Our Fellow Man, or Woman.

I had what felt like an incredibly long day Tuesday in class.

It felt like the most “Mondaiest” Tuesday ever, and I was ready to get home and see my son. Usually, I get back to my car by bus from class, but it was taking too long to get to the pickup area, and I decided to walk instead.

I was ALMOST to my car when an obviously homeless man crossed my path. I nodded hello and tried to continue walking. I, and I imagine many others, feel almost uneasy around the homeless; but he seemed to be walking in the same direction I was so I thought it rude to ignore him. I asked him how his day had been going and he asked me the same.

Then, like I knew it would happen, he asked me if I had any cash I could spare. This situation ALWAYS makes me incredibly uncomfortable for a few reasons.

1. I don’t carry cash; it’s just our societal norm. I have all my money in the bank and use my debit card.

2. Believe it or not, I’m usually pretty broke and have only enough money to get what me, my son, and husband need.

And 3. I have been told my whole life that the homeless population will waste any money on booze and drugs.

And so I said honestly, “I have no cash on me, I don’t carry it..,” he looked very disappointed, but I also added, “but if you want, I will walk with you to a restaurant and buy you dinner.” And he looked genuinely happy and thankful for that.

On our walk, we had a pleasant conversation, and I learned a few things about him. It was incredible to hear about his life. And I think he felt good to have someone to talk to for a little while. When we got where we were going, he asked if I minded if he went to the bathroom to wash up. I find it interesting that he asked as if I would mind that he felt he needed to wash his hands, I didn’t understand then, and I still don’t. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t wait for him? Maybe he thought I would leave and he’d go hungry? I ordered what he said he wanted and waited for him to finish. His food was ready, so I got it and took it to a table. When he came out of the bathroom, he apologized for taking so long! That blew me away. He said he needed to clean out his scarf like he thought I would be offended for waiting a few minutes. I told him he was perfectly fine, but that I did need to get going so I could get home. He then thanked me several times and said he was very hungry. I then told him he was welcome and bid him adieu.

I took a few things away from this situation.

1. It is wrong to judge someone because they may be different than you; this seems like common sense, but in today’s world we seem to be having a hard time with it.

2. All people are human. Again, common sense, right? Maybe not. Each and every one of us has feelings and needs, and many of them are not being met. And unfortunately, some of our even basic needs aren’t being met. I would never say that we should have to be forced to help someone, I think that’s wrong. But I do believe that it’s important to evaluate our lives and see it’s feasible to help others.

And 3. It felt good to know that that man was a little happier and wouldn’t be hungry. Helping others makes us feel better, almost like working out, I bet it even releases a feel good hormone like oxytocin or something.

We are aware helping our fellow man, or woman is a right thing to do.

So why don’t we do it more often?

I can’t answer that for others, but I can for myself. I get too worked up in what I need to do. I focus only on my life. While this may not be wholly wrong, I do think it is important to look around once in a while.

If you CAN, and you see someone in need of help, DO IT. If someone needs the door held, hold it. If someone needs help moving something, do it. If someone is hungry, feed them.

It’s so simple.

Much love,
Tori ♥


At Home.

To begin, I want to say I know it’s been a minute since I wrote anything. I have been incredibly busy. My husband and I moved recently, and I’ve been very overwhelmed with school. Not to mention my son recently began preschool. So, thank you for bearing with me, and I hope you enjoy my post.


What does that even mean? For so much of my life, I have been trying to find a place I belong. And, to me, it seems that each and every time I find a place something happens to prevent me from truly feeling “at home.”

There are four times that I remember feeling not at home.

The first is the time I stayed in Ohio while my Mother and family moved to Nebraska. She moved for personal reasons, but I couldn’t go, not because of my mom, but because I didn’t want to. It was the summer between my junior and senior of high school. I couldn’t start over, making new friends is already hard, even more so so late in the game. I was also very involved in my high school band; I had worked so hard, and it was finally my senior year, I wouldn’t throw that away. And so I stayed in Ohio. First with a family friend, for whom I will be eternally grateful. Then with my grandparents, bless them, and finally with a boyfriend.

The second time I felt “homeless” was while in the Army. I felt alone, sad, and out of place. AIT and Basic were difficult for me; I struggled with many things, ultimately I made it through, but it was a bumpy ride. I remember being in a terrible place, I was constantly depressed, and I always felt like an outsider. I don’t make friends easily; I’m not sure why that is, but even today it remains true. I am incredibly thankful for the friends I did make, I consider them family even though we don’t see each other often. Aside from the few people I bonded with, I felt so alone. This was a particularly dark time in my life for me. I struggled the whole time.

Another time I felt this way was when my husband and I were in Germany. Being in a foreign country was one of the hardest things we have ever done. While there we felt lost. We had each other, and some friends who we came to consider family, but it definitely wasn’t home. I struggled with depression the entire time we were there. Aside from the perpetual gloom that is the German sky I also found myself depressed because I was so far from my idea of home. I missed my family dearly, and it was difficult being in such a different time zone. When we were awake, our Stateside family was asleep. The Army also made things worse, so many things they do just don’t make any sense, and I was constantly in conflict with what made sense to me, and what make “Army Sense.”

