July’s Featured Blogger: Annette Rochelle Aben

July’s Featured Blogger is Annette Rochelle Aben.

Annette has a wonderful sprawling range of interests and a sensibility that always lifts my spirit.


When did you start blogging?

Five or six years ago, I don’t remember exactly when. A dear friend secretly built a blog site for me because she felt I needed to promote the spiritual guidance counseling I was doing. I never felt comfortable with that, so I turned it around and used it to promote the Angel Messages. From that I began adding things I was writing and ta-da!

What is the thing you enjoy most about blogging?

One of the most enjoyable things about blogging is that I am connected to some wonderfully talented, caring beautiful souls I would not have met any other way.

When did you start writing?

When I was a child, I enjoyed the opportunity to share my thoughts through things such as book reports and creative writing assignments. This led to me writing for my own pleasure. Those early writings were poetic in nature, and that nature has continued to nurture me throughout my life.

What did you read as a child?

The Bobbsey Twins, Here Come the Tuckers, The Five Little Peppers and Dr. Suess books kept me entertained at home. In school, I loved biographies. Some I remember reading included, Juliette Low, founder of the Girl Scouts and Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross.

 

Bookcover for The Bobbsey Twins
The Bobbsey Twins Solve a Mystery

When did you start writing Haiku?

A few years ago, I happened upon a weekly haiku writing challenge from a fellow blogger. I was curious to see if I could learn to express myself using fewer words. BOOM!

What sparked your interest in numerology?

Even though I had always found numbers fascinating, it wasn’t until I read a book about Numerology, that I found out why. After implementing the science of numbers into my own life, I saw the power of that knowledge and began using Numerology to help others in their lives.

How did you fall in love with the Angels.

I believe it happened organically. Like finding out you’ve an invisible benefactor and out of appreciation, is formed, an eternal bond. In my darkest hours, the protection of their wings has supported me and helped me find the strength to take the next breath. Funny, I have Angels (in physical form) all around me and I have purchased none of them. People simply bring them to me saying that they were moved to do so.

What inspired the Angel Messages?

I could sense Angels talking to me and I appreciated the comforting feelings. One day, a friend was going through some stress and I felt inspired to share an Angel message with her. She said it helped. This continued sporadically until one day I was moved to share with even more people. Now, tens of thousands of people are being reached in places I don’t even know exist. How? Because the thousands I share with, share them as well.

How did you get into radio and television.?

I left the corporate world in 1983 and was looking for something fun to do. I took a class in television production at the local cable company. From there I attended broadcasting school and the rest is history.

Of your books, which one is your favorite?

Gee whiz… I’ll say, Perspective: It’s All About Replacing One Thought with Another. Filled with poetry, prose and photographs. It was the first book I self-published. That experience drove me nuts yet each time I look at the book, I am in awe of the fact that I did it!

What inspired you to start your podcast, “Tell Me a Story”?

About ten years ago, I was hosting my own Blog Talk Radio program. Then I was hired to work for a company that wanted me to manage their internet radio network. When I left them, I was offered the opportunity to host my own program for The Magic Happens Magazine, as they were setting up their own radio network and Tell Me a Story was born!

What advice do you have for new bloggers?

DO IT!  Seriously, if you have something to share, be it recipes, opinions, photographs, writings, etc. build a blog. You may become famous. You may simply find joy in sharing. You may find that you get so much more out of it than you ever expected. And should you ever grow tired if the experience, bow out gracefully. When you start your blog, connect with me and I’ll be thrilled to help support your efforts.

Tell us about your new book. 

This is a book of poetry, using the format of Japanese lyric poetry, known as Tanka. Think Tanka is a book for those who appreciate poetry, those who enjoy short reads, people who like to smile and those who know what it’s like to be lost in a world of imagination.

How did the book happen?

I was introduced to this style of writing poetry by fellow author/blogger, Colleen Chesebro. She hosts a weekly challenge to write poetry of varied and interesting formats, tanka being one them. As I had been writing Haiku (another form of Japanese poetry) I figured I would give Tanka a whirl. See. Tanka is what I like to call, Haiku, with hips. Haiku is 17 syllables and when you add 14 more, you create a Tanka. I needed some way to share all these poems I had been writing, hence, the book!

