The Glow Stick Theory
Finding my inner light after my life broke me over and over and over again.
Every day of my life feels like a special little adventure that has no defined itinerary or end goal. The possibilities? There’s a lot of them. I am the now navigator of this ship. Ever seen Titanic? Ope. Good news: I can now drive without powering my vehicle with my breath (that’s how an Interlock works - more on that later) I’m unsure if the restricted license also applied to watercraft, but either way. Bad news: I have the attention span of an overstimulated, neurodivergent toddler that has missed nap time. It’s touch and go. I have not kept up with nervous system maintenance. The check engine light is on. There are strange noises coming from under the hood. But if I turn the radio up loud enough, is the noise really even there? Every problem has a solution.
Most days I feel like an innocent, naive teenage mother, simply trying to navigate this complex experience we call adulthood. At this point, no one has been able to prove otherwise. And if they’ve tried? Well, I’m not listening. I’m a teenager, after all. My hormones? Going fucking crazy, probably. I wouldn’t know what’s actually going on inside my body. I’m a woman in America, after all. Zoo animals in other countries have better healthcare available to them. Are we Great yet?
Last March, I finally made the decision to Tupac my entire life; fake my death and move to Cuba. Not really. Obviously. Not everything is political, losers, and no I won’t be accepting any conspiracy theories surrounding Tupac, thank you very much. I’m busy being the navigator, remember? Buckle up. Back to last year (I’m the navigator, bitch. Remember? I never said this journey would make sense. We have no GPS. There’s not even roads here) I was trapped in a life that I hated. I hated waking up every day. I hated everyone. I hated myself. There was an extended period of time where I did not want to be alive anymore. I hid so much of my life from my loved ones; symptoms of a terminal disease, hidden from their view, strategically. Statistically speaking, it takes seven attempts at leaving a domestic violence relationship before a Survivor is successful. Coercive control fucks you UP. Fucks you up even worse when your therapist is also gaslighting you (we’ll get to that, later). Two strikes, I know.
Last year, the final break happened. Emily, my perfect, beautiful, hilarious best friend, dropped everything and drove two hours to the remote cabin where I was left, alone, by my first husband, with no way to leave. It’s important to add that I had several other girlfriends who were ready to do the same, because I got it like that. I have the best friends ever. I mean, I did pick them, after all. But my support system is the shit.
Emily stayed with me at that secluded cabin for the rest of the weekend. I actually laughed again. Like, really laughed. Each laugh resuscitated me a little more; I was coming back to life, with my best friend next to me. The first stop after blowing it all up? McDonald’s. I ordered four drinks, all for me. Sprite, Diet Coke, Frozen Coke, and a water (for health reasons). I kept all four of those drinks in the cardboard drink holder, and the whole way home I spun that drink holder around, enjoying all four of my choices, one sip at a time. It felt good. Really fucking good. You know why? Because I could do whatever I wanted, while drinking a fresh, crisp Sprite. I was free, and no one would change my mind. Never again would I be punished by my husband for spending money on really basic shit. Never again would I allow a man to make me feel less than. That realization was so empowering; I wish I could bottle it and sell it. But I'm on probation, and I’m also not a scientist. Sorry.
I was choosing myself. I was choosing my children. Leaving wasn’t easy. Why would it be? On paper, I didn’t exist. I chose building my family, supporting my husband, and raising my children over my career; I had no work history, no income, no rental history, and, because of ongoing financial abuse, my credit score was shit. I also was completely reliant on someone, that I was leaving, to allow me to go - because I had no access to money outside of our joint account. He convinced me we were broke; that we couldn’t afford lawyers, how could we ever afford rent? (spoiler: none of that was even remotely true)…he then retained an attorney without looping me in, and had her serve me on my birthday. Blindsided. Fuuuuuuuuucked up, right? But that’s not what this story is about; it’s about party favors (take away traumas). Don’t worry, there’s enough for everyone. We’ll get back to that other shit later. We’re too busy glowing.
Despite it all, I found a townhouse to rent - with landlords who were compassionate, understanding, and who gave me a chance. I will forever be thankful for their trust; they literally saved my life. I walked away from my marital home with the bedroom furniture from the guest bedroom that we got for free online five years ago, and that’s it. No, I didn’t literally walk away with it. I’m not a turtle, just walking down the street with a mattress on my back. Can you imagine that? Anyway, I knew that I would figure out the rest later. One piece of Facebook Marketplace furniture at a time, this new space would come together. I just had to trust the process.
I was determined to craft my new life in a way that made me the main character - something that I had never done. This is where the Glow Stick theory came to be. One quiet evening, (something I hadn’t enjoyed without punishment or guilt in YEARS), alone in my townhouse, it occurred to me: I was broken, yes. I knew that part. How couldn’t I be? But I could feel my spark slowly seeping back in, from the inside out. My pink was coming back, and it felt so good. That’s a reference about flamingos, and something you’ll have to look up on your own time. We have more to cover.
That ‘fresh out of prison’ feeling was intoxicating. I was finally free!!!! And then? I was arrested, and I went to jail. It turns out, you really do go to jail if you drink alcohol and then operate a motor vehicle. And if you’re convicted? You can’t enter Canada for FIVE YEARS. Why didn’t they just lead with that? All of this could’ve been avoided, damnit. I’m fucked if America stays on this trajectory - to the colonies I go (meet me there?), because I cannot flee to Canada. This was devastating to learn, and I’m still not over it. Lesson learned. Punishment received. We’ll go over my criminal era at a later time. Right now we’re glowing. But before we leave this, it’s important for me to tell you all that this is the song that was playing right before I got arrested:
….and it was still playing when I got in my car the next day, after being released from jail. Oof. My DUI was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Did it feel that way at the time? Absolutely fucking not. Talk about a journey. Freedom > Fresh Out of Jail Vibes > Actual Jail > Freedom. Life really does come full circle. Getting a DUI, and what came as a result (punishments from my abuser, not the State of Colorado - more on that later) allowed me to take a step back and evaluate if alcohol had a space in my rebranded life. It turns out, it didn’t, and that’s not something that I would’ve discovered otherwise. I also met a lot of really incredible women in jail, and my DUI group education teacher fucking loved me. I miss you, Eric.
This scavenger hunt that I’ve been on to find the real me has been quite eventful. I guess that’s the whole point of a scavenger hunt, though, isn’t it? It’s been an interesting experience, learning who I really am. Stumbling into things along the way (not because of intoxication, I just trip a lot) and getting to choose to take shit with me, or leave them behind. I often ask myself, “does Allison like this, or was that the wife’s choice?” It turns out, I have a lot of choices. And I have a lot of opinions, too. Right opinions, about everything. I love learning new things, and I've learned SO much along the way. About outer space and shit. Look at me glow.
When was the last time you cracked a glow stick? Sometimes it takes a lot, and life was up for the challenge. Why? Cuz life’s a bitch, that’s why. But you’re a bigger bitch (respectfully). Regardless of how long it takes to activate, the glow was there the whole time. I just hadn’t been given the space to discover it yet. Have you discovered yours?