Candid Head Nodding Relationship Advice from 11 Happily Married couples

Brandon Woelfel1. Avoid resentment at ALL costs Resentment is the single thing that ruins a relationship. Do whatever it takes to avoid it. Honesty and communication are good tools to avoid it. — Raintitan 2. Relationships are two different people Recognize that your partner is not you. They have a separate brain and self-awareness and perception…

via 11 Happily Married People Give Their Brutally Honest Advice For Folks Who Want LTRs — Thought Catalog


Mr DJ, don’t stop playing the music


Mr Dj, don’t stop that music

whatever you do

Keep the song on the turntable playing

Cause I’m in hiding

from the Blues

Man singing in the jukebox

Let me lean on your croons for just a little while

my heart is breaking

And I feel just vile

Lady in the Youtube playlist

Sorry, I have to rewind you

I need to drown out these sad heartbreak songs

And be free from my mind


Crooner behind my eyelids

Let me sleep

Won’t you stop playing these haunting songs?

Turntables in my mind keep crying :

“That’s a foul, that’s a foul, he did you quite a foul”

Why do you keep spinning out the tune that’s cracking my soul


Still, Mr DJ,  the music must play on

Cause this discarded girl wants to keep on

hiding from the Blues.


Copyright by Karen Taylor, 2016-2017



Chicken Soup for the Dejected Writer’s Soul:How to Be Your Own Therapist when these Three Dreamcrushers Invade your Writer’s Soul

chicken souo for lonely writer


Actor/writer/entertainer Spalding Gray’s untimely death in 2013 was shocking to many in his circle. Patricia Pharrel, author of How to Be Your Own Therapist: A Step-by-Step Guide to Building a Competent, Confident Life remembers Gray as a man of talent and complexity who had . . . . “a great deal of pain in his life, pain he managed to keep to himself and it was depression that drove him to take his life.”

When Swedish researchers combed through population registries looking for a link between creativity and mental illness, they found that writers have a slightly increased risk for depression and suicide, but their relatives do not. Continue reading

Free. . . . dom song. . . finally!

The caged bird can sintrapped bird2g

She is free

Free of the cords of unhappiness that wrapped her too tightly in fear and anguish and despair and misery and loneliness and pity and self recriminations and guilt and embarrassment for far too long

Five years

Lord, what a waste

But she thanks God for the lessonsgirl cage free

Thank Him for even the greying hairs at her temple

(She is stronger than she thought),

and thankful

for the angel fingers that opened the door

And gave the survivor her day dream

Wind beneath her wings

Heart’s song sad and wistful, but happy and fre

Separation from the net song, victory over evil medleys

Cage-free survivorfescaped bird

The hope of raveling net chords, exploding cage.

No longer bound

Watch her rise now,

sky bound.

Copyright. Karen Taylor 2015. All rights reserved. (Images are owner copyrighted)

The Lost Anniversary

It’s the eve

of our


and I feel

all popped down

I’m popping peanuts

Tension is in the room

Anxiety is lying on my chest

Has been that way since the last fatal words over a week ago

More peanuts

More peanuts

Then everything stopped. The last tether I was holding onto broke.

Poof. Bandaged emotional dams broke.

We stopped




stopped fighting

the fight has gone out

the passion

and the light

and the love

We let it slip away

Not me, him

Four years of CPR

Still vegetated

Time to pull the plug?

Or just walk away

(No further explanations need, we’re all talked out)

And leave the vegetated state

With this ring, on those steps under the canopy of the sunny Friday sky

We’d promised forever, said I do

But didn’t expect that forever meant so much work to keep fires stoked

Except, why did it feel as though I was the only one changing and forgiving and caring?

And while we looked on, the venom took the oxygen out of our air

The flame on the Forever dipped, blew out

and quiet-ly, tiptoe-ing-ly slipped away.

While conflicted, crying heart(s)

helplessly and silently

watched the petals and the promises swallowed up in

the swirling dervish dusk.

