The Damage Done...

I've mentioned in the past just how hard it's been for me to recuperate from the years of emotional and verbal abuse I endured at the hands of my ex husband. He was vile to me starting about 18 months into our marriage and just got worse over the next 15 years. By the time he dumped me for another woman, I had zero confidence and believed what he told me (and what other members of my family told me, too): that I was fat, ugly, and cheap; a shallow-thinker with little potential; lacking enough talent or drive to do anything worthwhile or notable; lacking motivation to earn more money. I could address this litany of bullshit bulletpoint by bulletpoint, but I won't; instead, I am going to tell you a story.

My new husband, Tommy Lee, recently got a really great job in his shop, and gave me some money to buy whatever I wanted, hinting heavily that I should buy a couple of dresses that he'd had his eye on me wearing. There was a sale at the site, so I bought them. They arrived here on Wednesday, and I tried them on after work and took photos, sharing them with my Instagram and Facebook followers. One in particular got a lot of attention, this one:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Mar 30, 2016 at 10:05pm PDT

You may or may not be able to tell from the picture that I am not wearing any undergarments in this photo; not even a bra. But the dress made me feel pretty, so I shared moment.

Well, one snarky anonymous commenter wrote:
"You look like a Cabbage Patch doll dressed in Barbie clothes."

Now, this anonymous commenter apparently - based on the Instagram feed associated with the account that commented - has a beef with Pinup Girl Clothing. I am not qualified to comment on whether her claims have validity, but I would guess not, considering that it was this person and not PUGC who made such a low, ill-conceived, cowardly comment. I can't speak for other survivors of emotional and mental abuse, but I know how I felt about it, and this cowardly, anonymous commenter ought to feel ashamed of herself. Comments such as these make abuse survivors who lack confidence shrink further back into their shells. It damages people, makes self-doubt worse, and can even lead to depression, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, and more.

I share this story not to garner your sympathy. I'm fine. Sure, the unnecessary comment stung (still does), but I know that this person thinks - for some reason - that I have something to do with PUG; I don't. And she doesn't know me. I am just a customer of theirs who lives far, far away from Los Angeles, out in the boonies, someone who finally found herself and started to heal from years of abuse thanks to pinup culture and the clothes. And though this person may have a problem with the owners and managers of PUGC, taking to shaming their customers - something this person claims PUG does in private - makes the whole thing look like sour grapes, invalidates her arguments against PUG, and makes her look like a petulant, childish twit.

She doesn't know the circumstances of this photo being taken. She doesn't know that I don't show my arms most of the time because I am ashamed of them. She doesn't know that I endure hundreds of abusive, filthy, and rude comments and side-long glances from disapproving and jealous people every day in regards to my breasts. She doesn't know that I put on some weight after quitting smoking and I often look in the mirror and hate myself. She doesn't know that her comments made me think about quitting just about everything that puts me out in public. Those impulses - to give up things you love and hide and surrender to the feelings of worthlessness - are residual effects of the abuse I suffered. I struggle every single day to feel good about myself, to love myself, to be kind to my body for what it is. She doesn't know the damage her words can do - and did do - and probably wouldn't care, even if she did.

If I could give rude commenters some advice, it would be this gem that I learned when I was little, from Bambi: "If you can say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Keep your snarky comments to yourself, regardless of your "motivation" behind them.

I mean, really: is your snarky insult really worth wondering if YOU were the reason someone took his or her life?

Trying To Make This Confidence Thing Work...

Last Sunday, as I have been doing, I went ahead and performed 6 songs on Periscope. Now, the way that I had been doing this, my daughter has been holding the camera during the performance, so I don't see any of the comments or anything while they're happening; I have to wait until later when my crappy Internet connection will allow me to watch it back. And last Sunday, when I finally got around to looking at the replay, the level of lewd, crude, rude, uncouth, and obscene comments was unbearable. These guys just... they made me feel ashamed, not for the horrible, awful things they were saying, but for the fact that there were people there who had actually tuned in to watch me sing and play some music, and these turd burglars ruined it for everyone. These childish, lonely, backwards dudes took something lovely and made it something awful with their commentary.

I've mentioned in the past how badly I've been bullied and abused, often at the hands of people I should have been able to rely on and trust, so the shame I felt knowing that my very existence (namely, my boobs) was the cause that regular people were subjected to such nonsense was overwhelming. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. These idiots made the entire thing about my breasts, instead of keeping their dirty, filthy thoughts to their juvenile selves.

At first, I was going to delete everything. I left groups I was in on Facebook, prepared to delete my pinup page, my band page, and my author page. I was ready to go full-on hermit. But, now, a couple of days later, I've had some time to think about it. Now, I know that I am through with Periscope; it is clearly not a venue for a busty lady like myself to play some songs for interested people. Instead, I will still broadcast, but it'll be somewhere else. I don't know where yet, but some other channel.

