I pulled into the parking lot of a retail store. A small framed, nice-looking man with brown eyes and thick, black brows approached me. The lines on his face told a story he didn’t have to repeat.

He said, “Let me detail your car.”

I said, “You don’t have a water hose.”

He said, “But I have a lot of towels and spray bottles.”

“How much?”


I looked at my car and said, “Look at how I parked my car.”

He said, “You have a lot on your mind.”

I straightened up my car and handed him more than he asked for. I was only going to run in and out of the store. I didn’t care if he never touched my car. I wasn’t in that store 10 minutes. When I came out, I could see my windows beaming. As I approached my car, he appeared.

 I said, “Edward, thank you. You did an excellent job, but you didn’t have to. I’m calling you Edward. What’s your name?”

“Edward is my middle name. I had to do yours. Your love is real.”

He touched my heart.


Broken Wings

courtesy of Cindy Gustafson

A dear friend died. When I received this news, I felt my heart pang. I immediately thought of broken wings.

Sometimes life is overwhelming. Life’s challenges breaks wings. I understand broken wings.

Friend and I spent time together. I’ve known her 35 years. She was kind, loyal, and compassionate. I’m going to miss her.

If you love someone, tell them. Show them. They can’t feel our love if we are not there. Even a phone call counts. Create memories.

“Don’t Go To Hollywood after someone dies. Take them to the movies while they are alive.”

Vivian Dixon Sober
October 9, 2020


I vote NO on Destructive Speech!

Courtesy of Luis Quintero

Am I able to write on this blog and not be transparent?  It’s my canvas. Therefore, it reflects who I am and what I do. Covid-19 (Covid) feels like a curse and a blessing.  It’s forcing us to slow down, examine our lives, and the people in our lives. Folks, are we living camouflaged lives? It’s time to take out our personal mirrors.

According to many, Covid is causing divorces, dividing families, and breaking up friendships. However, can we say that these relationships were not already broken? Is Covid the real cause? Blame and cause are two different things. How many of us were shattered and cracked before Covid? We haven’t been through anything like this before. Now we have something to blame our loose conduct on.

Yes, sheltering in place is difficult. According to some, they feel like they’re in prison. We’re used to coming and going without restrictions.  Though I feel confined, I take a drive sometimes because I fight depression.   It is essential that I strive for the high frequency of positivity.  I have to treat my environment like a sanctuary—energy protection is in place. This includes the people in my life.

I’m writing with writers and listening to poets’ virtually. However, most of my interactions with friends and family are on the phone. Consequently, they weren’t all encouraging. I had to hang up on some folks. I had to hang up!  It doesn’t take much to get rid of me. Just use your tongue to attack me. Manners are more important than education and reading books.

I’m telling you how people talk to me. I’m not the one. Why do we shoot arrows at folks who haven’t attacked us? Bullies don’t impress me. These people don’t know me. They just think they do. Most people don’t even know themselves, but they know everybody else.

I’ve been through the fire of refinement and it continues.  I’ve learned many lessons. I’m qualified to speak on this.  During these challenging times, some choose to burn relationships to the ground. Some do it by hiding behind others. Some do it with the help of alcohol.  I’m not making excuses. I have a message for you. The manner in which you speak to people is on you.

But when you’re dealing with me, please don’t take my kindness for a weakness. Please don’t. For me, respect is not optional.  Speak from a high frequency. Speak wisdom—not pain. Speak patiently—not indignantly. Speak from the top of the mountain—not from the pit. 

As we examine our lives and the people in them, make sure we have our personal mirror.  It’s hard to look at ourselves. I do it every day. I don’t enjoy hurting people, and if I do, I apologize. I’m not in the business of controlling the lives of others, but again, positive energy is the only energy I’m accepting. Uncontrolled tongues have nearly killed me and they are not welcome in my space.

I vote NO on Destructive Speech!

