Dear 12 Year Old Me

I'm writing to you with all the feelings that come with a long-lost love: sadness, longing, grief, gratitude, and hope. Maybe every feeling in the feelings book. But before I tell you anything else, I want you to know this:

There is a happy ending to your story.

It all began when we were little. Mom and Dad did the best they could with the tools they had while raising three little girls. As the middle child, it was easy to disappear into the shuffle of it all.

All we really wanted was a life filled with love, togetherness, puppies, birds, and dreams of one day living on a farm surrounded by every animal our heart desired.

But at twelve years old, you already know life isn't that simple.

You know chaos.
You know confusion.
You know loneliness.

You learn early how to hide those feelings from everyone else. You learn how to smile when you're hurting. You learn how to wear a mask so well that even you begin to forget it's there.

There were happy moments, of course. Moments that felt like love. But we didn't yet understand what healthy love looked like. We only knew what was familiar. And that familiar feeling would quietly guide many of the choices I made later in life.

Our little heart needed more nurturing than the people around us were able to give.

So when I tell you what comes next, I need you to understand something:

I wasn't trying to hurt you.

I was simply making decisions from wounds I hadn't yet learned how to heal.

...

I need to confess something to you.

I chose a partner who felt familiar.

Not safe.
Not healthy.
Just familiar.

He carried the same chaos we grew up with. The same uncertainty. The same confusing version of love that always felt like something we had to earn.

We were two wounded people trying to build a life together with tools neither of us possessed.

And sweet girl, it was going to hurt.

What I didn't understand then was how much of myself I had already learned to abandon.

I had become a people-pleaser. I had learned that being a "good girl" meant staying quiet, keeping the peace, shrinking myself to make others comfortable.

Little by little, I lost my voice.

Little by little, I lost you.

And for that, I am so sorry.

...

This is where I need you to hear me.

I did hear you.

Even when I ignored you, I heard you.

I heard your voice whispering, "This isn't right."

I heard you when you begged me to leave.

I heard you when you told me I deserved more.

At first your voice sounded distant, like it was underwater. But over time it became stronger. Clearer.

I started reading.
I started going to therapy.
I started asking hard questions.

And with every step, the muddy water settled.

The truth became visible.

You became visible.

And together, we began to rise.

...

One day, something extraordinary happens.

You stop believing that you're the problem.

You stop accepting disrespect as love.

You stop translating cruelty into affection.

You stop painting red flags green.

And once you see it, you can never unsee it.

You realize that love is not supposed to make you disappear.

Love is not supposed to make you smaller.

Love is not supposed to cost you yourself.

And that's when you do the bravest thing you've ever done.

You leave.

You choose yourself.

You choose us.

...

I won't tell you the journey afterward is easy.

It isn't.

There will be grief so deep it feels endless.

There will be tears for the future you thought you would have.

There will be moments when freedom feels heavier than the cage you escaped.

But keep going.

Because on the other side of all that pain is something you have been searching for your entire life.

You.

...

And now I get to tell you the part that matters most.

The farm exists.

The animals exist.

The peace exists.

The happiness exists.

But none of those things are the greatest gift.

The greatest gift is that after all these years, I finally found us.

I found the little girl who never stopped believing there was more waiting for her.

I found the wildflower who survived every storm.

I found the voice that was silenced for so long.

And I promise you this:

I will never abandon you again.

I will never betray us again.

You are with me now in every decision I make, every boundary I set, every truth I speak.

We did it.

Against all odds, we found our way home to ourselves.

And now, little twelve-year-old Cyndi, you finally have everything you ever wanted:

Your farm.
Your animals.
Your peace.

And most importantly—

Yourself.

Love always and forever,

Older You

Been Thinkin’

 

I’ve felt the need to talk to my 12 year old self lately. 

I’m now living a life much as she imagined. And I feel so grateful that she is now present with me at all  times, and that I now live life in alignment with her. Because you see, prior to my liberation, I did not have the capacity to truly hear - or feel her presence. 

So I’ve been in the process of writing her a letter….to help her understand why I abandoned her for so many years. And betrayed my own grown self at the same time. 