It is incredibly difficult to build your confidence after abuse and bullying. It has literally taken me YEARS since the divorce and the end of the abuse for me to even allow myself to be photographed or filmed. For most of my life, I believed that I was fat and ugly and worthless and talentless and it's taken considerable effort to shut all the negative self-talk spawned by years of abuse to be able to get on camera and perform. The shame I felt from being the cause of the awful things those guys were saying last Sunday nearly overwhelmed me; luckily most people have been understanding about where I am coming from.

My ex used to tell me things like, "You're not wearing that, are you? It makes you look heavy." and "Girls your size don't go out looking like that." and "What size are you now? I know you've put on weight since you had the baby." Hell, he even bought me diet pills for Christmas one year. And I kept telling myself that if I could just lose weight or make more money so I could dress better that I would suddenly become valuable to him... but that never happened. I failed. He left me for some whore he met in a bar playing pool. It's taken a lot of love from my new husband and a lot of encouragement to get me to this point, so, when things like what happened on Sunday happen, I go right back to that place of feeling completely useless, worthless, and a waste of space. I don't know what I am going to do, but it's going to be tough not letting this get me down.

Jenny January Round Up

Many of those who enjoy pinup life have heard of Jenny January, started by Miss Amy May, wherein those who own Pinup Girl Clothing's Jenny skirts and dresses wear exclusively that style of skirts and dresses for their OOTD (outfit of the day) posts on Instagram (and sometimes, they're posted elsewhere). This year, I finally had enough Jenny skirts/dresses to participate, and, not only that, I got a bunch of gals from the #ImAPUGDuh crew to join in, twinning, tripletting, quadrupletting (and more)... basically, setting up days where we all agreed to photograph ourselves wearing the same Jenny skirt or dress on the same day.

Monday was the Mary Blair Commuters print Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 18, 2016 at 2:58pm PST

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 19, 2016 at 12:25am PST

Tuesday was the black and teal harlequin Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 19, 2016 at 1:25pm PST

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 19, 2016 at 7:23pm PST

Wednesday was the cherry border print Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 20, 2016 at 6:11pm PST

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 20, 2016 at 8:28pm PST

Thursday was the Mary Blair Parasols print Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 21, 2016 at 5:55pm PST

Friday was the orange border print Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 22, 2016 at 2:09pm PST

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 22, 2016 at 5:25pm PST

Saturday was the red and chocolate harlequin Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 23, 2016 at 4:44pm PST

And, finally, Sunday was the castles print Jenny:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 24, 2016 at 4:06pm PST

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 24, 2016 at 4:22pm PST

I had a blast! It was the first time I had gotten to participate in an event like this with some like-minded women, and I am so glad that I got to! It's quite a community that Pinup Girl Clothing has fostered with their clothing!

But, honestly: after a week of nothing but swing dresses, I am ready for wiggle:

A photo posted by ✨Molly Starlite✨ (@sixstringlass) on Jan 25, 2016 at 5:37pm PST

Write On!

For those of you who are new to my page, in addition to being a web designer, social marketer, and graphic designer for work, and being a musician and songwriter for fun, another of my hobbies is writing. To date, I've written four novels, a songbook, and my father's memoirs (links to buy below); I am currently working on the second volume of Dad's memoirs, two more novels, a book of short stories, a poetry book, and a cook book.

Suffice to say, my life is busy enough that I rarely have time to seriously devote to writing any more, but I've decided that I need to finish another novel and at least one other project before the end of the year. In that spirit, I am embarking on my own, personal FebNoWriMo. It'll be like NaNoWriMo except with fewer days and lower word count. I'm shooting to write 25,000 words between February 1st and February 29th (it's a leap year!), which means I have to write around 862 words per day to reach my goal.

Let me tell you, 862 words is nothing. When I was writing my espionage novel, Devil's Handiwork (not yet released), I routinely wrote around 3,000 words per day, but I think that is mostly because I outlined. A lot of writers don't outline, and, you know, whatever works for them. Me, I need an outline, even if I just toss it after it's done, I have a road map. As I am writing, I may deviate from my plans in the outline, and sometimes, that means that the books takes a dramatically different turn that what I'd planned, but that's okay! Most times, the deviation makes the whole thing better. But having a plan definitely helps me write: I wrote the second book in my Sorrow Stones Trilogy in 28 days using that method. I wrote the outline and then just elaborated on that sparse summary, often deviating from it, and the end result was something that I am really proud of, even though almost no one has read either it or the first one in the series.

So, keep me accountable, readers! I am going to post word and page totals every day in February. **finger crossed**

 Night Cry Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

A Night Borrowed Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

Hold My Beer! Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

Request A Song!