Vivian Dixon Sober
August 1, 2020


Sound Therapy

In Sound Therapy/A Comprehensive Guide, Angela Silver explains how sound therapy also referred to as music therapy is a type of medicine that has many applications. Since everything—including natural essential oils, vibrates as some level of sound, this is profound. The body can realign and repair itself via sound and vibrations that are audible, comfortable, and enjoyable. People with health challenges use this alternative method of healing. However, what type of health issues are best suited for this therapy?

Sound therapy helps to calm the nerves, lower blood pressure, induce sleep, and reduces stress and anxiety as well as other matters of the health. The author discusses how vibrational frequencies of sound help to rejuvenate and balance the body. However, what types of sounds are most beneficial in achieving healthful results?

Music, chants, bells, gongs, and soothing sounds that emulate nature. Thinking of everything as vibrational energy is enlightening. The author does a great job explaining how using things with higher vibrational frequencies will give you the best results. For example, therapeutic grade essential oils have different frequencies. Rose oil vibrates at 320 MHz and gives out wholeness, purity, and love. It connects the body, mind, and spirit, and this brings us to a key component–belief.

The patient must believe that sound therapy is real and has the ability to heal. Patients who believe are more involved in their health care. They experience better health outcomes and greater satisfaction. Patients who are involved in sound therapy will recognize that it applies in their living spaces as well. This is important because you have to clear out low frequency things such as unnecessary piles and clutter in your home. It’s energy, and how does it affect you?

Sound Therapy/A Comprehensive Guide does talk about how sound is measured using language that the average person may not understand. It talks about how brain waves help stimulate the metabolic process and the difference between the right and left side of the brain. Readers do not need to understand all of this to get the point? The author explains a difficult subject in a down-to-earth way.

This book is for people who are interested in natural ways to take care of themselves in wholeness. It has five replete chapters and 39 pages. It is for people who like alternative health remedies. Anyone can learn from it.

I received an Advanced Review Copy (or ARC) from reedsy.com.

Vivian Dixon Sober

Rating: 5 out of 5.

The Spirit of Competition

“But let each one examine his own actions, and then he will have cause for rejoicing in regard to himself alone, and not in comparison with the other person”

Galatians 6:4
 Magda Ehlers, writing, poets. evo;
Courtesy of Magda Ehlers

I’ve been writing for a long time. I used to write and let it go. Those were college papers. I wrote it once and let it go. It doesn’t seem to be that easy now. I write with writers. We write on the spot. We never know what we’re going to hear. Covid -19 has enlightened me. I write with groups online and listen to poets. I can recite–if I want to. I just want to be in the bubble of the new now.

Time is running into time. What’s today anyway? Being able to come and go is a privilege. We thought it was our right. Some call this freedom. I don’t think so. Someone asked me why I write.

The evil one is on the prowl looking to devour. I know what being Black is. I pray for black families. I also pray I don’t receive bad news about my black children. The poets are tired and so they write dark–or life if you’re really listening. No competition, each one has their own. And in this madness, listening and seeing personalities recite makes it fun–even though were going through hard times. Like-minded people know why writers write.

I write because I need to. My goal is to honor my soul. If I tell you what’s really going on, will you be on board?

Vivian Dixon Sober 5/28/2020


Working Hard For The Aftermath

the masks
Courtesy of Pixabay

They dropped their masks in the field while running to get their new masks to protect themselves from COVID-19.

COVID-19 is going down in history. As to the folks who have shown you their faces, you don’t owe them anything. I’m not happy to see COVID-19.

I am pleased to have seeing eyes. So many of us have eyes, and, yet, we are blind.

The COVID mask covers the mouth and exposes the eyes. I’m walking on my path minding my business, and you would like to speak with me.

Keep your distance, please. I thank COVID-19. My internal sensors exposed you, but I allowed you to stay too long–in the name of peace and what I thought was family. I thought we were on the same team. You’re a hater with green eyes. You will never replace me, but you can try.