Voice Uncensored: Diary of my Mundane Monday

Monday, January 5, 2015


3:20 a.m.  I wake up to my husband’s shufflings. He’s getting ready for work. I lay there. We are not speaking since Saturday when I spoke to him over a simple matter and he over-reacted and stormed off, leaving a gift I had asked him to bring to a child. I followed him, he drove off in a rush to evade me and I ended up having to give chase and throw the bag in the back of the van as he sped away. It was so unnecessary. What had happened should not have offended him to that point that he got so angry. Depressed already, I was not in the mood for more stress.

3:30 a.m.  I hear the keys jangle as the door closes, the sound of the van revving up and he drives away.

3:45 a.m. I get up. I can’t sleep. I head to the living room with my pillow and a sheet, settle myself on the couch and start my computer. I start flipping through downloaded files and reading through some. I open up my internet browser and find an online learning toolbox from an Australian site. I start reading how to design learning programs as a trainer. The radio is playing gospel hymns and my mind is flickering everywhere so I can’t concentrate. I don’t know when I fall asleep.

7:30 a.m. I wake up with the laptop cotched on my tummy. The screen is sleeping. I get up and crack my windows to see there’s bright sunlight outside. It’s morning. I turn off the lights and open up my door. Oh well, another day.

I continue browsing through my emails. I find HUFFINGTON POST Monday mail and am taken to the gossip pages about the actress who had a baby for a boxer guy. She’s small, and he’s tall. Then a story about Kate Middleton captures my attention and I read through a series of Royals posts for the next three hours. I find myself reflecting,  I don’t know why I am so fascinated with Kate and Williams’ life. They are not Gods. Just what’s the claim to fame? She has lots of fancy clothes and don’t really work,unless you call dinners and fun travels work. Seems like princesses and duchesses just push out babies every other year and they and their babies are fawned over by an adoring public. What a life though. I find myself wishing I had such an idyllic life nevertheless. Wonder if I would be bored though? These days I find myself easily bored.

12:00 noon. I must have drowsed off again. The government  news is being read on radio. I switch stations back to gospel and a lady is praying.

I am hungry.

I get up and go search for food in the refrigerator. I decided against touching my husband’s fries in the freezer and opt for some raisins instead. I search for my phone. My girlfriend who is visiting from the States is supposed to call so we can meet up and chat. I find it in my bag. It’s off. I turn it back on and instantly see that my daughter has sent me some phone credit. A minute or so later it rings and my friend is calling. We arrange a lunch meeting out on the plaza for 2 0’clock. I checked and found I had some change I could use for my busfare. I wasn’t too sure I had enough, but she had promised to give me busfare to return home.

I head back to the couch. I sing along with a song that’s playing on the radio for a while before turning my attention to the laptop screen. I flip from email to web site. All I do is read, a bit of this and a bit of that. Oh, my poor flitting mind. I feel a headache coming on.

Then I decide to write this post.

Thoughts intervene. I need a job. I should be spending more time applying for a job. But where, what? There is nothing in the papers. Why can’t I find the motivation to do anything? Why do I sit here feeling worthless, having ideas, but not acting on them? I haven’t called my mother since the New Yrear. I should call, but I don’t feel like dealing with questions today about what progress I’m making with my job hunting. It bothers me. It seems I’m shut down. I feel miserably unhappy and stuck. I guess I’m depressed.

I also worry about my dad. Guilt rides me everytime I remember I haven’t seen him in just over two years now. I didn’t find the time to go when I was working and had funds and I can’t go now I am free and have no funds. I feel torn and very guilty. He’s recovering from a stroke which has taken his speech and leaves him speaking gibberish which I don’t understand. But I love my dad. I want to see him. I could ask my husband but I don’t really like him to see my father in this state. He’s sometimes comptemptuous of my family. I don’t want to subject my parents to him. I’d rather not share my parent’s lesser selves  with someone who has no regard for me or them.

I need to see my daughter too. As you would have read in my About page, she doesn’t live with me and my husband. She lives with her father’s parents in another parish and goes to school there. She spends time with her father in Florida in the Summer months and should really spent time with me during the Xmas season, but in the last couple of years she’s been reluctant to come by me. I can’t say I blame her. My husband always finds a way to show her the side I try to keep her away from why she’s not with me in the first place. We constantly argue when my daughter is not here and he can’t make an effort not to create some offence when she is around for the short time I have her. I think she finds the environment in my home distasteful, or maybe just less luxurious than what she is used to in her second home. I don’t know. Maybe the grandparents are part of the problem too, spoiling her so she can’t accept what I have to offer her.

