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#Reverb13: Batch 2

Here’s my second batch of prompts from Kat’s #reverb13:

What went right in 2013? Maybe you didn’t quit smoking or lose those pounds or go to Paris, but something did work, did happen, and/or was realized. What was it?

Considering how much went so very, very wrong in 2013, I can say that I’ve noticed quite clearly what went right. I learned that I have built a strong support network here at work, and my support network has definitely kept my head above water during this incredibly difficult time. My managers have been understanding, my co-workers have been pillars of strengthen, and even my neighbors have shown me what true community is all about. So while my plans for community didn’t come to fruition, I did experience the love and support of my community.

Who inspired you in 2013? And why? What gifts did they give you? And how will you carry these forward in to 2014?

I’m having a difficult time choosing one person who inspired me more than anyone else. This is because many people inspired me to fight for that which matters most and continue to seek justice. Many people have inspired me to continue cultivating a life worth loving — to continue my quest to nurture my family, friends, community, and dreams. They gave me the gifts of affirmation and love, support and care. I will carry these gifts forward in my heart, reminding myself constantly that there are many people on my side, here to encourage me to be the best version of myself and to raise my family with values.

What challenges lie ahead in 2014? How might you meet them boldly?

Several challenges actually lie ahead in 2014, but I would say the biggest challenge will be mending my fractured family back together. I wasn’t quite successful this year, but I know I can’t lose next year. I’m going to boldly meet that challenge with all my might. I’m going to fiercely fight against those who oppose me and recruit even more support from those who wish to see my family win this devastating battle.

In 2014, how could you explore what community means to you? Where might the alchemy be?

I can explore how community can flow and mesh between the off and online words. The alchemy meets in the middle, where the thin line between both worlds fade, each world colliding in this new age of singularity.

What was the best decision you made in 2013? What were the results? How will you continue the good work in 2014?

The best decision I made in 2013 was to continue to stand tall and continue to pursue my dreams. The results have been a little spotty, but overall I’ve remained strong and overcome quite a lot of adversity. I will continue the good work in 2014 by making the very best decisions possible to give my family a leg up — to rebuild our lives and heal our hearts.

Give us a sensory tour of 2013. How would you describe the year that’s passing in terms of: Sight? Sound? Smell? Taste? Touch?

Sight: hazy.
Sound: droning.
Smell: gunsmoke.
Taste: bitter.
Touch: chilling.

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#Reverb13: Catching Up

The beautiful Kat McNally is hosting this year’s #reverb13. I’m following along with her on this journey and gearing up for 2014 (and my next chapter with the Cultivate series). Here’s my catch-up:

How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?

I’m feeling hopeful and motivated in my mind. I’m feeling ill right down into my bones physically, though. My heart has been filled with a combination of hope and sadness as of late. My soul… feels raw and fragile.

What made your soul feel most nourished this year?

The love and support I received from nearly everyone in my community — both off and online — has nourished my soul the most this year. I couldn’t have ever imagined such a horrendous sequence of events to happen to my family, but I also couldn’t have ever imagined such an amazing outpouring of love.

What does your heart have to tell you?

Heal.

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Shifting Gears Once Again

With December right around the corner, I’m preparing to participate in Kat McNally’s Reverb13 and craft my January Cultivate 2014 series. Given that this has always been a place for cultivation, mindfulness, and introspection, I have decided to branch off my advocacy rantings to its own little corner of the web: Save Our Family. At this new location, I will be telling the story of my family’s tragic 2013, enlisting help and support, and speaking out against those who have harmed my family needlessly this year. I haven’t been granted enough room to cultivate my life worth loving and nurture that which matters most — my family. I have simply had to survive each day and exercise damage control for my family. It is incredibly hard to nurture your children when you’re too busy trying to apply the tourniquet to this gushing wound inflicted on us by an inconsiderate social worker.  I will honor Dylan Thomas’ words by not going gently into that good night. I’m going to fight. I’m going to carry on. And in the process, I’m going to wrestle back my life. I’m going to get back to where I was when I began 2013 — when I ended 2012. In a year from now, I’m going to be nestled quietly in my home with my family of 5. The atrocities of this year will be a painful memory, but we will heal our wounds and survive. We will thrive. We will find our happiness once more and resume our endeavors to cultivate a life worth loving. We will come out on the other side as a strong family unit, and we will leave this pain firmly in the dust where it belongs.