Buy Think Tanka
Think Tanka Cover

Will you share a couple of poems from the book with us?   

 

 Roll Tape

 

The power of glue
Coiled tight on a dispenser
To be portioned out
Your best friend when gift wrapping
If it’s not stuck on itself
 

Entertaining Ideas

 

I have no off switch
My mind is constantly “on”
Thoughts fly everywhere
Not that this is a bad thing

It gives me something to do

 

Purchase “Think Tanka” on Amazon

Find Annette Online

WordPress: https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/

 Rob Goldstein 20119

Mental Health: When the Narcissist is Normalized

In this post I use ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ because my subjective experience is that of multiple separate people.

The children of pathological narcissists must blind themselves to behaviors that healthy people consider unspeakable.

Food deprivation, the killing of pets, theft, forced sex, gaslighting and other forms of psychological abuse and the threat of psychological annihilation.

The child of a narcissist must have no dreams of his own, and no vision of life without the clinging demands of a parent or parent surrogate who is essentially a two-year old without mercy.

My Mother despised my intelligence and did everything in her power to kill it.

I normalized her contempt and used Dissociative Identity Disorder to save my mind.

My talents became a boy named Peter who only emerged when Mother was gone, or when he was with his Grandmother with whom he felt safe.

A male who must contend with a female pathological narcissist is at a disadvantage in this culture because the assumption is that the male always has power.

This assumption doubles the power of a female narcissist.

My Mother used her advantage as a ‘helpless woman’ to destroy my Father, who ultimately lay down and died.

My Mother’s threat to me was if I wasn’t ‘careful’ I would end up like
my Father.

VR photograph of two male avatars, one who stands in front of a mirror and the other who is emerging from it
People Like Us

We’re still blind to most narcissists but we are now alert to certain clues.

A narcissist is usually charismatic, charming, flattering and warm.

My Mother was a waitress at a greasy spoon.

When she worked she was on stage.

Everyone loved her.

A narcissist looks vulnerable and reserves for herself the right to pass judgment on others. This is not the same as learning another person’s strengths and weaknesses.

The people who loved my Mother were dismissed as undeserving trash.

The suggestion that she might be one of them was the same as asking
for a beating.

A narcissist traffics in envy and in her mind everyone wants what she has.

If the meaning of a word doesn’t suit her she changes the definition.

Vicious beatings are acts of love.

Letting guys rape me is getting me ‘straightened out’.

A narcissist never gets the attention she thinks she deserves.

My Mother often provoked my Father to violence.

One night he loaded us into the car and drove to Reynolds Ave, North Charleston, SC.

Reynold’s Avenue was where the sailors in Charleston went to play.

My Father got out of the car.

I saw my Mother through the open door of a bar.

She was sitting on some guys lap.

My Father dragged her out of the bar by the hair and beat her in the street.

My memory goes blank after this.

The point is that his reaction to her behavior was an excuse for her to call her Mother and beg to come home to New York.

Her family pulled together the money to set us up in an apartment in Queens.

My Mother took us back to Charleston after three months.

A narcissist takes without giving back.

Whatever you give is simply her due.

The narcissist is a rhinestone among rhinestones; a glittering fake.

Today I am a diamond among diamonds, some big and some small.

I still don’t know my worth, but I know I’m real —

— and I’m very glad to be here.

Rob Goldstein 2015-2019

 

 

The Wet Sheets

Warning: this piece contains strong language

A sliver of glass

I leapt

from my Father’s

eye reflecting

a Mother that

didn’t exist.

Cigarette butts rose

to Heaven, thunder

formed my torso.

Dust blew through an

umbilicus and

collected to

form fingers

and lips.

Here is my birth:

In the ghettos of

Charleston my

Daddy beat off

and I coagulated

on the ceiling.

Now bound in

cords of placenta

endorphin seeps

through

my veins

and I breath.

Rob Goldstein – 1986-2019

 

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