So as I was saying I didn’t see her at Christmas or New Year and I feel like a bad mother. I feel guilty and conflicted all the time since she’s not been with me, which is major part of my deep unhappiness.

I want to spend time with her,  but I don’t like to be with her and feel depressed, and the idea of travelling so far to see her when I’m in a state that can’t deal with anything stressful, is additionally off-putting. She also doesn’t seem to need me that much anymore either. She’s almost 16 and has friends and  activities that seem more important to her at this time than being around her mother. So I feel unneeded and a bit angry with her sometimes for that, but my mood soon changes to sadness. I can’t blame her. She is just a young girl trying to chart her path and make sense of the adolescent changes in her body.

How can I be upset at her? I didn’t take charge of my life. I made the mistakes. I decided to sacrifice having her by my feet and suffer my own punishment, so that she would have a better life and would not be harmed by my mistakes. It became imperative that she must never take the same road I have taken, never be smeared by the mud I had settled in. So I’ve decided to let her have a better home, an argument-free home where I pray to God, she will blossom into a confident young woman who will know how to assert herself when she grows up and never mistake sadistic romance for love.

I  take full responsibility for all the crap I’ve allowed to happen in my life, the learned helplessness, the mistakes, the fact I’ve allowed people, especially the men in my life to walk all over me and take my happiness, break my spirit and increasingly reduce my self-worth. It’s my pound of flesh to give so she can do much better than I have and achieve all the good things an empowered life can offer. But I still fret that  it could all go wrong and my painful sacrifice could be in vain; wonder whether it is possible that I could have passed the learned helplessness and abuse psyche to her genetically and the cycle may stubbornly continue despite my best efforts to separate her from this curse.

1:30 p.m. I start getting ready to go meet my girlfriend. I was the dishes, mop the kitchen and straighten up the bed which I’d left tussled since I came out of it after 3 p.m. this morning. I battle with the little voice that tells me to cook dinner and leave it for my undeserving husband. I recall he had said his shift would end at 6 p.m., so I estimate I would have enough time to spend time with my friend and return in time to make dinner. A hurt voice of passive resistance tells me not to make any dinner. Don’t keep making him feel that what he is doing is okay. Stop being a doormat. I iron, shower, get dressed and head out the door 30 minutes later than I had told my friend I would be there to meet her. But she’s patient, I console myself. She’ll wait and won’t make a fuss. She calls to check where I am me and I tell her I am on my way.

2:30 p.m. I arrive at Megamart where we had agreed to have lunch at the food court. We spend time catching up talking about her ‘new friend’, her wish to have a baby (She’s 40 this year and a divorcee) and my inability to get pregnant with my husband. I counsel her to be careful on the dangers of rushing into a two month old relationship with a double divorcee. I am married to one, so I know first-hand the baggage they can carry. She extols his virtues and express concern about a few of his issues while we eat.After an hour she seems to be getting antsy and we leave.

3:45 p.m. I follow her to search for gifts to take back to Florida for friends, and then take a taxi to her home to pick up the few gifts she had brought me but which she had forgotten to bring with her to the lunch date. I greet and chat with her mom who I had not seen since college days. We chat for about 30 minutes about the state of affairs in the country.

4:45 p.m. My friend walks me to the bus-stop where I hail a taxi which takes me to the plaza we had left from. From there I take another taxi home. When I get home, I see my husband is already there. Guess the shift ended an hour early than he had claimed it would have. I let myself in, put down my things. We pass each other like two sailboats on the ocean. No horn is tooted. He goes outside. I change my clothes. There is soup on the stove that he had made for himself. I sit on the couch and turn on my laptop. I browse and read.

6:45 p.m. He comes back into the house. He picks up his laptop and puts it on his knees and soon is engrossed in his favourite game of cards. A popular radio talk show is booming through the radio speakers just beside where I sit. I am annoyed and want to turn it down but decide against touching his stuff.

