I gave!

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Aria Gmitter is a writer based in South Florida who writes about relationships, astrology, spirituality, and pop culture.

(CW // This post contains mentions of emotional abuse.)
My dad was the type of man who found every conceivable reason to fight with my mom about anything and everything possible.

She could not do anything right.

She was in a room. He yelled at her.

If she did something, it was done wrong. He yelled some more.

Yelling was never to bring the relationship healing or closer. It was always to put her under his thumb so he could hurt her some more.

If she bought clothes for herself, it was because she must be cheating.

If she wore makeup or did her hair, it was because she was stepping out.

On those rare occasions when he would be nice, he was really nice. Get a car. Get a TV. Then, he’d take them away. To him, she always deserved the punishment.

He didn’t like her tone. He didn’t like that she had an opinion. He didn’t like that she thought or went somewhere with the kids, like a park or even to church.

Every act of independence was an offense. And it was always worthy of him yelling.

Only after she was minimized into nothing would he seem peaceful. And yet, there was always that looming threat of power.

Moments of peace would raise her hopes. Wrong. No way was she allowed to have those happy thoughts for too long!

He'd then pick her apart until he had built up enough evidence to prosecute her in this invisible courtroom called our house.

One time, I'll never forget. They were to have a date night.

He was upstairs taking his good old sweet time.

She sat in the living room waiting.

He finally showed up. Dressed up with cologne.

No compliments. Instead, he gaslit her.

She didn’t deserve a date night.

She didn’t deserve to be out with him.

He didn’t like her clothes. He didn’t like her makeup. He called her a bunch of names.

He was leaving because he didn’t want to be seen with her.

He left out of the front door, then slammed it. Off he drove with his tires screeching.

She sat there frozen for a moment. I tried to hug her, but she went upstairs, crying.

I look back, and I wish she had the courage to go.

She couldn’t. She was expecting my brother, and there were already three of us. I wish she had set healthy boundaries for herself against a bully.

She had no support. He knew it.

To the world, he was a hard-working man who supported his family. He was someone that people thought had it all together. They judged his nice car, his well-manicured lawn, the fact that he was always put together. A leader at work, and a person who always helped others.

Behind closed doors, he became an angry man. No one could stop him.

It’s hard to get support from others when they think the man you’re leaving is good and that you have children he provides for.

It’s hard for an abused person to process information like that. They know that they shouldn't stay. But the dance of manipulation, coercion and anger leaves hope and then the crash.

The fear of leaving is real. The hope that things will one day get better is often not.

It is very, very dangerous to leave someone who only wants control.

The hardest part is that moment when a woman knows she can’t leave. She knows she’s stuck.

He knows it, too. That’s exactly where he wants it to stay.

Women are always trying to revive the honeymoon period, when things were good and felt great.

The honeymoon stage to an abusive man is rock bottom. That is where he wants things to stay. That is his version of the sweet spot.

My experience has taught me that the evil a person shows you at this point of the relationship is only the tip of the nefariousness that's beneath.

It’s actually when the relationship continues to escalate and becomes even more incredibly dangerous.

If you’re in an abusive relationship, you can find someone to talk to and get help by calling the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Text “START” to 88788 or call 1-800-799-(SAFE)7233.

Aria Gmitter is a writer based in South Florida who writes about relationships, astrology, spirituality, and pop culture.

I came to Substack looking for a place to write about things I’m interested in beyond what mass media requires. If anyone finds me here and reads what I have to say, fine. If they don’t, fine. I’ve released the need to perform being here, which is why there’s something I want no, I need you to know.

I am obsessed with the book of Genesis.

I think about it pretty much every day, multiple times a day. Nearly every conversation I have with anyone at any given time will likely have me thinking about something I read in the book of Genesis to compare it to. This is how my brain operates.

Case in point, yesterday, while walking the dog, I was pondering the idea of generosity. My mind starts mapping connections between genetic predisposition and action. I see the book of Genesis as an account of various forms of evolution, not just an account of creation or genealogy.

