I am not good with words

I am not good with words. nor am I good with gestures. Mediocre at best.

I am starting to realize in my life that not all things need a ‘word’ or ‘expression’.. I don’t know if that makes sense to you.

There are a lot of things going on all around us that we are oblivious to. Do we feel saddened or excited about the things we know nothing about? Obviously not. Stop glorifying the little things. Wait for the big PUNCH.

I am learning this, in what feels like snippets of a movie scene every day.  I watch. I listen.  I learn. Sometimes Ill respond to something that interests me. Most of the time, ill look around with a blank front, and discount what’s being spat out.

I switch from the same three social media apps I have on my phone: FB, IG, snapchat… whilst sitting around a group of people, engaging in conversation. My phone and my online social life is most definitely a get-away. Do I toggle between the three resorts to get away from expressing myself on a daily basis or do I seek something different? Or am I realizing that its not necessary to constantly be flapping my lips furiously until the ring of cotton mouth erupts?!!!

When do you know when its time to engage?

…like I said

I am not good with words.








My English teacher did not approve this message

What am I afraid of? Am I afraid of being alone? Am I afraid of dropping everything that we once had and starting over?

Have I gotten used to this relationship? Would I ever be able to MoveOn? Of course I would just like anybody else after a break up, they MoveOn.

I see pictures of us on our wall, on our fridge and in your wallet. What am I so afraid of?

My own personal thoughts have been used against me. How will I ever move on from that?

Moving forward. Have I started to give up? Do I know that I deserve better? Does he know what he does wrong?

What am I afraid of?

If were being honest here, I’m afraid of the look that it will have on an outsiders perspective. But still, what am I so afraid of?

Too personal?

March 21, 2018 I found out I was pregnant. I was almost certain I was unable to have kids. Something deep down inside me, told me it would never happen. Along with the immature attempts to have a child that didn’t work, lesbian  me to believe it couldn’t be. Then it did. Mike and I carelessly had unprotected sex repeatedly. Not a worry in the world. Month after month, I got my period right on schedule. But this one time, I didn’t. My mind raced, my stomach felt heavier than ever, and my emotions were everywhere. Scared, no, terrified. I have no savings, my relationShip with mike Was still fresh and I didn’t know if I’d be a good mother.

March 22, 2018, I had an appointment with Dr. Werner my gynecologist. And there it was, as tiny as a poppyseed, inside my uterus. It was beautiful. It was pure. It was innocent. In that moment I wanted it, I wanted it all. Motherhood.

Two weeks I had to decide whether or not I was going to keep it. Intwo weeks I found myself in a relationship with lies, cheating and no trust. How can you bring a baby in this world with two parents that lack basic qualities? Trust, love etc. It wasn’t fair and I knew it. As much as I had already love that tiny poppyseed, I knew in my heart it wasn’t right. We weren’t ready to be parents. The end of the two weeks was near and I was scheduled for the procedure. We went together. I could tell he felt relieved, while I sat there and agony. Anticipating what was yet to come. “Jessica Breier”. My name was called. I stood up and walked with the nurse into the room. The process before the procedure was aggravating enough, let alone the procedure itself. Blood draw , paperwork and a psych test. The nurse asked me “are you sure this is what you want?”. “Yes.” I thought about saying no I really did. I changed into a surprisingly comfortable gown and sat down in the waiting room with one other girl. She seemed normal. Not phased by what was about to happen. Like she had done this before. And I sat there silently with regretful tears running down my face. The girl was called in five minutes. I sat alone for what felt like five hours. Still scared. Still regretful. Finally I got called and followed the nurse into the “procedure room”.  And uninviting bed. Tired nurses. And an alarmingly happy doctor. I put my feet in the stirrufs and began to cry. The nurse said “if the doctor sees you crying he’s not going to do the procedure.” I stopped. Laid-back. The propofol hit. I counted back and fell into what felt like the most relaxing sleep I’ve had in years.

I woke up in the recovery room, with a bloody pad, four or five other women around me. On the phone. Reading a book, eating the food that was offered to us after we woke up. Why was this such a relaxed environment? Did anybody realize what they just did? I couldn’t get over it, I still don’t understand it to this day. I ate some crackers and had some juice. It was done. I walked out and met Mike in the waiting room. We took off. We went about our day like any other. In the back of my head I wonder if you ever think of what it would be like with a kid. If we hadn’t gone through with the procedure. I have regrets. I would’ve been an awesome mother. I’ll forever and always love that tiny poppyseed, even though it was so early on in the pregnancy. I will never forget you.

Did I Just do that?

The answer is YES!

I at the age of 21, decided it was my time to leave the nest. Leave home, be independent and prove to everyone I had what it took to survive on my own.