We do not share the same beliefs. If we did, you wouldn’t be trying to kill me. You have grieved my heart and my spirit. I felt heat coming up from my feet. I’ve never felt anything like it–heat coming up from my feet. I had to get a hold of myself. I’m not perfect. Pushing me against the wall is not a good idea. I’m not the one. You’re taking advantage of the weak. I’m not weak. I’m Powerful. Powerful enough to unveil you. Something’s going on in your family. You’re incomplete, Don’t worry. You’ll be full soon. You are going to get your bones blown back when Karma serves you. Oh, how I feel for you. I don’t wish harm upon you. But you have placed yourself in harm’s way, and work very hard for the aftermath of pain.

I’m not toxic. I’m human. I showed you kindness, and that’s all I’m going to do. If I can’t be the solution, I refuse to be the problem.

Should we grieve when haters are revealed? According to the Book of Vivian, people grieve when they lose dear ones. If those people are false comforters, see them for who they are. They arrogantly enter your space to disrespect and treat you like you have stupid written across your face.

Treat them with kindness and keep your distance.

Vivian Dixon Sober

Courtesy of cottonbro


Anywhere, Just Somewhere

Courtesy of Pexels

Covid-19 reveals that people have an illusion of freedom. Who’s really in control? We like our home especially when we are free to come and go. When we can’t and we’re not n prison, we think, think, and think.

Safely in quarantine, you can’t let yourself go. Time to travel from one room and then another in your space. You only go out for essentials. You’re responsible.

It doesn’t take much to feel trapped, huh. Im grateful but devalued freedom. Will we ever enjoy it again? Am I the only person who feels this way? Where are you going? Anywhere, just somewhere.

Spontaneous where. Anywhere, just somewhere.

Vivian Dixon Sober


Genetic Love

My Father

This is my father. It’s been many years since I’ve seen him. It’s a long story. He died when I was little but not before we bonded. When I think of love, I think of him. I love my mother too. I’ve always been able to feel her. Our spirits are intertwined–especially when I dance. Neither one of us can dance but we think we can. Speaking of dancing, daddy couldn’t dance either. We’d listen to The Twist by Chubby Checker and he’d wrap a towel around his butt and clutch it with both hands and twist. Mom said he was a swing dancer. My dad was a character.
Once he drove from Providence to Boston just to get When a Man Loves a Woman by Percy Sledge. He wanted to play it on the fancy record player console. My parents had nice furniture. He provided pretty things for my mom and for us. I love this man. He lives in my heart.
He was the son of a sharecropper and loved horticulture. He was raised on a farm doing whatever it took to survive. Picking cotton, killing animals, and working for dishonest scales. He was good in math and could fix anything. You’d find him under the hood of his car or under it on Saturday mornings–when he wasn’t working. I played within his eye range.

Mom worked outside the home and took care of her family. I remember daddy wanting fresh chicken. I wanted to go with him, and I did. He drove somewhere in Rhode Island. I didn’t realize fresh chicken meant killing a chicken. I didn’t know anything about that stuff. I saw live chickens. Daddy picked one–maybe even two. Next thing I know, their necks were broke hanging on the side of their bodies. They ran around in circles making awful sounds until they fell dead. I didn’t like what I saw. It hurt.

Mom fried the chicken. I had the nerve to cry. I just remember thinking I know him–I know that chicken. Mom assured me that it was just like the chicken at the grocery store. I was adamant. No thank you. Dad said he would never take me again. I was just too sensitive to witness the killing of anything.

The last time I saw my dad alive I was seven, but I felt his spirit in me genetically yesterday when I prayed. Children need their fathers. Fathers teach boys how to be a man and little girls how a man should treat them. I really respect men who are dedicated fathers. Mine made mistakes, and I’ve made mistakes. I didn’t want anyone to feel the pain I felt when I lost my dad. That’s when I surreptitiously found that safe place within. I could hide inside my own body and look out of my own eyes–functioning like a computer in safe mode. This is not good, but it is a survival technique for a child who suffers trauma.