I used to be a budding scientist.

I was a biology major, first at the University of South Carolina, and then later at the University of Miami. I was in the top 10 percent of my class and a student genetic researcher.

After taking a class on comparative religion, I couldn’t stop thinking about the book of Genesis and how similar the story of creation was to other religions in the world.

Before I became a writer (which I never technically wanted to do), my obsession was genetics. I was good at writing, so when I switched paths, I added English as a second major (because I knew I needed a ‘real’ job).

To me, science, language, and religion are all related.

And yes, that includes astrology and the esoteric sciences. Words are mathematical equations. Concepts are transcripts of energy that transport meaning already encoded in human DNA.

Much of what is patterned in the Bible starts with the Book of Genesis. Some call it sacred science, but I think it’s so much more than that.

It’s DNA + Scripture + beginning = code

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Genesis doesn’t just describe the beginning of the world; it describes the pattern of what we are. And once you start seeing it, it’s everywhere.

Aria Gmitter is a writer based in South Florida whose works have been published around the world.

Being a creative, no matter how long I’ve been doing it, starts the same way.

There’s a little bit of anxiety. Then, a pull to procrastinate and focus on other things.

You want a flow that feels perfect. Writing can be a real struggle.

That’s why it was hard for me to know where to start. What I started writing isn’t where I ended. I had to work through a mess of sentences before I wrote the one that made sense.

The muse.

The muse is often described as ‘the mood’ or inspiration felt when a writer is compelled to write.

But then I decided, I am my own muse.

I don’t need to be perfect or inspired. I need to sit down, stay consistent, and be persistent on a single thought.

Waiting for inspiration is a subtle form of avoidance.

That’s why I write every day, regardless of my mood. It sharpens my voice and prevents me from being lazy.

No muse. Just me.

But, still during a brief detour into procrastination, I stumbled down a rabbit hole. I did do some Googling and found the muse for writing actually has a name rooted in Greek mythology.

Calliope.

The patron goddess associated with poetry, writing, music and art, it’s Calliope.

When someone says they came up with a song on the spot and it becomes a bestseller, that was probably inspired by Calliope.

There is an inspirational mood that puts you in a compelling trance, making you feel you must write what you hear! If you’ve ever woken up in the middle of the night from a dead sleep. You hear the start of a storyline or an entire essay, and you have no choice but to wake up and write it down?

I hate to tell you, but that was probably Calliope.

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Between you and me, I think this is why some writers refuse to edit their work. They feel like their words were channeled. The truth is, they are right.

The muse isn’t a force you wait for; it’s a state you train yourself to access.

The problem is that many writers stay stuck there. They become dependent on the mood to write and wait for ‘the muse’ to inspire them to pen words. It’s not a wholly wrong notion. I mean, she’s attributed to the works of Homer, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, and Ovid (to name a few).

She’s good, but do you really want to wait for ‘the muse’?

For me, today, the answer was no.

Aria Gmitter is an editor, writer, astrologer, numerologist, and mother of four children. She has a degree in comparative religious studies and is a graduate of the NYC School of Oracles and Midwest School of Astrology. Her syndicated works have appeared around the world.

This podcast explores the pain of rejection and the temptation of bitterness. Rejection does more than wound the ego. It strikes at your identity and tempts you to hold a grudge.

Good Friday is the ultimate example of innocence met with rejection that could lead to a grudge, and by human standards, it would have been justified. Though falsely accused, publicly humiliated, and denied compassion, Jesus did not retaliate. He refused to let pain become bitterness or a grudge.

The central message in the story of Good Friday is that one true test of character is a person’s ability to handle rejection. Here we see how love frees us from bitterness and teaches us how to let go.

Just as nothing truly prepares a mother for the day you bring your baby home, the same is true when you have to release them. Time flies. You know it’s going to happen, but the moment feels … sudden.

