Prison of Fears

18 Oct

Every day millions of people go about their day, each wrapped in their own little bubble of life, without ever straying from the paths we create for ourselves. We call this our comfort zone. In reality it’s our prison. Now, I do not have an anxiety disorder, I can pretty much find alternative routes all the time when something makes me nervous or anxious. I am pretty good at working under pressure, and I like a challenge. 

If I got paid to lose weight, I’d be a size two. If I had a boss, who held me accountable to my diet, and my exercise regimine, they would run like clockwork. I cannot hold myself accountable.

If I had a boss for writing, I’d write 5k words a day and not even think about it. Even if I had a partner, someone to write with that didn’t need praise because I’m really bad at atta-girl conversations. Someone to hold me accountable, and keep me in line because at 37 years, I’ve learned my fears hold me back.

I won’t start a diet because I’m afraid it will fail. I won’t consistently go to any exercise program because it might be too hard. I can’t afford it – etc.I’m very good at making excuses. 

So now I’m on this path to buy a house. It terrifies me to think of my own lack of will power. I need to come up with about $8,000. This is for the down payment, and for closing. Now feasibly, I can get the seller to pay closing, and that takes me to about $4500. Now if I wait and set aside $450 a month, I could have that in ten months. 

But then – Thanksgiving

and Christmas

And I want this

And someone needs that. 

I want to own a home, more than anything else in the world. I grew up without stability, as the sole parent to four children, I want this for them. Being this close to having it, its beautiful. Knowing I am preventing myself from getting it – its depressing in every single way. I look back at what i’ve done. I cleared away over $6000 in debt in the last year. I got credit cards to help build credit. I got a brand new car (Which I love but wish I’d of waited). I’m financially able to pay all of my bills. 

But I can’t save money.

Like I can’t write with consistency.

Like I can’t eat healthy and work out. 

Because I suck at #Adulting.

Now I’ve gone and depressed myself. 

xoxo ~Kristy

Fathers of Feminists

29 Sep

Here’s a shocker for you, I wasn’t born a card carrying member of the Feminist club. I didn’t even know there was a need for a Feminist club until I was an adult and learned what sexual division was all about. In my house, as we grew up, seperation of sexes just wasn’t a thing. My father had four daughters, and he is the original feminist in my life. Our self worth was never something that came into question because we always had it. This concept might be a shock for some people, but we had it simply because we survived our birth.

The theory of true equality wasn’t just an expression in my world as a teenager, it was practiced in every thing. My father believed his daughters could do anything they put their mind to. Trust me, on Saturday morning when he wanted a ditch or a garden dug in the back yard, at no point ever would having a vagine been an excuse to get out of work. 

My sister and I were talking on the phone yesterday about this very thing. How surprised we both were, as adults, the first time we’ve really seen discrimination or differences due to sex. Now, I can’t speak for all of my siblings, as I have three, but even if only 50% of his daughters rock a wicked self worth – he did a tremedous thing. (I don’t want to short-change my mother either, she taught me how to share this entitlement to being human with other impressionable women who may not be too sure of where they stand in the universe.)

So there you have it, I learned that I am human, and I belong in the human race as an equal from my father, and I learned to make sure every person I meet has the same sense of self and belonging from my mother. 

I’ve taught my daughters how to use their voice and demand equality for all. I am taking my daughter to Washington D.C. where I’m hoping she will fall in love with the United States government in action. I want her to be the President of the United States one day. 

All because of fathers who believe in their daughters, and mothers who teach.

xoxo – Kristy

Walls come tumbling down…

28 Sep

On any given day, you will find me trying to empower the young women I meet. Yesterday, while having lunch, a young woman apologized to a man for eating in front of him. Now the backstory is that this  young woman was on her lunch break, and he came up to her. She apologized for eating. Before I could even stop myself, I told her in my stern mom voice ‘don’t do that.’ She looked at me quite confused, and I reiterated my message. At no point in your life should you apologize unless it is valid and warrented.