Children are little people who grieve too. Many adults don’t fully understand this. I’m saying it doesn’t last forever. You will face it. If you don’t, you’ll wish you did. You’ll make so many mistakes based on your childhood trauma.There’s no one to blame. You have to help yourself.

Later in life, I entered into a contract with heavy terms. There was never a clear meeting of the minds, but I didn’t understand this. I just wanted to help the kids. My motives were pure but one-sided. I was in too deep. That’s when daddy woke up in me. I could feel him genetically. He did not like what I was doing. To be clear, I’m not talking ghosts. I’m talking knowing. I’m talking feeling. I was forced to leave.

I was free and daddy went back to sleep genetically. It’s true. Daddy went back to sleep genetically. My parents are apart of me. I love them. Mom loved Daddy too. As pretty as she is, she never remarried. She had many interested suitors.

It wasn’t easy when he died, but mom was there. Now, she is weak, tired, and frail. Too many people hang on to grudges, and sometimes folks forget the whys. I talk about death a lot because no one is here to stay. People are dying everyday. Then you have no access. The evil one divides. Is your family important? Can you live with the consequences of living a life disconnected from your loved ones over what? Some people may have relevant causes. They must do what they have to do to preserve themselves. This is for people who just need to think.

People can you hear me? Love is for now. Just the thought of losing my mom is heavy. It saddens me. She is still living. I can’t allow myself to be overwhelmed. It doesn’t serve me. I don’t want to die. I, too, will have my time. I’m advocating peace. My parents and our genetics will always be. I call my mother just to watch her smile. There are people who have lost their parents and loved ones. They tell me to appreciate my mother. Don’t kill her when she’s living. I believe them.

If you have your parents and can love them with their imperfections. Please do. Everyone comes from dysfunctional families. This means nobody’s perfect. Putting your best face forward and presenting yourself as perfect is a lie. There’s no perfection on this planet. Make decisions that you can live with.

My Mother
My Mom

Vivian Dixon Sober


Eye See Time

Covid-19 is timely. Do you know who your friends are now?

This is a time of self evaluation and to watch people through the sand of the hourglass. It seems to move slow. Slow enough for people to unveil. Do you know who loves you now?

“A true friend shows love at all times And is a brother who is born for times of distress.”—Proverbs 17:17

We are quarantined. By the way, what is today? Oh, it’s Friday 15, 2020. Have you heard from your friends via anyway other than face to face? If not, hello and how are you? I have sent personal messages and/or called.

Covid, came to claim and to unveil. We’ve been in the Covid season long enough for people to get a grip and think about people they love. Love is not a noun. It is a verb—active people—it’s active.

A friend is going to check on you. A humanitarian is going to check on you. Your neighbor is going to check on you. People who love you are going to check on you.

Time is too short to waste on people who do not like you.

There is no accuse.



Do you appreciate me?

“Say what? Died. Dead.”

Sometimes we are gifted with notice that our loved ones are dying. Some cling to life for a while. They get to say good-bye or do they?

I’ve been by the side of folks who have died. I was there because I loved them. Some died with a glow and others scared. Many of my loved ones have died, and I couldn’t physically be there. I certainly let them know I loved them. If I didn’t, I am not in this line.

Vivian Dixon Sober
May 13, 2020


Ride or Die?

photo courtesy of Anna Shvets

Dot’s been sheltered in place and only goes out for essentials. She went to Walmart wearing a mask and gloves about four days ago. Today, she has pneumonia and awaits her Covid-19 test results. Her daughter came for her immediately, and, now, they’re sheltered in place. The question is, Am I Ride or Die?

I’ve overcome many obstacles but not without a lesson. Am I ride or die? The answer would be an emphatic yes, if I asked myself this question before people let me see them.

All gave some, some gave all. This a bumper sticker saying about those who served in the military.