While pregnant with my daughter, my water broke violently and poured down both legs during a moment of survival. We were in a Baby's R’ Us in early September, and it was hot. Pregnant, I placed Nate, her older brother, in his car seat and left the door open.

Just as I handed him the car keys, a gust of wind slammed his door shut. He clicked the key fob and locked himself in. He screamed. I screamed. (We were not all screaming for ice cream.)

I ran, moving like a duck, screaming like a mad woman, back into the store, “Call 9-1-1!

“My baby is locked in the car!”

When I returned to the SUV, an off-duty police officer drove through the lot. Frantically, I chased his vehicle down. With my permission, he slammed the shopping cart through a window.

Just as the policeman handed Nate back to me, I felt a pop inside my body and hot water gush down both legs.

The intensity of everything threw me into labor three weeks early. My little girl arrived with Hurricane Ike, which had formed in the Atlantic.

This time feels just as sudden, only instead it’s slower, quieter, and bewildering.

I’m screaming inside. The only glass that’s shattered is in my mind. The pop isn’t in my body this time. Instead, I feel it deep in my soul. Someone new is trying to be born, and it’s a me I don’t know yet. A new version of me is being molded … soon to arrive! Now, I have to prepare for a rebirth of a woman who is no longer a mother at home surrounded by her children.

I know these months are me carrying myself like a mother’s baby forms in the depths of a womb. As a result, nothing feels steady anymore.

It’s left me nesting again. I walk around the house now, touching everything, seeing it more as a risk than an asset.

Is this who I am? Is this part of where my life is headed or who I want to be?

What stays? What goes? What is necessary now, and what belongs in this next version of my life?

This process is my labor pains, which are longer. Harder. Lonelier.

Maybe it has to be.

My birth pangs started last summer, when her brother left for college. His room is now a makeshift storage. Where a young person once played video games and did homework, it’s now a four-walled room full of forgotten things and screaming with silence.

Only now, it’s not my legs that are flooded with saltwater; instead, it’s my face.

This time around, I’m the one breaking the window to hand my once child, now budding adult, to the world. Soon, I’m supposed to fly like a bird, freely to my empty nest. But, right now, my wings feel clipped and unready.

No manual is written for when you are a momma of littles, and I realize that there isn’t one for when they are grown. Time flies quickly, even when you’re counting the moments until the day arrives. Knowing it’s coming isn’t enough. Back then, the storm brought her to me. Now, another storm is carrying her away. And, I don’t run to hold her this time. Instead, I stand still and let her go where I can’t follow.

Photo credit: Aria Gmitter

Everyone is unique, but we all carry a version of the same genetic fingerprint.

Did you know that a secret language is hidden within you, dating back to the beginning of time?

This genetic blueprint plays in rhythm with your heart. It sings a song in your heart called wisdom, and its source is from G-d … going beyond vowels and consonants. It’s sacred and it’s science. It’s your genetics and your DNA.

DNA is made up of four letters: A, T, C, and G. The strands of your DNA are not just molecules. They are living scripture, inscribed in the temple of your body.

What if your genetic code isn’t just a biology… but a letter from God, written into the very core of your being down to a cellular level?

DNA, the Sacred Alphabet: Four Letters of Creation

Science tells us that Adenine, Thymine, Cytosine, and Guanine are the building blocks of life. They pair like lovers — A with T, C with G — weaving a ladder of light known as the double helix.

But in the language of mysticism, those letters begin to shimmer.

A: Aleph (א): The breath of God, silent and eternal.

T: Tav (ת): The mark, the completion, the final word.

C: Tzadi (צ): The righteous path, humble and bowed.

G: Gimel (ג): The giver, the bridge, the grace that moves.

Together, these four letters function as pillars that bind together to form a living mantra that transmutes a message through your body. It’s more than a genetic code. It’s wisdom that makes you search for your great purpose.

It’s what people see when the light of God shines through you.