8:00 p.m. He attaches his laptop to the radio sound system and watches the television news through WIFI Internet that I have not paid for in the last five months since I stopped working. I’ve been praying everyday they don’t come to cut it. It sounds bad, but I’d be really lost without the Internet to keep me company. I live with a man who does nothing but work, sleep, work. We  have no social life. He has taken me out on a date since we married, even though I’ve asked to. We have been to the beach once in the last five years since we married. I never had a honeymoon because he asked back for the money he had given me to pay down so he could use it for his uncle’s funeral. His promises to make up for the lost honeymoon since then has been forgotten. He has never had the money to do such ‘foolishness’ since then. Neither has he told me ‘Happy Anniversary’ since we married because he always find something to be upset about the night or days  before and the ‘malice’ always conveniently lasts until the day of the anniversary. And over time, my laptop has replaced him as my loyal, peaceful companion.

8:40 p.m.  He sighs, gets up and irons his work shirt for the next day. I would usually have washed and ironed, but since the impasse, I have left those duties to him. On Saturday evening, I overheard him making plans with a woman to wash his clothes for him. He didn’t discuss this with me before to see how I felt about it, but I figure it is his way to reiterate that I need to get up and get a job which he has been saying these past few weeks in more and more disrespectful tones. I had asked him why he needed to go there. Amidst my distrust issues with him after an incident a few months ago involving a woman, he knew and I told him I didn’t like the plan and there was no need for it as I was already washing for him. But he let me know, I would be at work. The innuendo was not lost on me. But to go ahead without discussing this with me and letting me into who he was asking was I felt a form of disrespect and another attempt to  alienate me in his psychological games and a show of  passive resistance which he has subjected me to and taught me since we married these past five years come the 29th of January.

Now, I have become a master at the game too, and I give back as good as I get these days.

After completing his ironing, he listens to some more tv news. I read and browse some more.

9:00 p.m. He turns in for bed. I decide to complete this post which I had started earlier today.

10:30 p.m. I have completed drafting my post. I need to put some finishing touches on it before publishing. I need to publish it tonight too. If I let it sit, I may change my mind.

I realise I have shared a lot more than I am used to, but ‘cho’. . . I need to get some of this stuff out of me so my spirit can rise from the ashes at this dark time in my life. I need strength to bear my cross. My emotional turmoil has burgeoned into a stone that’s hanging around my neck. I’m in sink or swim mode, and despite my immobile feet, my spirit commands me to ‘swim’.

As  a few of my fellow bloggers told me earlier this week, this is my blog, my story to write. I’ll write what I want to write. Maybe it’s time to break the cords of helplessness that has dogged me for too long, time to find my voice, reach for the fulfilment that has evaded me for far too long . . . time to smell the roses in the rose garden.




Will It Just Be Your Heart That Breaks?

sunset 2

Stuck in fear.

You are in the phase in your marriage where you know it’s over and things are not going to get better, but you’re not ready to face the sunset, to let go. You play his manipulation game, wishing the charm of the last evening could last, but it doesn’t this morning. And anger, denial and fear tussle daily trying to keep the inevitable at bay. It’s a scary place.

You  wish you could jump over the years after the oncoming separation/divorce and be at the place where the dulled pain is and the sun shines again. You’re scared to go through the forest. You may not survive, You may go insane. It’s been too much held down for too long.

When it comes up, will you be able to handle so much? Will things break? Will it just be your heart that breaks is the question that makes your knees shake.

Teary Tuesday: Grief and Joy — You will Cry Too When You see these Images

Today is a teary Tuesday for me.

I cried because I can’t understand the ugliness in the world. (Be prepared. This is very graphic.)

Publisher Credit: Sudhir Byaruhanga

smiley sad

Words desert me.

These images will stay with me for a long time.

A little Kindness

I cried because there is still kindness left in this world.

Publisher Credit:

happy tear smile

There is still beauty in this world.

Now I’m crying for a child, next I’m laughing for a deserving mother.

But deep down, both have pulled my heart strings.

It’s a teary Tuesday.