I believe in standing for one’s beliefs–even if it means death. The question is, will you die for me? Covid-19 is claiming lives and revealing faces. Am I ride or die? I used to be.

Vivian Dixon Sober


What Does a Controller Look Like?

“And then he tries to control me. I’m actually smarter than him anyway. He’s the problem.
a narcissist …

I’m listening. This is a process. People respond to separation and/or divorce differently. Although, I think everyone is narcissistic in some form. I don’t voice it. I just listen. When people are in this mode, they want you to listen–not disagree, and I’m good until I hear: “Excuse me, I’m talking. What do I hear? What are you doing? I’m talking. You must be moving around.”

Seriously. I can’t do this. I am thinking.

“I’m washing my hands,” I respond. Before this call, I was watching TV. I turned the volume down, I was really listening. Then I hear, “What’s going on in your background? I hear voices. I can’t do this. I’m talking. I’m talking. I’m sorry. I can’t listen to it. You call me when you’re done.”

Red lights. Red conversation. Dead conversation.

This is what you not gon’ do,” I say.

If you are done, does it matter what Bob did? If you’re not, I’m not mad at you. I don’t talk against the other spouse. That’s foolishness. The couple reunites. Now what? I’m the enemy.

I’m guilty of staying too long, but once I’m out–I’m out. There’s no running back and forth. That’s for people who have something to salvage. Recovery takes time. At some point, get a mirror. Self-examination is always good. I’m not concerned about numerators–my lessons.

It’s good to focus on the common denominator. That’d be you. That would be me. Self-growth is important. I’ve been a caterpillar and butterfly many times.

I can’t change people. I can, however, set boundaries for me.


The Struggle Was Real

Deprivation of oxygen
Vivian Dixon Sober

Wow! God is good. It’s been years since I asphyxiated. It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to be scared. Until then, I had always been an organic writer. I had been writing for years and was in the process of submitting my manuscript to literary agents when this horrific event occurred. Therefore, can you imagine how I felt when I looked in the mirror and saw these eyes with a vacant mind looking back at me?

I experienced deprivation of oxygen to my brain. When I got home from the hospital, I remember being exhausted. I was worried about my writing ability. Could I still write? I wrote one word a day and was totally exhausted. This was the process I used to create Abandonment In A Storm. Have a read: https://victoriouswomen.wordpress.com/2010/01/12/abandonment-in-a-storm/

Vivian Dixon Sober
April 4, 2020


Love Reigns

This video is deeply personal. I never expected my mom to apologize to me. I wasn’t the perfect child. I am her middle child. I always danced to a different sound.
Today we know that was okay. Sometimes mothers don’t understand that one—yes that one. And that one is a child with no insight.
I’m sorry I caused my mom pain. It wasn’t my intent. I know this because I’m still that one.
Mom says she loves everything about me. When she knew better, she did better.
Don’t be like us—if you don’t have to.

In Memory of Phyllis Ann

On or about 1987, I was with a group at my place of worship. My little one was outside playing with the children. Someone ran inside and yelled, “Vivian, Ronni’s fighting.” Oh no, I thought. She’s fighting. I ran outside only to find her and a cute little girl. I didn’t know the child. According to mine, she met this little girl when the kid punched her in the stomach. She was only fighting back. The newbie was little Shay–Phyllis’ little girl. That punch and that fight meant instant friendship.

In my heart, I knew mine was a chip off the old block. I can’t tell you how many fights I had. “Did you win?” was always my mother’s first question. But Phyllis and I didn’t ask that question. We just knew we were similar. You see, Phyllis became Phyllis Ann if you irked her.

I’m not attracted to fake people, but I tried to be. Phyllis tried too, but she had to be real. She could be herself with me. She could even be Phyllis Ann. She, a creative, could do almost anything. She and her husband loved my daughter. I, an overprotective single parent, learned to trust her and allowed my daughter to grow up in her household too. Our children were sisters. As I said, Phyllis had a large family. I didn’t like being around crowds, but I did go camping with her once. Let me tell you about this.