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Only 35 Days Left

I am making it my mission to bring my family back together by Christmas. Actually, I’m really looking to get them all back in time for Christmas Eve. Every year, we traditionally put the Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving, sharing crackers, cheese, sliced pepperoni, popcorn, cookies, and hot chocolate while trimming the tree and listening to Christmas music. I make my “Thanksgiving Soup” with the leftover turkey carcass, and we either have that or leftovers for dinner. These last few years have been a little different due to my job in retail, but we’ve made due by planning around my schedule so we can all enjoy that family togetherness.

At the risk of my sweet little 11-year-old stumbling upon this post, I’m going to share what Santa’s got in store for Christmas this year. All three children have expressed an interest in tablets, so I’ve got 3 seven inch tablets stashed in layaway with covers to match each child’s personality — granted, I do need to change out a few because we have since gotten better options in stock. Santa’s also replacing those scooters from last year because the other three scooters from last year got tampered with by some naughty bullies. Santa’s also giving the family a Wii with Mario Kart to spend some quality time together, giggling and racing. As of right now, I have only paid the mandatory 10% down payment to open said layaway. Hopefully, the bonus will be good enough that I can pay off most of it — even if I have to squelch on a bill or two.

It’s odd, really. Me, talking about squelching on bills. I hate that sensation of irresponsibility that comes along with paying late, especially when it’s more than a month late. However, I’ve been making space in my life to take each day in its smaller, more manageable parts. That’s the only way I can continue to cultivate my life such that I don’t feel like I’m dying everyday. Of course, hearing my babies cry for their daddy and big brother to come home drives the knife deeper into my bleeding heart. Whenever I set foot inside the courtroom, I feel the lawyers and social workers twisting that knife a bit more. I wish these people could understand this pain I’m going through — this pain that my babies have endured for what feels like an eternity.

I will not stop fighting. I will not stop screaming. I will not stop campaigning. All I want for Christmas is my family back together, and I will die trying to put them back together if it is necessary.

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An Open Letter

This year I’ve come to a very sick realization that our system truly is broken. Apparently, it is okay to continue arguing against a family, even after favorable evidence surfaces. It’s okay to diminish said favorable evidence. It’s okay to fabricate lies and SMILE while testifying to said lies. Last Wednesday, I saw a “professional” take the stand, disregard ethics, and SMILE while claiming a family was broken beyond repair. How appalled I was.

Why do we as a society stand for such injustice? Why do we allow the children who need intervention to slip through the cracks, only surfacing in the news when their grizzly deaths demand our attention? Why do we allow an agency absolute power — and the ability to abuse said power? Child Protective Services is no longer serving our babies. It is now serving the highest bidder. It is now serving the agenda of people who cherry pick children and families to prey upon. One of my children has been held captive in foster care for nearly 11 months now. He is currently in his third foster home, fearing the day he gets “mad” there and gets kicked out once again — instead of being returned home to the family that loves him. My other two children have been crying for their daddy and big brother to come home. We have been fighting valiantly, adhering to whatever guidelines and requirements these people set before us. We have made it known throughout our community that we love our children and will continue to fight. Instead of recognizing that we are caring parents, the Walker County Department of Family and Children Services continues to argue against reunifying our family every time we set foot inside the courthouse. On paper, it appears to the Georgia Department of Human Resources that this county wants to reunify our family — well, I refuse to allow this injustice to continue without speaking out.

I have contacted several media outlets, receiving no responses to my pleas for help. I am downright frustrated. I know what’s best for my family — for my babies. Right now, I have been rendered nearly incapable of protecting them from the harm that Walker County DFCS continues to inflict upon them. They have caused much more harm to all three of my children, as evidenced by the psychological evaluation performed on my oldest. Not only did the psychologist validate my son’s psychiatrist’s diagnosis of Pervasive Development Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, but he also validated our efforts — right down to pursuing extra-curricular activities to help develop our son’s social skills. Yes, our son played baseball last year. He was a star player on the team, attracting a fan-base that showed up cheering for our little number 95. Our son has been denied that privilege this year. He has been denied his wish to return home.

I will not stop fighting. I will not allow a rogue agency to continue hurting my babies. If I have to sacrifice my career as an English consultant just to save my family, I will gladly be the sacrificial lamb. I fought hard for my family in the past. I once paid $225 for permission to birth our youngest son naturally — since his two older siblings were c-section babies. I once calmly told a doctor that I understood the risks and benefits of a VBAC and that I would be leaving his hospital against his advice because I had no intention of allowing him to slice me open and expose myself and my daughter to a subpar institution. I have spoken out for my oldest to receive extra accommodations to succeed in the classroom. I have helped advocate for other women to choose the birth experiences they desired. Seriously, I am a woman who started advocating for animal rights when I was merely eleven years old, creating a silly little “patrol group” with a childhood best friend! I do not suffer fools lightly, nor do I suffer injustice. I will fight, and I will win. Take heed, Walker County, Georgia: my name is Meredith Shadwill, and I’m not going to give up. Ever. I will not lose.