As difficult as this has been to complete, draft after draft, I do plan on sharing it…..in a few days. 

It feels heavy, but also, it lightens the load that I carry by releasing it to my 12 year old self who deserves the world. And nothing less. 

Soon, my friends,

Cyndi

She would love the Chick Flower 🌼 

Please enjoy, and do not pick this rare flower. One pedal has fallen off already 🥀

Once Upon A Possum Time

There was a girl.....

Living large on The Throne of 
Happiness (my outdoor lounger)

Life was simple. You see, I'm enjoying popsicles on my lounger, caring for all my animals on the farm, and trying (to try) to forget about any further possum encounters. You know - normal stuff. Pretending the barn wasn't a revolving door for free-loading wildlife with bad intentions.

Loving on my new foster kittens

But then.........the universe said, "You look too relaxed." 

Somehow, even after Susie Q, Jeff and Junior had come and gone, being rehomed appropriately, I had another possum show up in the barn. Big Bad Sam. Sam is not the usual midnight snack bandit. Sam had goals. 

Me

Sam had a vision board that said: "Eat. Chickens. Only."

Apparently, cat food? Beneath him but did indulge some. Chicken food? Insulting. Sam was on a high protein, farm-to-table diet....whether I liked it or not.

Tale tell signs I'm having another visitor at my Possum Airbnb? 

Cat food disappearing like it's being DoorDashed directly into a black hole. 

This was in fact happening again, so I knew I had a new visitor. Since the last few possums arrived, I've set up 3 security cameras and a new wifi extender in the barn. I have one security camera facing the main area of the barn, another facing a particular chicken roosting area that's frequented by the possums the most, and then one in the Tack Room/Cat Room watching the cat food bowls so when a chicken doesn't hit the spot, maybe some cat food will. This was all completed with questionable optimism. 

Once I begin surveillance, I felt very detective-like all of a sudden.

Night #1 The Trap Chronicles

One evening when I walked in the barn, Sam and I finally were able to met face to face, randomly mind you. His size was notable. Okay then, I thought, I'll just get you trapped and into my transport crate for rehoming. Sounded doable in my head. Confidence was at a high level due to my prior success.

But no. He ran - and fast. I've never seen a possum run so fast. I wondered if I would be able to catch him, esp because he's a hefty one. So I decided I'd first try my trap. Insert cat food inside it. Set it. Ready. Go.

I had to at least try

Sure enough, I caught something! I was watching my security cameras from the luxury of my bed throughout the night and noticed something odd and new. The chickens were all crying and fussing, as if singing a horrible song not in unison and off key. I literally hop out of bed and run to the barn in the middle of the night to find what I thought was a bob cat who seemingly filled the whole trap up with hair sticking out. Oh wait, maybe I caught Kitty, whose a orange tabby. Oh dear, I thought, and then my sleep brain told me to release her from the trap. And I released the trap door, half asleep.

But it wasn't Kitty in the trap.

My sanity was slowly packing it's bags

Before I could blink once, whatever was in the trap literally transported itself out of the barn like a ball shot out of a cannon. One blink y'all. What was it? Kitty is not that fast. And add to that, I looked up and Kitty was standing right there watching the whole show. I think I heard her say, "Wow, that was embarrassing for you."

To make matters worse, I set the trap again, went back to bed, repeat chickens crying and screaming like they just saw their taxes, and back to the barn jiggity jig I go to find I had caught my own cat, Cricket. Because, of course.     

Sleep? Absolutely not.

I'd later find out it indeed was not a bob cat, but a newly shown-up male orange tabby cat who was quite large and filled that trap til it looked like a box of hair. And yes, he was personally offended. And I'm sure is also partaking of the cat food, which is why it went in the trap. Which is fine. I feed all cats - mine, those that get dumped out here and any random cat around. Just not possums. 

Night #2 The Stake Out

Tonight, I took a lawn chair to the barn. A regular sitting lawn chair, which I thought was my commitment chair because I felt all-in in the moment. I didn't need anything fancy while I await Sam who will certainly show up any minute and then I'll trap him in a corner and get him in a crate to go bye-bye. 