Your Body is a Scroll, the Genome is like a Torah

DNA coils tightly within us, like sacred scrolls in a library. Each strand is 6 feet long, folded with reverence into the nucleus of your cell. Like the Torah, it must be read in the correct sequence, with nothing added and nothing taken away.

If God spoke the world into being, then perhaps your DNA is a resonance of that first Word. And every breath you take is a re-echo of that holy vibration. And the breath of life that activates it.

You are not random.

You are no accident.

You are designed with purpose, and that purpose is love because that love is written at the core of who you are.

Aria Gmitter is an author, editor, writer, astrologer, tarotist and mother of four children based in South Florida. She graduated from the University of Miami with a B.A. in Comparative Religious Studies and English Literature and was inducted into Theta Alpha Kappa (TAK) in 2000. She earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Full Sail University and her M.S. in Health Law from Nova Southeastern University, with a concentration in Regulatory Compliance and Health Law. She is a certified astrologer and tarot card interpreter who graduated from the Midwest School of Astrology and Ellen Goldberg’s School of Oracles.

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Friends are hard to find, harder to keep and rare. So when you have one, you get a chance to learn something about life, love, loyalty and unconditional acceptance.

To truly be a friend, you need to know someone well. You laugh at each other — and with one another. You cry together. You listen to the wins and the mistakes.

That’s what friends are for. But to make this kind of magic happen, your core values need to align, but you also have to be open to exploring and challenging beliefs at times.

Nonjudgmentalness is my must-have trait for a good friend.

I want a friend who knows me. But to have that, I need permission to be myself.

I want a friend who understands me, but I need room to be truthful and raw.

I need to be challenged, but that means allowing space for safety.

They say— tell me who your friends are, and I’ll let you know who you are. Why? Some say it’s by the company you keep that you can be judged, but I prefer the idea of going deeper than that.

I like the idea of having a friend who is so close to me that they can tell you who I am. Their life with me is a testimony waiting to be heard about my character. They know me. And when I forget who I am, that friend is the pathway that I travel to find myself.

That’s why, for me, being nonjudgmental is a must-have trait. It allows communication to remain open and an honest exchange of ideas, free from fear, but open to deep love and acceptance.

Aria Gmitter is an author, editor, writer, astrologer, tarotist and mother of four children based in South Florida. She graduated from the University of Miami with a B.A. in Comparative Religious Studies and English Literature and was inducted into Theta Alpha Kappa (TAK) in 2000. She earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Full Sail University and her M.S. in Health Law from Nova Southeastern University, with a concentration in Regulatory Compliance and Health Law. She is a certified astrologer and tarot card interpreter who graduated from the Midwest School of Astrology and Ellen Goldberg’s School of Oracles.

The most romantic relationship I’ve ever had in my life has been with God.

He remembers every detail and never drops the ball.

Over the last few days, I’ve prayed so much for one thing.

A husband.

A protector.

Someo…

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Goodbye, Mom. I love you. I’m glad you’re still here.

This morning, I woke up because even in my sleep, I worry about you. Over the phone, you sounded frail as you drove home from dropping my daughter off at fencing. I called you to make sure you got back safely and are not lost. You have been getting lost a lot more lately. Forgetting where you put things. Forgetting what was said just a moment ago. Losing things. It’s getting kind of scary.

This morning, I know you’re home, tucked in your bed at 5 a.m. You’re sound asleep, and I’m not. I’m wide awake, worrying. I tried to close my eyes for a little more rest, but instead, I see an image of you and me.

Me, looking into your beautiful, burgundy-brown eyes and seeing this slightly blank stare starting to gaze back at me.

I know you know my name. I know the name of what’s happening, too. I will forever know both. You’re here cognizant today, but it’s clear to me that the start of goodbye has come. It may take years to finish, but the starting point is now.

I never thought that I’d see this day with you; otherwise, I might have been a better daughter. I have lived with regret for many years now for not being a better granddaughter to your mom when she was diagnosed and then later died from this disease.