I could see the confusion, but then the man said, ‘Yeah, eating is nothing to be sorry for.’

We are so ingrained sometimes, to smooth things over, or to make light o a situation. Or in this case, just because there may be some perceived injustice that somehow we must be at fault for. I see it at work all the time. If a man and a woman are walking down the same length of the production floor, she will almost always cast her eyes down, and step to her right or left, allowing him the right of way. 

But that’s being polite, right? Let’s go with that. It happens every single day, all day. I have a co-worker who is immune to this phenomenon. I don’t even know if she’s aware of it, but she walks with a straight spine, eyes ahead, and confidence in her worth. People part like the red seas. I want to walk with that confidence when I grow up. 

Every single day women are faced with our own guilded cages. These are things we do because our mothers did them, or their mothers before them. We have no real reason anymore. Most men don’t even notice these daily neuances. It truly isn’t a matter of sexism in my mind, it’s our own walls build up over generations and we’ve forgotten how to tear them down. 

Women – get your sledgehammers, a woman is about to become President of the United States. 

It’s time for those damn walls to come down.


Kristy Bock

My silence vs your voice

27 Sep

I believe in not speaking, unless I have something to contribute. Mindless chatter for no other reason than filling up some silent void is silly to me. I rarely share my thoughts or feelings, not because I don’t have them, but because I don’t think the people around me care about the daily nuances of my life. Do you really care about how I got up this morning… drank coffee… couldn’t find my orange workout shirt, which I later found on the kitchen floor? No – I barely care about my morning. 

Often my silence has been taken for being aloof, or even insecurity. It’s neither. Mostly it’s because I’m always in my own head thinking for other people. I decide what they want to hear, or what they would find interesting. Before you call me out for being rude, we all do it. We decide how much of any story we should share, because we never want to make ourselves look bad. I’m just copping to it. I especially do this at work. I call it filtering myself. (Though, its only because of work that I have any people skills at all.)

I’ve lost many friendships because I do not hold up what they perceive as my end of the bargain. Even though I would always be there, at the drop of a hat, handing them the shirt off my back; They couldn’t live in a world with me where I didn’t call them daily to inquire about their morning. This is why I have the most amazing best friend, who just calls me and says WTF Kristy – I haven’t talked to you all week. 

I wouldn’t change it though because words have power. They have so much power to hurt, to heal, and even to destroy. My silence is keeping my ugly inside. When I feel a burst of emotion coming on, I go quiet. If I stay quiet its because you’ve hurt my feelings, but I’m not confident enough to tell you how I feel. It’s not because I’m afraid or because I want some predetermined outcome, it’s because I genuinely hate hurting other people’s feelings. 

I believe the world needs more silence…

xoxo Kristy

Way Too TMI…

15 Feb

Yes I’m aware that my subject has too in it twice. I wanted to be particularly sure that you were aware this blog was going to be far more information than you ever wanted to know about me. Let me start off by saying that I tried a Soft Cup, which is an alternative to the age old, tried and true, sanitary napkins or tampons. It looks something like this:

It reminded me of a condom that had a weird pink bracelet around it. 12 hour protection and no leaking? Just the thought of not having to have a panic attack at work or run to the rest room every five minutes to check and make sure my clothes are good was enough to make me want to try something new.

Here is what I learned… It actually does just that. Goes in easy and you don’t feel it. Twelve hours later not a leak in sight. Awesome! I’m so excited, i may be in love with this product.
Then I try to take it out. Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell can reach behind their own pubic bone? Not I who has hands the size of a young child. Panic starts to set in, my mind is literally starting to plan my demise due to toxic shock or humiliation. My boyfriend offered to go in and fish it out… I have no words for how horrible that idea sounded.

I’m ready to do just about anything. It’s been 24 hours and I want to cry. There is a foreign object inside me and it won’t come out. I scoured the Internet, I cannot be the only woman who ever experienced this issue.