I sat in that lawn chair for hours, til almost midnight, still sitting there with hay around me to hide me from Sam. I could not stay up all night and did eventually go to bed. 

I was sorry I did that. Sam showed up. Clocked in. Got a chicken and clocked out. 

Night #3 Escalation

Tonight, I took my lounger out to the barn, to sleep out there and wait for Big Bad Sam. My barn is now a mobile bedroom with livestock.  

Also included, my shot gun, ear protection and safety glasses. But after almost a full night of being out there, in the early morning hours, I got up and went in the house to bed thinking he wasn't coming. I was wrong.

Sam, watching from the shadows: "perfect timing" and another chicken gone.

I just can't

Now, it's game on.

Night #4 Operation Sam

No more Miss Nice Popsicle Lady

I have NOT wanted to shoot Sam. For 3 days I have been fretting about this. Really, I had to work myself up to thinking about it, much less actually doing it. For days I've wondered if I can shoot him. 

But I would not let Sam have another chicken of mine. I was done. I was ready.

I settled in for the night in the barn, on my lounger, with my ear protection on and my safety glasses on like I'm a fighter pilot ready for its mission. Operation Sam.

And this night? At the early hour of 9:15 pm - there's Sam. He comes strolling in the barn like he pays rent. Waltzes over to the same location of the chicken roost where he had devoured one of my favorite girlz the night before. 

Internal dialogue:

"Coming to finish your meal from last night?" as the heroine (that's me) raises my gun, walking briskly and quietly towards Sam from my recliner.

"Move, Mia, I'm about to make questionable life choices."

And Mia, she's been at my side waiting with me.
Move, Mia! Wild lady with a gun here! 

This does not seem safe

But can I?

I had The Littles locked up in the house, but Mia was with me in the barn, fully unaware she's part of a live-action Western. 

She did in fact move out of the way as she could feel my nervous energy, and stood clear of me and my gun. Smart cookie.

The suspense 😮

The doubts flood in......What if I miss? It's a 410 single-shot shot gun and if I miss, I'd have to reload and Sam would likely make a run for it. What if I shoot and hit something like the concrete or cinder block wall, and the shot ricochets and hits me? Or Mia? Or a chicken? Every scenario is playing through my mind all in this one moment. Panic sets in. I could start a barn-based action sequence I cannot finish. 

Me 😩

Then without any further thought, my mind goes completely quiet and the world around me stops. I raise the gun to my shoulder in position, aim, and then.....Sam looks up like: 

"You wouldn't."

I would.

I did. 

I hit him. One shot. Time stands still. I just shot a possum. I shot Sam. I have taken a life. 

Sam looks up at me and in slow motion opens his mouth, shows me his teeth and slowly falls to the ground like a heavy weight boxer just hit with the final blow. Then, he takes his last breathe. I start shaking uncontrollably. 

I am going to hell. Also, have made a crime scene. A big ole bloody mess. Because nobody tells you about that part. Sam's blood just starts spilling out of him like someone turned a facet on. I was in shock and awe. 

Outta control over here

It's less "clean victory" and 
 more "CSI: Barn Edition"

And to think, I just shot Sam while he was standing in the EXACT same place where I'd shot the last snake..... in that same roost spot?!?!  How can this be?! The irony was too much. 

The scene was one straight from a Dateline episode, titled: Sam, I Am. And in no way related to a Dr Seuss story. 

🚫   Skip this next photo is blood bothers you   🚫

Even while shaking, stunned and disoriented, I felt elated and relieved. 

I felt a tiny voice whisper, "Okay, but that was kinda badass." 

The deed was done. But the cleanup would be more than I expected. Do I have supplies to clean up all this? 

Don't wanna do it

Apparently I have no choice

After much effort, the blood, guts and smell were mostly gone. It would take time for it all to be gone. Maybe the smell of dead possum will keep other possums away. Because you know what? I'm pretty sure another possum, somewhere in the distance, takes one whiff of that barn and says:

"You know what? I'm gonna check Zillow."

The End.

Or at least.....until the next uninvited guest clocks in,

Cyndi Oakley 

I did it. I did that.
With my sidekick, Mia, supporting me the whole way.