The path of pain creates a depth of wisdom. I’ve been down this road before. I’ll never forget the day abuela stood in the hallway of your house in Miami. She was wearing pink chanclas on white tile in the living room.

You just left for work. She had just gone into the bano, used it, washed her hands, and came out. With the toilet still running in the background, she asked me where the bathroom was so she could go. It was the first day I understood the word bewilderment, almost like I feel bewilderment that now Alzheimer’s might one day take you.

Back then, I didn’t know what Alzheimer’s looked like. I knew what it was. I knew that her brother had it. She cried the day he got lost in Puerto Rico, and was found two weeks later dead in an alley.

But that day, I didn’t know, really. Not until that defining moment in time when she stood there looking at me, lost. This strange blank stare. Kind of the same way you stare at me lately. She wanted to know where the bathroom was. The same one that she had just exited and asked me to go to five minutes before.

When I gently reminded her, it was behind her, and this light returned to her eyes. She said to me, “Mija. I think I’m losing my mind.” That’s when she introduced me to Alzheimer’s, and it became personal for me. Abuela believed it was knocking on her door, and she didn’t want me to be sad like she felt when she lost her brother to it.

The brave conversation between her and me was intimate. It made us realize that our time together was limited. In traditional abuela fashion, she put me first and turned to wisdom. She was so intelligent, despite having only a fourth-grade education. In that moment, she held my hand and took action, “Let’s say goodbye, now.”

We held hands. We hugged, and both of us cried. It was so cathartic and helpful. She was so graceful and present until the years leading up to the day she lost all memory, and later died. I think Alzheimer’s makes the mind difficult for the observer, though. I never fully wrapped my head around what was happening then, and I still can’t fully comprehend it now.

It was so hard watching her lose all forms of dignity and her personality. She forgot my name, and then one day, hers. But, she did tell me that there’s a gift in early goodbyes. We said many of them together. But, I had processed much of the grief that comes with losing a most significant person you’ve loved. It made the funeral much easier.

But, you mom, you’re different. You are more stubborn and less aware than she, and you have always been so terrified of the same fate happening to you. So, you refuse to accept what’s happening — even though the rest of us can see that it is.

This leaves me with one recourse. The same one that has saved me many times in the past, helping me feel not alone and sane. Write.

The safest place in the world for me right now is with my words. They are taking me to the blank page where I know I can survive this long, painful road that Abuela traveled, with Abuelo by her side, until that bitter day her little body wrapped up like a cocoon released her spirit and she could go to her heavenly home.

You don’t want awareness. You want us to tell you everything is OK, even though it’s not. So, I have to hold you from a distance. You always said I never liked hugs. But, today, I would love to hug you and say how much I love you, Mom.

Instead, you’re not ready. That’s OK. This is your journey. And watching is mine. My tears have to fall in the color of black print on a page. You don’t want to hear me, even though the message is one you need to hear. So, here I go writing it, starting this song for farewells, and I love you, and I know something evil is knocking at the door.

Probably for years. But we only spot it now. You’ve not been alone.

Likely, you do feel alone, but aren’t saying so. The beginning of the dark space in the mind that envelops your person is a process. It feels sad and very unfair.

One of us has to acknowledge it, so I guess it will be me. I will go first through this journey of losing you as you lose yourself, and I will write it all.

I digress. Emotions do that to me sometimes. I wanted to say to you, Mom. I love you. Thank you so much for all you have done for me. We have been through many hard times in life, but no matter what has happened, your presence his been a constant. Sometimes, the comfort of the evil you think you know in those rebellious teenage years becomes the comfort you need later in adulthood.

Our relationship has taught me the depth of forgiveness and the profound impact of grace. Despite the many ways you failed me, you have more than made up for it later in our lives together.