There were a few pious people there. I had a headache. Phyllis knew the events at the campsite. She said, “Vivi, let’s take the kids to the dance.” The dance floor was full of kids dancing their hearts out. We looked at the pious and then at each other. We joined the kids. We danced and pranced and danced. We were the only grown folks out there. My headache disappeared. The kids had fun with us–except ours–of course. They could be embarrassed together. Our kids said, “Mom, we didn’t know you could dance like that.” They also didn’t know we were little girls too. We showed up at the party. They got used to it, and we became the subject of their jokes.

Then our girls graduated from high school. We gave them a party and even hired a DJ. You can’t have a real party without good music. Phyllis and I danced like we were in high school. A few wallflowers thought we were high. We said, “Can ya’ prove it?” They will not get an invitation to anything else of ours. We show up at the party. Nothing could keep us in our seats. We shook a lot of stress off at our events, and other grown people began to act like us. However, we both had our own problems. I was there for her no matter what and she was there for me.

Then life came out of nowhere. Phyllis’ firstborn, her daughter, was murdered. From that day forward, she was an empty woman with dull eyes in a shell of a body. Though deeply depressed, she became the guardian of her grandchildren. This kept her busy. This was Phyllis Ann–the warrior–the fighter. Even though people were in her life, no one fully understood the magnitude of her pain. Every day was a fight. I could see the pain in her eyes.

We had more than 32 years of friendship when I learned of her illness. Her family called me to the hospital. I saw life. They saw death. I know now that I was in denial. I saw her in her final hours. Death was kind. It let us say goodbye. I promised her I’d work hard to see her in Paradise.

Death is an enemy, but sometimes it can be a friend. That’s what it was for Phyllis because Phyllis Ann was tired of fighting. When my loved ones die, I cry. This time, I am okay. When I think of her, I have the memory of her death. She was ready to rest. I had the privilege of being her friend. She liked crazy socks. I wear these socks in memory of her. I encourage everyone to love your friends and family while you can. Create memories that make you smile. I truly miss her.

Phyllis Ann
Sister Friends

Vivian Dixon Sober
April 2, 2020


The 11th Hour

Focus on today.
Reality is what is.

Is there anyone that the Coronavirus has not effected? Some have it. Some have died from it, and the world is quarantined. However, I know people who refuse to be homebound. They are not in fear of the Coronavirus also referred to as COVID 19.

This pandemic is serious. Anyone who reads my work understands I am a survivor of many things. I have seen death looking at me more than once. At the time, I wanted to go. Sometimes people get themselves into things they don’t know how to escape. I’m transparent. I don’t know how to be anything else. Death did not take my hand. Instead, what seemed to be disasters were life lessons. I’m not going anywhere until it’s my time. Though I’m a God-fearing woman, I’m human. I can’t tell you how afraid I was. Of what? I was afraid of the 11th hour. In reality, I was in the 1st hour. Let me explain.

When change knocks, it can be shocking, even devastating. It can be a death, a divorce, or anything that makes you shake from the inside out. It’s been said that God delivers you in the 11th hour. So when my world got turned inside out, I thought I was in the 11th hour. I prayed for deliverance. It came to me that God is the Power, the Difference, and the Deliverance.

I, like you, have experienced many challenges. Does this mean God wasn’t with me? I wouldn’t be writing this if he wasn’t. I couldn’t suffer the way I was suffering and land on my feet. I said that to say this: Fear doesn’t help anything. In my case, it was unhealthy. I wasn’t in prison or was I?

I did a lot of self-analysis, a lot of writing, and even sought professional help. This doesn’t make me better than you. I write for me and for you. I know about post-traumatic stress. I know about worrying yourself until it affects your health. In truth, I say, I am not afraid of COViD 19. I am taking all precautions, and this is in the category of what might happen to me. I compartmentalize what is actually happening to me. Otherwise, negative thoughts will invade my mind and rob my peace. I am working on being present. This means staying in the moment of life that I am in.