Turns out, I’m not. I read their words like that of a starving soul. Bear down? Pretend to have a bowel movement? Shit, I have had four kids. I can do that. Or not, you know because when your tense, everything is tense… Everything.

I’m starting to picture an ER visit. Thoughts of going insane because I tried something new started to become rampant.

Then an amazing thing happend. I had to go to the bathroom. It’s been 28 hours since soft cup insertion. I didn’t have to pretend anything that time, checked the status, felt the rubber gel bracelet thing and almost wept with joy. I got that fucking thing out of me!

Take that stupid new product. I’m team tampon for life.

Yes, I know I’m an idiot.


Kristy Bock

@*&$ Rip Van Winkle

6 Jan

waitingI’ve spent the majority of my life, waiting for my life. When I became a financially stable adult, I will begin doing the things I want to do. When I become a  money making author, I will begin focusing more on me. When I fall in live and get married, I will start doing the things that are important to me. Until then though, I am just too damn busy to do anything but put one foot in front of the other and survive.

Too busy to go to the gym, even though I want to. I love swimming, and the feeling of weightlessness while in the pool. Anyone who is overweight or has joint problems can understand what I say when I can walk without pain in the pool because the water carries all the weight for me.

Far too busy to write because well.. Netflix. (And Hulu, and Amazon, and free DIRECTV.) Don’t get me started on Amazon’s time sink Kindle Unlimited. Good God I can throw back books like an alcoholic can sling back a brewsky.

I can’t go visit friends because they are just as busy as I am. I don’t make new friends because I am ridiculously socially awkward when it comes to real life. I can’t even get through one conversation without thinking to myself WILL YOU STOP TALKING!?!? YOU ARE RAMBLING! JUST ZIP IT!

As my job requires massive communication, some would find that funny. Today I did one thing for myself. I got up, went to the gym. Sat my ass on the recumbent bike for 30 minutes, swam two laps to cool down, sat in the Jacuzzi for like 5 minutes, got in the shower, and got ready for work. Then thanks to my lovely sister, had a cup of coffee on her at a funky little coffee shop some guy at work told me about,  and wrote one scene. I haven’t written jack in months.

I’ve had the best morning today that I’ve had in a long time. Just me, and my thoughts, and what I want to do. So this is what #Adulting is supposed to be like? Hmm. Nice.

I think I’ll try this again tomorrow






16 Sep

Dating is like buying a used car. At first the hunt is exciting. It takes a while though to find a car that suits all of your needs. While car shopping is fun, too many test drives can be bad for ones health. We are warriors though, we persevere through the adversity of snake tongued salesman and lifetime deals that shroud hidden promises of headaches and financial woes.


Then you find that hidden gem. The diamond in the rough that makes your heart race and nether regions vibrate. Every thing you could hope for, wrapped up in a pleasing presentation of quality. So you do what any rational human does, pursue until you seal the deal.

So now you have this amazing new ride. Everything about it gives you goose bumps and you want to be in it every chance you get. It starts to get serious when you think of showing it off to your girls… Or your parents.

So what if its got a few oddly placed dings and Knicks. From the moment you drove off the lot, its been reliable, practical, and fun. Everything you ever put on your wish list for a car was there. And then it sputters. The check engine light comes on. Nothing major, just a warning that sounds off old fears in your head.

Is it just settling down? Getting the last few kinks out from the abuse of the last owner? Or is it something more? Doubt is a bitch my friends and the killer of all things happy. How many of my doubts are fears from the past sabotaging any chance I have at a future. Little things trigger amazing reactions that remind me why I’ve been single for as long as I have.

This new to me car must now pay for the sins of all the lemons in my past. Doubts are like weeds that grow in my mind, because things don’t work out that way for me.

Or they don’t work out that way for me because instead of using weed killer, I’m pollinating the yard with more. Ugh. I want off the crazy ride.


xoxoxo Kristy