So, I just started doing a weekly show on Periscope where I play some music, and I am taking requests! Leave a comment with your song request and I'll choose 5 or 6 and play them on Periscope Sunday night at 7PM PST/10 PM EST - find me on Periscope as @molly_starlite. Last week, I played:

Big Black Ford (original song written by me)
Thirteen (Big Star)
Ex's and Oh's (Elle King - sorry about the bad punctuation, but that's the way the song's titled)
On The Turning Away (Pink Floyd)
You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive (Ruby Friedman)
Ordinary Life (original song written by me)

So... let me know what songs you'd like to hear and I'll do my best to include them!

Outside the Comfort Zone

For a really long time, I didn't do certain things because I was scared. In my youth, I was harassed, bullied, shamed, and so much more to the point that I created a little corner of the world for myself where I barely even had to leave the house. That might sound strange for someone who has performed hundreds of shows with a band over the years, but it's the truth: when you're on stage, there is a buffer between you and the crowd, the uncalled-for commentary. I've been performing since I was very young when my Mom used to manage stage productions at church, so performing has never bothered me. Public speaking, singing, acting... no big deal. It's smaller situations that always got to me. When you're with a group of people and they're all conscientiously ignoring you, or when people you know have gone out of their way to make sure that you're excluded and shamed publicly... yeah, that's when you start to get gun shy and clam up. There were a lot of opportunities I missed, a lot of things I didn't do, because I was afraid of rejection, of the things that might be said to me.

I stopped letting people in a long time ago. When even people I was supposed to be able to rely on for comfort and support during trying times turned on me like so many vipers, that's when I completely retreated. And after my divorce, when I was hurting the most and people still did it to me, that's when I stopped performing, too. I had lost all my confidence. It's taken the love and support of an incredible man - my Tommy Lee - and him giving me the space and leeway to find myself and I finally saw some confidence growing again in the desert of my psyche, to use a metaphor. From being bullied as a pre-teen for experimenting with red lipstick ("Her lips arrive 15 minutes before she does!), to being kicked out of church youth groups for bleaching my hair and wearing tight pants, to being left behind on family outings... Being reduced to nothing but your looks and set of boobs (more on that in a minute)... yeah, I got tired of the crap. And, worse, I blamed myself. I desperately wanted to be someone else, especially when my (now EX) husband kept telling me I wasn't good enough... not thin enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, too lazy to amount to anything. That shit will wear on you.

I even went to a therapist once to see if there was something that could be done about my depression, and the psychiatrist dismissed me after 15 minutes saying that I didn't have anything to be depressed about and if I felt depressed, I should just give up coffee. (Insert exaggerated eyeroll here.)

It's difficult when people don't take you seriously out of hand. They look no deeper than the surface and dismiss you without a second thought. And I got super tired super fast of pretending to be something I am not in order to fit in or to please someone else. Today, I just don't have any tolerance for things that aren't real. I am not going to be anything other than myself. I gave up looking for a job in the field I got my degrees in because, even though I could basically get the job on paper sending in my resume and over the telephone interviews, the minute I walked in for the "basically just a formality" in-person interview, I was sunk. I could tell by the looks on their faces that I wasn't getting the job, and I hadn't even said anything yet. After two or three times of this, I just gave up and started my own Internet business where people don't get to see me, and, therefore, I wasn't getting judged based solely on my looks. I tried, for a while, to be what I thought people wanted, but it got tiresome. And, in the end, it wasn't worth it. I am happier now than I have ever been, and, to be honest, I had been sad for so long that it actually feels kind of weird.

So, the point of this story: yesterday evening, I did my very first Periscope concert. I played 6 songs for an anonymous audience, and, boy, was I ever nervous. I haven't played for people in almost 5 years. While I have gained a lot of confidence, this was something that was completely outside my comfort zone. But it went okay, I think. There were a lot of boob comments. I wish that there hadn't been, but I've actually gotten used to it. Yes, they're big boobs. Yes, they're real. No, "they" aren't me. They're actually kind of a pain in the ass (or back, as the case may be). Finding bras is next-to-impossible or breaks the bank, the bras you do find are either: 1) not cute at all or 2) painful as shit after a couple of wears, and finding shirts to fit them that don't make the rest of you look like a circus tent... well, that's why I love the repro retro clothes I've gotten into recently. For the first time in a long time, I feel pretty.

My breasts have defined me for so long that I am used to the commentary about them. God gave them to me, so, they are what they are. I can't do anything about people who choose to define me by one or two physical attributes (and then seemingly attach whatever kind of personality traits they want to those attributes) and don't bother to get to know me. The people who are really going to end up mattering are those who do look beyond the surface to see all my facets... because I am a diamond. ;)