Now, here in the South, I find myself far away from my family again. It’s easier because we don’t have to travel near as far, and our time zones are much closer, but I still feel very removed. And I don’t have friends. Like I said before, I’m not good at making friends for whatever reason, and I’ve found it much harder to make them here than anywhere I’ve ever been before. I think that mostly is because I don’t have much in common with people here. Anyone, for the most part, that I am friendly with is because of my husband. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy his friends and their partners, but I don’t feel as connected to them as I would like. They all have years of past experiences to link them together; I feel like an outsider. And making friends at University is a joke. I feel so old compared to these students. Not only that, but I also know I am in a much different stage than many of them too. I have a husband and child, whereas most of the students aren’t even old enough to partake in adult beverages.

I believe wholly that “home” is where the heart is AND where your family and friends are.

I think that’s what makes it so difficult for me, my heart is with my son and husband, but my friends and the rest of my family are not here. And that makes me morose.

I pray daily that once I get my degree and license and begin working that I will make some friends. I know the medical field is the place for me, and I also know that those currently working in the medical field are my kindred spirits. We’re all a little messed up.

I know home is near, I just have to keep moving towards it. Soon enough I will have friends here; I know it. And I will always have my family, even if they’re not living right next door.

If you happen to be in a similar situation, don’t fret. It will get better. I know first hand how difficult it can be to feel misplaced. It’s hard, but it isn’t permanent. Eventually, we will move on to a new stage of life, and we will find our home.

Much love,

A Bad Person.

I often have thought about that makes a person “good.” What is it that one must do to achieve such a status? Or what does it take for someone to be a “bad” person? I am not talking about someone who commits a crime, just a person who breaks a social norm. How does a person go from doing everything okay to no longer being good?

I always figured I was a good person; that is until I wasn’t. As a child, it never occurred to me that one day I may be “bad,” neither as a teen did I ever think one day I may be bad. It wasn’t until I was already “bad” that I even realized. Fast forward to the day I never thought would come. I hurt someone I cared for deeply. Even now it is hard for me to talk about, I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was in a relationship with someone for a long time. We were best friends throughout high school, and we eventually got married. I felt as though all my dreams were coming true.

I guess I ought to back up a bit, so everyone can, at least, try to understand what happened. I am not the type of person to follow someone; I would classify myself as a leader. My ex and I found ourselves at a crossroads. He wanted to join the military, and I absolutely did not want that to happen. I had a great fear for his safety, and the idea of us being apart for so long made me uncomfortable. We through the idea around for quite a while until one day, for whatever reason, I caved. I decided that if it would make him happy, he should do it, and I would join too. There were many reasons I joined the military, and this was a big part. And so, we joined. I went to basic first, and let me tell you, that place sucked. While I was in Advanced Individual Training, AIT, he was in basic. We were both busy all the time doing different things. When two people are in a situation where nearly all of their time is demanded, it makes staying in contact virtually impossible. I am not trying to make excuses, just explain myself. And so I began to drift emotionally. Then it progressed into full-on cheating. And, just like that, I was a bad person. And believe me, I knew it. Every day I spent knowing I was wrong and awful, but it was too late.

Even thinking back to this time in my life makes me hate myself all over again. I cheated on the person to whom I was supposed to be committed. I broke all trust; I was a bad person. I finally knew how all those “bad” people felt; awful, terrible, low, sick, ugly, worthless, etc. Because I did something so inexcusable, I decided a divorce was the only way to fix things. I’m sure many people this is counterintuitive, but to me, it was the only option. To me, there was no reason to stay together if I could break this trust it could happen again. I didn’t want it to happen again, but I could never trust myself. I still to this day think I made the best decision.

For the next six months, I hated myself, and I should explain that I don’t hate anyone. I was depressed, I didn’t think I had any worth, and I was a bad person. This time in my life I smoked, I drank excessively, and I wound up in several situations I should not have been in. If it had not been for some great people, I probably would have gotten into trouble too.

Then, just when I thought I would never be worthy of feeling good again, I met someone new. He was like a ray of light that broke through the clouds that surrounded me. He made me want to be a better person, and he made me be a better person. And so I found myself back as one of the “good” people again.

I guess my point in this post is to say; if you know someone who screwed up royally, maybe they aren’t a bad person. Perhaps,  they once were a “good” person who did something wrong. Maybe they hate themselves for what they did. Maybe you could try to see things through their eyes, or even better, perhaps you could help them recover their “goodness.” I know it’s easy to assume that they are and have always been the wrong kind of person. I know it’s simpler to gossip and sneer at their mistake, but let’s come together as a society and try to help each other.

And finally, let’s realize that there are no “good” or “bad” people occasionally everyone makes a mistake.

Much Love,

Tori ❤

Daddy Dearest Part 1.