You told me to write about it, which I will. But not in the way that I thought I would later in life. I thought the story would be all about me. How ironic. It’s not. It’s about the love of a single mother who survived severe abuse and abandonment, one who raised four children by herself and took yourself out of poverty working a white color job after being raised by a steel mill custodian father who spoke broken English. You’ve raised a writer daughter, a daughter who works at an Ivy League University, a highly successful entrepreneur daughter, and an integrous nurse son. You did it with your faith, despite all that you had to go through, and we definitely should have become failures in life. That didn’t happen thanks to you, Mom.

We are thankful. I promise to tell you how much every day.

I ask God to one day have you drop that stubborn mask and allow me to be there for you so you can get help to slow this down. But, I see a new side to the early stages of Alzheimer's Disease, it replaces lost memory with deeper stubbornness. You’ve always been stubborn. You don’t want help. Help would be the thing that says this is real.

You never did like reality. So, now, you’re even more resistant to change or advice. That’s how the disease progresses, though. I understand. It makes you not want to change, even though you are showing signs that we all see, you. It’s making me want to change myself to be a better daughter for you. Sooner, now.

Today is my day one of loving you harder, Mom, as I process what’s happening. I know what to do, and I will start with the acknowledgment that our time is limited. The first chapter of this final book we write together is a page called acceptance, and the binder is a very long, painful goodbye.

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Transcript:

Hello, I am thinking about enemies, and I'm recording this on my drive to Wellington in my car, so please excuse the loud, windy noise in the background.

But anyway, I was thinking about enemies, and what, how do you feel about your enemies? Are you the type of person who loves your enemy, or when you hear that Bible verse, "love your enemy," or you hear someone say "forgive your enemies," you're like, no way, I am not going to forgive my enemy, they did X, Y, Z, this is how it made me feel, it's unforgivable, deal breaker, deal breaker? Or are you the type of person that tries to love your enemy, and you frame it around the narrative of, oh, I love my enemy, I've forgiven them, and I've moved on, and it's a very passive loving of your enemy?

Well, I'd like to challenge you to think about it a little bit further. So let's talk about this word: love, right? So, I always say love isn't love unless it compels someone to do something. And when you love someone, right, like love them, you're into them, you're paying attention to what they do, you look at their patterns, you observe what they say, how they say it, when they say it, you pay attention to the things that they don't say. Your ears are attuned to your enemy, I mean, to the person that you love's conversation style, and the areas that they are interested in the most, and you are intrigued by what the person you love says, right? It stimulates your thinking, it gets you curious, and it makes you wonder why.

So what if you apply the same energy to loving an enemy? Why do I say this? Well, I was thinking about a live that I did on Facebook this morning. I had my grandfather's hat on; I decided to just, I had, I just thought, you know what, I don't care, I'm going to do this live, I don't care if people see me without my makeup on, I don't care if they see me with my bad hair and my grandpa's hat on, I don't care if they see me with this like nasty clothes, and, because I don't care.

As I was reflecting on that experience and kind of like breaking through that barrier, it made me go back in time to something that was said about me by an enemy, and it was really untrue, and I knew it was untrue, but at the time, because they said it, and they said it on social media, it made me feel afraid that other people might perceive that as true about me and judge me.

And, you know, going through this stage of, oh man, I think, gosh, 11 years of having an online stalker who hated me, and it wasn't just someone that hated me specifically, it was somebody I had a relationship with, so it was like a double whammy, you know? This person knew me, and I would always think to myself, you know, the fact that they knew me so closely and they were my friend for so long, it would add credibility to the things that they said.

But, you know, the funny thing is, is that as time continues, it doesn't wait for anyone, so their narrative was all based on the past, and as each year passed, they continued to stalk my social media, I was changing. But over the course of those 11 years, because I had such a close relationship with this person, I decided, you know what, I had a close relationship with this person because I respected them, I respected that person's opinion, I cared about the things that they said, I found value in the things that they said, so that doesn't really change, right? Just because I don't like what they're saying, that doesn't really change.