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#AugustMoon13 Intentions

I’ve been silent since May. During that silence, the lovely Kat and I brewed up some magic. A brilliant idea that became the remedy for what ails me. A collaboration of reflection, manifestation, wishing, and dreaming big. A miracle. Even now, I’m awe-struck by the success of our project — by the simple fact that I contributed to this beautiful thing we dubbed August Moon 13. After reading days-worth of responses, I found the answer to my question: do I respond to our prompts, and if so, how? The answer: go through with it. Process the pain publicly. Share my story so that others may find peace. Inspire others to dream in the face of crushing defeat. So here we go…

Meredith writes: How have you treated yourself this year? Have you kept your intentions?

Quite frankly, I’ve treated myself like shit. There. I said it. I’m not censoring myself. I’m not putting up my filters. You see, on January 16th, my whole world came crashing down around me. A social services worker decided she didn’t like me and began the worst war I’ve ever faced in my entirety — hopeful the worst I will ever face during my existence. She safety planned my husband, the father of my three beautiful children, out of the home under the guise that doing so would prevent the need to remove any of them from my custody. This is where her deception began. Two days later on January 18th, she came to my home with another social services worker and demanded that I surrender my oldest son to the agency’s custody. She felt I wasn’t going to protect him from his father — yet she felt that I could protect my daughter and youngest son. Ever since, I have been filled with serious self-doubt, agonizing anxiety, and disorienting depression. For a while, I hid in shame. I kept quiet, assuming that everyone would despise me as this woman did. I feared judgment. And I suffered. I began to ignore my own needs in fear that self-care would be akin to narcissism. I sat back and let these people tear my soul to shreds, all while attempting to claw my way from their clutches — attempting to break free in order to protect my sweet innocent babies from the over-reaching of an agency gone mad with power. At times, I felt in control, empowered and ready to bring it. Then I’d get blindsided and sucker-punched. At risk of being ridiculed and outcasted, I confessed my life’s circumstances to those nearest and dearest, to those I work with regularly, and to those who’ve drifted over time. For the most part, I was pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of love and support. I only lost a small handful of friends — some of whom I still can’t figure out, meaning we weren’t really friends anymore anyway. Those who know me, my husband, and our three precious children know that this is an atrocity to our family. A vicious attack on the sanctity of our home. But even after finding the love and support I needed to survive, I’m still not treating myself very well. It’s difficult, honestly. How does one sleep when one has been separated forcibly from two people they hold near and dear to one’s heart? How does one find an appetite when plagued by fears and worries? How does one take time for one’s self when one is overwhelmed by the tasks at hand?

Obviously, this means I haven’t exactly held true to my intentions of cultivating a thriving life worth loving — in fact, I feel as though my break-throughs with Cultivate 2012 have been undone. I’m now surviving my day-to-day. I’m merely trying to make it from the time I wake up until the time I feel like I’m allowed to sleep. Sure, I’ve met my goal weight during that time, but I doubt my inner workings reflect that as a healthy weight loss. For the record, I do NOT recommend the stress diet. It’s not very fun at all. I’ve glutened myself time and again this year, subjecting my body to the destruction and pain it causes. I’ve developed an addiction to caffeine — I’m incredibly disappointed in myself about this because I had intended to cut way back on that stuff. My heart doesn’t need the stress and taxation of being forced to work extra hard when I don’t even know what I’m up against within my own body. My babies don’t deserve to see their mother’s health decline the way their father witnessed his own mother’s health deteriorate until she finally succumbed to the years of self-harm in the way of nicotine, sugar, workaholism, and stagnation. They deserve a vibrant old lady who’s around to watch them become grandparents.