A few disclaimers:

  1. Like stated in my last post, I am not doing this blog for any other reasons than to help myself get some things out of my head, and to help someone else who may have gone through anything similar to realize that they can make it through.
  2. This post is going to be about my father and an event that happened between us. For me, he is a touchy subject. I DO NOT want anyone to hate/dislike him for what I may say here. Any problems between he and I are just that, between he and I.
  3. I am not slandering him, anything I say I have actually lived through, and it is documented in custody court cases between my father and mother. If you feel like anything I am saying are lies I suggest you reevaluate how much/well you know my dad. I guarantee I know him better; I grew up with him.

Thank you for reading these disclaimers before you lose your mind and attack me.



My parents had divorced before I was old enough to form memories; there is not a time in my life that I remember them being even civil towards one other. They at some points were completely cruel to each other; this made things hard sometimes when I was young. I didn’t want to dislike my father simply because my mother did. I gave him NUMEROUS chances to prove that he is/was a decent person; he has failed every time.

My father is a very peculiar man. He is extremely old-fashioned and convicted with the belief that women ought to be barefoot, pregnant, and doing domesticated housewife activities. Women are to be entirely submissive to their fathers, then once married to their husbands. To him, a woman should not be strong, independent, or empowered. To him women are property. These ideas have been imposed on me and shoved down my throat my entire life. I was told from a very young age that he was going to choose my husband. And he did, he had a man he wanted to be my husband. I could not be more thankful that this never happened. Along with wanting to choose my husband he wanted to make sure I stayed “pure” in all fashions. Sex before marriage may have been the ultimate sin, but there was a long list of others. It was a sin for me to have my ears pierced, for me to have short hair, for me to color my hair, and to even want tattoos. I also think he has a problem with women wearing makeup. In spite, or to spite, either here will do, I have colored my hair numerous times, I have several tattoos and want more, I have a naval and nasal piercing as well as two sets on each ear, and my cartilage pierced. I also consistently have short hair. I will not be ruled over by anyone. And no woman should EVER let a man tell her how to live.

In my original post, I stated that I had been abused physically. The violence came from the hand of my father. On to a specific example of one event, I remember as though it were yesterday.

When I was much younger, I remember my brother, dad, and I wanted to go camping. We decided to set up a tent on the side of the house. I remember having fun, playing and spending time together. Then, like all humans, I heard the call of nature, so I  went inside and did my business. And since I was young, I remember getting distracted. For whatever reason, I looked on the mail table and saw something that bothered me immensely. My father had received a mail-order bride catalog. I picked it up and looked through it; it seemed so dehumanizing to me. An entire magazine of women to choose from, like buying a car, or a dog. I flew into a wild fit; I remember tearing the whole thing to shreds and throwing it away. I was baffled that anyone could view that as an acceptable thing to do. I then went outside to finish the tent and confront my dad. I don’t exactly remember what I said, but the next thing I remember is him picking me up and swinging me in a circle by my neck. My father choked me. I ran inside crying. I don’t think I understood what had happened entirely at that point. I called my mom and told her everything, and she instructed me to call the police, but I was scared and didn’t know what to say. So, being the great mother she is, she called for me. The next thing I remember my father, brother, and I were watching a “documentary” about 9/11 being an inside job. Then all of a sudden there was a knock at the front door; it was the police. The only specifics I remember about the police being inside the house was my father kept trying to get them to watch the video. I remember getting into the police car and being at the police station. My aunt came to get my brother and me until my mother could make the five-hour trip to pick us up.

This event is just one of many. The result from this is that instead of the original visitation agreement made by the court, where my brother and I were required to spend the entire summer with our father, I now only had to stay for four weeks. My brother still had to stay the whole summer.

Another memory I have is the day I made a two-mile walk with my father and brother taunting me from a van.

But that, my Dears, is for another post. Thank you so very much for taking time our of your busy days to read my posts.

Much Love,

Tori ❤

First post!


For anyone that may not know, I’m Tori.

I have been thinking about making a blog or something like this for a while. I have, in the past tried to write down my life story, and it never comes out right. I feel like if I got my story written down, I would feel better, and hopefully, it would also help others along the way. I imagine many of the things I will talk about others have experienced too.

I have experienced many bad things in my life and encountered many bad people. I will change those people’s names when I write about them. I am not intentionally throwing shade or trying to hurt anyone with this or any future posts. My intention is to share my story and help myself and others in the process.

I was a child of divorce. I have been homeless. I have lived in several women’s shelters, and even a homeless shelter. I have been molested, and I have been abused both physically and emotionally. I have dealt with loss, and I have dealt with depression and anxiety.

And even though all those things have happened does NOT mean I haven’t experienced some beautiful things in my life also. I have been in love and am currently in love with my wonderful husband. I have loved. I have had fun. I have learned, lived, and I have given birth to an amazing child.

I fully believe I have had a good life. Not everything I have been through has been good; I wouldn’t change it for the world. Everything I have been through has made me who I am: a strong individual.

If you have any specific requests for anything let me know. I plan on trying to do at least one post per week. I haven’t decided if I want to do my story in chronological order or sporadically, so just enjoy the ride.

Much love,

Tori. ♥