And I thought, you know what, if I really, really, really, really take to heart the idea of loving my enemy, how would that look like for me? So when my enemy would say things to me, about me, you know, about my writing, I would, instead of being like, not, you know, defensive, I would actually think, wow, you know, is that true? And if I didn't understand what might be true about that, I would dig deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper into that area, and I would work on it. And what I found was, I started to see results improving, and then that got me really excited, you know, like, I would actually look forward to the wounds of my enemy to help me improve. They would say things like, "Oh, she doesn't make any money when she's writing," so I pursued writing opportunities. It made me think, "Wow, you know what? They're actually right. Oh, you know, she doesn't publish on any credible sites, so maybe double down and work harder." Next thing you know, I'm on Yahoo and MSN, picked up by Fox News, and I'm published by Best Lawyers and all this other stuff because I started to take what this person said to heart, and I worked on it. Even, you know, things about slights with regard to my character, right?

And so it taught me that if I really had somebody that was like going hard on me, like they just hated my guts and they just, you know, wanted to tear me to shreds, that if I looked at their criticism and their banter in the same way that I would look at somebody whom I love deeply, it would actually benefit me exponentially. But on top of that, an enemy is an invaluable tool to your growth. Let me explain: who wants to get to know your weak spots more than an enemy? I mean, you can pay $500 an hour to a life coach, and they will not tell you your weak spots because they're afraid to hurt your feelings. They're afraid that you won't come back and pay them any money. They're afraid you can't handle the truth. But an enemy doesn't care. They don't care if you can't handle the truth; they're hoping, they're betting you can't handle the truth. And so they use that truth like a sword.

The beautiful thing about that is if you're brave and you really want to change and you really want to improve, whenever you have somebody come at you hard like that, you view this enemy's sword as an opportunity to grow and to separate the splinters of your character so that you can work on them. It's like you're getting all this work from that person, all their energy, and it's coming to you for free. I mean, if you got an enemy who's in a high position of authority of some sort or an area of expertise, and that's the area that you want to excel in, and they're coming at you from all sides, oh my gosh, what a freaking blessing! You've walked into this; this person is helping you. They're helping you grow.

And I think that in addition to that, it's like it's like a judo move. In judo, you use the enemy's weight against themselves. You don't apply your own energy or weight; you don't add fuel to the fire. You let them do it all themselves, so you're able to use your energy for when it's important to do that. So if you're like, "I'm gonna let this person have peace of mind" or "Let them know how I feel," you are literally expending your power away from yourself and towards the enemy. Instead, you can take notes and apply that power towards yourself, towards the work that you really need to be doing.

And what happens is, over time, not only do you withstand the arrows that are being shot at you, but you learn that at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter who says what about you; it really doesn't matter. And you get this like really good thick skin in life, right? But on top of that, every single time you are faced with an opponent, you're like faced with that opponent with joy. The loving your enemies turns the spirit of anger, resentment, fear; it channels it into joy, and it really does create love. Because what is the end result of love? Joy, right? So the same energy that you would put towards loving somebody that you really love, that you want to have an intimate relationship with, and they want to have one with you, and it creates joy. You don't have to have that dual receptive interaction with your enemy; you can have it all by yourself, but it ends up still coming out as joy.

And so anyway, I just thought I'd share this because, you know, it is such a, for me, you know, reflecting back on my life, right? It demonstrates my growth point, right where I am today, and it makes me happy. But on top of that, I thought, "Wow, this is really good information I've always wanted to share with others, never had the opportunity, and now I do." So anyway, I hope you have a great day.

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I have this bizarre experience of being a single mother to four children with a 14-year age gap in between.

So, the young mother, me, who did things a certain way, saw how that turned out and became the new me who raised two younger children a little differently while keeping certain things the same.