Tears of grief; tears of joy.

smiley sad teary tuesday

Post script: Latest reports are that the child is recovering in hospital. Thank God for angels. One must have been watching. Parents, start watching what happens in your house. Don’t let any more monsters in. Invest in a nanny cam, Spend time and carefully screen your babysitters. Let’s protect our children.

Try a little Kindness Today. Watch more #PrankitFWD and help raise money for charity:

I leave you with this classic old song from Glen Campbell.

Less tears. More Joy. Walk good, my friends.


I don’t usually write short stories on this blog, but a good friend asked me to write a children’s book story for her eight year old son’s Library assignment this week and I wrote this. Let me know if you like it. I’ve always dreamed of writing children stories. I must say she was thrilled with the story, and I like it myself. It’s not perfect, but for a first timer, I don’t think I did too badly. 





Davy was a puppy who liked having his own way.
Whenever his mom told him not to do something, he did the opposite.
His cries were often heard in the neighbourhood as his mother frequently spanked him.
Today he was receiving a spanking. Again.

His mother had told him not to go on the street to play. But he had disobeyed and while his brother Lion took a nap, he bored through a hole in the fence only he knew about and went to visit his friend Marianne, a poodle who lived five houses down the road and the prettiest girl dog in the community. (Davy and his family were Alsations.)

Marianne, Davy's best friend

Marianne, Davy’s best friend

He had planned to go back home before his mom came back. She had gone with Mrs Lewis, their caretaker, to the vet for a worm infestation complaint.

But they came back earlier than he thought, and he was having too much fun playing Catch the ball with Marianne and her owner to hear when Mrs Lewis’ car pull up.

When his brother Lion appeared at Marianne’s gate, he knew he was in trouble. His heart thumping with fear, he bid goodbye to his friend and followed Lion, preparing for the punishment that he knew his mother would inflict on him as soon as he arrived home.

Ten minutes later, Davy was licking his hurting haunches, and angrily sniffling over the injustice of being punished for wanting to play with his friend. Davy decided that he would find a way to run away.

He would persuade Marianne to come with him and they would start their life far away from here together. He would marry Marianne when they were older and have their own family. And he would never beat his children. He would give them their freedom to enjoy themselves and together they would be always happy.

So, the entire night Davy thought about his grand plan and by morning he was certain that it was the best decision he had ever made.

Two days later, Davy had managed to get out again and made plans with Marianne, who had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to go with him.

On that same night, shortly after nightfall, Davy crawled through the secret opening in the picket fence and trotted away from his home. He was a little scared, but he comforted himself with the fact that Marianne would be waiting for him under the big tree behind her house as she had promised.

Swiftly, he headed to Marianne and his new life ahead.

But Marianne was not at the spot. He waited. Five minutes turned to ten and ten minutes soon became 30. Where could she be?

He decided to go look for her. Maybe her caretaker had learnt about the plan and locked her inside. Maybe she was sick, he fretted.

He didn’t know what to do. He could not bark because he didn’t want to alert his family (his mom’s ears were extremely sharp) or Marianne’s caretaker that he was out there.

He went to the window of the living room where Marianne usually sleeps in a feather bed. “Marianne,” he whispered. “Marianne, it’s Davy. Come out.”

But Marianne did not come out. It was getting really dark now, and he was seeing fireflies in the dark.

He was afraid of fireflies and bats. They were flying monsters that his brother Lion told him flew about after dark looking for little puppies who were out of bed, to have as supper.

‘Oh, how would he find his way back home now? How could Marianne have let him down so? Why had he thought running away was a good idea in the first place? He should have listened to his mother. Oh,’ Davy whimpered fretfully.

As he made his way back home, tears were in his eyes. His heart was in his throat. He jumped when a Tom cat meeoowed and flashed its evil witch eye at him. The fireflies were everywhere now and seemed to be chasing him. An owl hooted in a tree above.

Davy decided to make a mad dash for home. He had to get home; home where no strange things went bump in the night.

He missed his mother and Lion.  Suddenly she didn’t seem so wicked anymore. She and Lion had only been trying to protect him. Oh, how wrong he had been. They were his family and they loved him. Marianne obviously did not love him as much as he did her. Or maybe she was just smarter than he was. ‘Oh hum, never mind,’ he barked miserably as he leaped through the bushes.