Not sure if it was because the crowded household I was in, The non stop fighting I was surrounded by, or my pride that brought me to my breaking point. Ok, yes, I do know every household has their own hardships, and in no means am I saying I had it the worst. But I knew I wanted to grow. See bigger and better things.

Picture this: four grown adults in a 2 bedroom, 500 sq ft apartment. Wait It gets better. Sharing that space were 4 dogs and 3 cats. It was more or less like a zoo. Oh and the fish tank. The constant upkeep for our animals was a little ridiculous, but animals were always apart of our lives. My mother is best described as a little kid who has just found a feral animal, scoops it up, holds it tight, welcomes it into our home and loves it unconditionally. That’s how most of our animas became apart of the family. (By rescue )


So ontop of the zoo, and the crowded space, there were other obstacles. Before my two older brothers moved back home, I had my own space, my own things and my own room. And unfortunately had to give those things up to make room for family in need. At the time I didn’t care, I was happy to have my family all together, even though it was crowded. One brother took my room, the other took the living room. And I had to bunk with my mother.  Now let me start by saying I used to sleep in my mothers room a lot as a child and even through some of my teenage years. After finally getting my own space then having to go back was bitter sweet.

So it goes without saying there was a lot of fighting and bickering. Not being able to give eachother the space we needed, led to a lot of screaming and shouting. I found myself staying  at a friends house more than my own. Finding reasons not to go home. I wasn’t missing it anymore… I was avoiding it.

So during everything that was going on, I decided enough was enough. “I’ll find an apartment on my own, pay for it, and move out asap”, Is what I said to myself. Thinking back on it now, kinda felt like I was doing it  out of spite. But I still wanted to grow. See if the grass was greener on the other side.

So I began to search for an apartment. Found one 5-10mins from home. Phoned the landlord, met up for a walk through and before you know it, I was signing my very first lease agreement. Soon after That I  went back “home” packed my belongings and sorted through unused items I could take with me. Strapped a duffle bag to my back hopped on my bike  and peddled my way to my new apartment.

Sitting on the floor of my new apartment, no furniture, no food and no light, thought to myself, literally scratching my head, “Did I just do that?”.

Terrified and homesick, living off of Dominos pizza, water and coffee for two weeks straight, I was losing my mind. Crying every night.  Immediately regretting my decision. But it was time to suck it up, prove that what I just did was for the good and to show I capable of achieving my goals.

Fast forward one year later.. Im still alive! Still here. With an apartment I’ve grown to love. Slowly but surely it Has come together to preview what kind of person I am, adding my own personal touches. No where near done, but it’s mine and it’s evolving just as I do Everyday.

So I shared this for a few reasons. The grass is as only green as you make it. You don’t realize what you have until it’s no longer there (my family). And lastly , if you give yourself a goal, stick to it. Dont give up.

Hope you all somewhat enjoyed that read and maybe related to some of it. Take what you need from it.

I’m also aware it was very long but thanks for sticking it out!




“You’re too sensitive”

Oh, a phrase I’ve heard too many times to count. Friends, family, co-workers, ex-boyfriends and future friends – this is for you.

I’ve been told I’m too sensitive for one reason or another.  Yes I must admit , I don’t have the toughest shell, but rather a soft porous outer layer. The harsh words that are sometimes thrown my way, tend to stick and embed themselves.


If there comes a situation that I need to grow a backbone , it’s usually for my mother. I can push aside my sensitivity and be brave and take any punch I need to for her.

My mother raised me to be a strong and  independent woman. But for some reason as I get older I tend to lose those traits day by day.  Afraid of confrontation, afraid of making people upset and always yearning to be accepted is who I’ve become.

‘Sorry’ has been my favorite word for many years. Sorry for things that I didn’t even do. Sorry for things that obviously didn’t need an apology for.  Sorry.. ‘Sorry’ is my way of keeping the peace. Thinking it will solve all problems , when in reality it’s just a word. It can only hold so much meaning after using it so many times.


So we go back to the sensitivity part…

When I’m confronted with a conflict where a simple ‘sorry’ doesn’t work, I feel defenseless.  Words are said, feelings are made aware of, and I start to shut down.  Since I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, people are able to see my weakness. I shut down even more. My sadness turns to anger, and I’m labeled as ‘too sensitive’. I’m now defeated.

Im sure there are plenty of people out in the world, that share this problem unfortunately. I’m looking for answers, solutions, advice and anything else you can offer that has helped you through these problems..

I’ve fought with this for a very long time. It’s time to take control of how I’m feeling and teach myself to be brave again with permanent backbone.

In closing, I’d like to say I don’t think it’s at all bad to be sensitive. My sensitivity has brought comfort for friends and family in their time of need, love for the things that are on this earth, and forgiveness to those who have done me wrong. I’m not “too sensitive”.