Long ago, in a land far away … Oh, wait… that’s a different story. 17 years ago, I took a much different route in childrearing than most people I knew, and it was also different from how I had raised my first two children. I think this single decision was one of the many reasons my last two children don’t speak to me, each other or others with an undertone of disrespect or disdain.

The decision was not to allow the younger two to watch cartoons or any television programs at home where the show’s characters spoke with an undertone of disrespect or sarcasm.

The moment of awareness

I was getting ready to take my two youngest children, Nate and Gianna, to preschool. They were eating breakfast, and I went to the bathroom to put on my makeup. As usual, like many busy, working parents, I was desperate for peace, so I turned on the television to entertain them while I was busy.

PBS Kids played in the background. The show was Arthur. Pretty inert. Arther was a beloved show that my oldest sons, Trevor and Isiah, had watched. The program has a lot of value to it. It teaches significant life lessons. I loved discussing this with my older boys during their childhood.

But, for me, that had been in 1996, and this was now 2011. So, my parenting ears and experiences were molded by prior experience. When I was a mom with my first two, I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no experience with outcomes.

17 years had passed. I had teaching experience, house-parenting experience, and parenting experience under my belt. I was a different kind of mother. I was also a hyper-alert mother because my two older boys were literally the type of kids that gave me a run for my money. They were rambunctious, brawl-fighting males who once were almost banned from flying on airlines as unaccompanied minors — but that is for a different story.

As I leaned into my morning routine of applying mascara, I heard Arthur’s sister speaking to him with this tone. I heard and thought, “This show is teaching my kids to be disrespectful to themselves, others, their siblings, and everyone.” The tone I heard was similar to the disrespectful tone my first two boys had when speaking to me. I did not want to repeat history, and I didn’t care if I was being extreme or not. I didn’t want to risk becoming a mom living with two teenagers who tormented me with their tone and abrasive communication.

The bizarre decision I made 17 years ago as a single parent

So, I ran all the worst-case scenarios while applying another coat of clumpy mascara and erred on the side of caution. I rushed to the living room and immediately turned the television off. And decided we would take an extremely different route than I had ever taken.

I said goodbye to cable television

I dropped them off at school and came home with a mission. Not only would I turn off the cable and completely remove television viewing from our home, but I would embark on a full-on pull-you-closer-to-me campaign where my two youngins would be tucked beneath my wings as I trained their minds for social behavior and fill it with good stuff instead of anything that sounded like what I didn’t want it to be.

I realized that their hearts and minds were tender. To them, little things can appear to be overly aggressive to a developing mind and impact it, so while they were still young, I wanted to limit their exposure to violence of any form, verbal or otherwise, in our household.

My teacher hat went on

We didn’t listen to regular radio. Instead, we listened to classical and jazz music and read books or poetry that upheld positive language related to love and culture. They listened to books when in the car, and we spent a lot of time focused on creativity and imagination.

We watched movies and shows, but those programs were mostly carefully selected with me, like Veggie Tales, Adventures in Oddessy, Sesame Street and lots and lots of documentaries about nature, science, animals and travel.

Influence at home became greater than influence of others

I could not stop them from watching shows I disproved of everywhere, so they did get to watch them at my mom’s, my sisters, or when they were with friends. But what was so amazing to me is that they often cited how the characters' tones seemed angry, a little mean, and not nice to listen to. Their ears started to notice and recognize the difference between how tone made a person feel, and this, I believe, increased empathy.

The outcome has been pretty impressive

Since then, we have never had a family fight in the house. Nate and his sister speak to each other respectfully. I have never received a complaint about my two children being disrespectful or difficult to talk to. They have never spoken to me with an undertone or cursed at each other or me.

Neither my daughter nor son has ever yelled at me, raised his voice, or been disrespectful to me. Ever. And, I mean, ever.

I am happy with my choice

Despite the challenges, I feel like I made a good decision. It was a decision that protected the communication part of their brain during key childhood developmental years. And, I feel like it was a wise one to make.

And, if I had a chance to do it over again, I would do it the same way.