I’m putting my foot down now. I refuse to be stifled by an agency that insists on fabricating lies about me and my family. I refuse to let one incredibly bitter, ignorant woman to continue hurting my babies with the fear of removal and the pain of separation from their father and brother. I refuse to let this agency continue traumatizing my sweet boy, ignoring his pleas to be sent home where he belongs. I refuse to give up my marriage and force my babies to live a life of less. I am going back to January 1st, time-traveling back via words, and renewing my promise to myself — and my family — that this year will be a banner year. I’m going to fight until I win this war. I will accept no less than the complete reunification of my family. I will not give into someone else’s intentions for my family. I may not be a perfect mother, but my children seem to love me all the same. My heart stings with the pain I see my children suffering, all while I watch near-helplessly. But no more. It’s time to come clean. It’s time to stop hiding. It’s time to face fear. It’s time to seize hold of that which matters most. It’s time to rise from the ashes. Come hell or high-water, I’m going to prevail.

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On Cultivating Family

This year has been hideously rough on my family. Between death and attacks on the integrity of our family unit, cultivating a thriving life as a family unit has been strained and fractured. It’s incredibly frustrating that outsiders can have such a deep impact on a family, but the sad reality is that some times other people can — and do — have power over us. The question is whether or not we let them exert that control over our lives and allow them permission to derail our plans and our dreams. The answer? We don’t. We press on. We show them who we are, what we’re made of, and how strong we are. I haven’t given up hope that we can salvage this year. I haven’t given up hope that the truth will prevail. I haven’t given up hope, and I won’t give up hope. Try as they may, my spirit cannot be broken. They will need to physically break me in order to stop me from nurturing myself, my family, and my dreams. I, too, have power — and I choose to use it wisely and responsibly. I could have easily abused my power earlier in the year, but I’ve chosen to let life unfold the story instead. I’ve chosen to keep the story to a limited few. I’ve chosen to continue practicing happiness and gratitude, cultivating life in spite of the challenges placed before me. I will continue to do so until the fight is over because that is the caliber of my character. I don’t quit — especially not when it comes to my family.

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#MondayMeditations Postponing

I find myself continually postponing registration for my courses in favor of handling more pressing matters. I’ve felt a lot of guilt over this, but today I’d like to let go of those feelings and give myself praise for recognizing that I wasn’t cultivating my life the way I should be. The purpose of cultivating my services and offerings online are to make my home the central focus of my day. I may not have cultivated my offerings into full-fledged products ready for purchasing, but I have cultivated my services into saplings ready to be watered by clients, students, and myself. And perhaps I need to establish myself as an English consultant further before I begin advertising my offerings. Stay tuned for news about my courses and workshops later in the year after I’ve had time to cultivate that which matters most and finalize my curricula.

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#Scintilla13 English Nerd

What talent do you have that your usual blog readers don’t know about? Talk about a time when you showed it to its best advantage.

I don’t talk enough about my English grammar skills, which is something I’d like to change. I’m trying to build a business around that talent so I can cultivate my life, but I doubt I could cultivate that dream without talking more about my talent. I catch grammar errors in news articles, school papers, work memos, and all over. I know grammar can form an impression on someone — bad grammar forms the impression of ignorance, even when it’s undeserved. I want my students and clients to be perceived as the intelligent, wonderful people they are.

Before we left Gainesville, I started leveraging my talent as a means to earn some extra money while job hunting. I discovered that tutoring was very lucrative in a college town, and I almost took the risk of staying in Gainesville to try forging my own business there. Unfortunately, the rural community I live in doesn’t afford me the same opportunities. However, I determined that a sliding scale rate would attract at least a few students. A very wonderful student found and hired me in September of 2011, and he’s been a regular ever since. I may have only broken even after feeding that money back into a local eatery, but the rewards of seeing my student’s writing improve more than make up for that. I thrive when I see my work pay off.

Ultimately, I would love to cultivate my dreams of being an English consultant because I feel rewarded — and free — when I’m playing with words.

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#Scintilla13 The Last Stand

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.

My animal reproductive physiology final awaited me. It was December 2005 — the last stand in my battle as an animal science major. Nothing was going to stop me from that showdown in the Animal Science building. I climbed the steps of the bus, sat in my seat, and waited for the driver to pull away. The sound of tires screeching approached from behind. THUD. I felt my body jolt forward as a van rear-ended the bus. Clearly, the signs weren’t favorable. I sat, waiting angrily and impatiently for law enforcement — and the next bus. I filled out the incident report card, questioning the driver and the cops if I needed to stay after the next bus arrived. “Are you hurt?” I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care, though. I could walk. I could see. I could hear. I could take my final. Along the ride to the big final, I realized my neck hurt. I didn’t care. I had to take that test. I diligently answered the questions, ignoring the throbbing pain in my neck. The ER could wait until I turned in my fate. I needed to know if I was meant to be a veterinarian. My neck could wait.

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