Finally, he saw the white picket fence that had been his home for the last four years. Thank you God, he prayed.
As he bounded through the hole, his mom and Lion who were there waiting worriedly yelped their relief and fell on him in happiness. His mother was crying, and soon everyone’s face was wet.

They sat and talked for a long time, and for the first time his mom shared the story of how she had lost his father when he had run into a car on the street. It was the first time he was hearing the story of his father’s death. He now understood why she had been so strict on him going out. She was afraid to lose him too.

That night Davy learnt that parents put rules in place to protect their pups from dangers they cannot see themselves. He also learnt that it was selfish to think the world revolved around him. He shouldn’t have asked Marianne to run away with him. She was right to not come.


He did eventually forgive Marianne, and the two became closer friends. They later married and had puppies that looked like both of them. And he loved them. But when one was wayward, he spanked. And afterwards, he would gather all his pups around him, and he would tell them the  familiar tale about the night he learnt two important lessons: to obey rules and consider others’ feelings. He taught them to remember one thing, even though they were too young to understand why: parents are always wiser and they always care even when it seems otherwise.

Davy and Marianne’s pups

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAdownloadmixed pups

The End

My Leibster Award

Thank you so much to The Courtney Diaries for nominating me for the Liebster Award!.


I have been asked to carry out five tasks. Here they are:

  • Post the award on your blog.
  • Thank the blogger who presented this award and link back to their blog.
  • Write 11 random facts about yourself.
  • Nominate 11 bloggers who you think deserve this award and who has less than 200 followers.
  • Answer 11 questions posted by the presenter and ask your nominees 11 questions.
  • Write 11 random facts about yourself.

1. I was home-delivered.

2. My earliest recollection of a reggae song is Ba-ba-boom boom boom, written by The Jamaicans and which won the Jamaican festival song competition in 1967, four years before I was born.

3. I love ackee and saltfish and fried ripe breadfruit. Ackee and saltfish is my country’s national dish.

Ackee and Saltfish with Fried Dumplings

Ackee and Saltfish with Fried Dumplings

4. I won a Journalism award in 1996 for human interest journalism.

5. I never went to journalism school.

6. I attended an all-girl high school and an all-girl teachers’ college. I taught high school English for a sum of 8 years,


7. I learnt to type by poking the keys on the keyboard 20 year ago during my first job with a newspaper.

8. I have a beautiful 15 year old daughter.

9. I don’t have a first degree, because I did not complete my university education.I love English.

10. I have been a Christian since 10 years old..

11. I love the sound of morning birds and the feel of  sea lapping my feet.

11 Bloggers who also deserve this award

  • Nominate 11 bloggers who you think deserve this award and who has less than 200 followers.

Sorry, I don’t know the follower count of each blogger, so I’ve made the nominations based on the blogs I have read and enjoyed. I feel these bloggers deserve this award.












11 Questions from Courtney

1. Why did you start blogging?

I started blogging because I needed an outlet for my thoughts. After not writing for many years, I also had a sudden urge to write again.

2. What is your happiest memory from this past year?

Being a child chasing butterflies and not having a care in the world.

3. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?

The Maldives and Europe, especially Italy and Wales.

4. If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Ackee and saltfish and fried ripe breadfruit or fried dumplings (as I noted earlier, it’s my favourite)

5. What is the one thing that you cannot leave the house without?

My handbag.

6. Have you ever been told that you look like a celebrity? If so, which one?

Can’t say I’ve been told so.

7. What is your dream job?

Working at something that I enjoy, involves customer service, different locations and luxurious travel, tons of perks, pays excessively and has no take home work.

8. If you could be any fictional character, who would it be and why?

Cinderella. After a much misfortune, she finds happiness and true love in the end.

9. What would your superpower be?

Jesus. (He’s the Highest Power anyway.}

10. What do you miss most about being a kid?

Innocence, laughing and being carefree.

11. What would the title of your autobiography be?

Happy Endings are not only for Fairy Tales: My Life story

In turn, I will ask the nominees I’ve listed above to answer the same questions I just did. Have fun!