I use my time to write, exercise, read, attend online meetings and events, and clean. I pray a lot because I am a believer, and I’m not ashamed of this. These are my beliefs. I’m not the belief guard. Your perception is yours and if you can learn something from me, please do. I don’t want you to learn the hard way. I don’t want you to spend emotions.

Is today tomorrow? Is it the 11th hour? I encourage you to put your thoughts on paper and then analyze them. Be truthful. They are yours. They are personal. No one has to know. If you do this, you may see something positive and perhaps even what is.

Writing to heal is real. When you write from the heart, the truth is in the details. We are one. I AM.

Vivian Dixon Sober
April 1, 2020


Suicide Prevention and Covid-19

Say what you mean and mean what you say is what people say. Many can’t hear the sounds of truth, of distress, or from the depressed.

 A young man, swallowed by depression, changed his appearance from clean cut to unkempt—dirty clothes, dirty hair. His speech once distinctive is now disconnected. He’s lost weight. The only coherent thing he says is, “I don’t want to be here.” His threat, suicide, is his only weapon to control and manipulate, some say.

He’s an educated man, and so is the love of his life—his wife.

“I can’t stand your wife,” his mother nags. “She’ll never be a part of this family, and neither will you as long as she is with you. We hate her. We, meaning your sisters and I. Your wife is a tramp. Sorry if you can’t see it.”

This young man and his wife work well together. Like every marriage, it’s not perfect.  Divorce hurts. Don’t go there, if you don’t have to. How many perfect marriages are there? You can’t go by appearances. Life is a theater —a pollution of storefronts. What’s really behind the doors of your mind and your heart?

You must listen to your mind and to your heart this time.

He fails to understand that his mother is a three-time divorcee who has never experienced love. She can’t stand looking at his, and his sisters despise what they do not understand. He could not take the pressure from his family. He became his wife’s darkest nightmare, which led to divorce.

Time passes. His demise is visible and even embarrassing. People are talking. He’s eating out of trash cans. His ex-wife feeds him when she can and even gives him money. It’s been a while. She’s building a new life, but encourages her friend to seek professional help. He can’t sleep on her couch. Her children, not his, are growing up—asking questions.  

He calls all of his family members –even his mother. No one picks up. He leaves the same message: “I don’t want to live. I’m too deep in. I need help.”

He said what he meant. He meant what he said. His family and friends couldn’t hear him. His pain was more than he could bear. He didn’t know about the Suicide Hotline. It’s still in place 24 hours a day.

This hotline is overwhelmed with calls from people faint out of fear because of Covid-19. However, you can still call. Call…call…call. If you know someone who needs it, call!

Please call this number if you’re feeling overwhelmed. They hear what you mean! You are not alone. They will help you–if they can. They have many resources NOW.

Vivian Dixon Sober


Victorious Women I was born and raised in Rhode Island. I am the middle child of three. When I was seven, my father was shot and killed. As an adult looking back, I couldn’t handle its emotional impact. It introduced me to an overwhelming pain that subconsciously shaped my life.

There was no one there to help me understand my emotions, but you’d better believe the pain was real. So what did I do?I wanted to save the world from pain, so I placed myself in harm’s way. Perhaps that’s why I love capes—Lady Super Pain here to save your day. It all came to a screeching halt after I nearly died twice trying to rescue a pack of ingrates that I now thank. I saw clearer than clear that I AM NOT THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB.

My life’s lessons are my strengths, but looking back I wondered: Who? What? When? Where? How? and Why?

Through writing, I heal. Post-traumatic trauma must be embraced, and then, and, only then, will you be able to move from Victim street to a Victorious place. Let’s talk about being a victim. There is no shame in being a victim. We are all victims at one time or another.

Would you rather be a predator? I finally got sick and tired of being sick and tired of abuse that I moved from Victim Street to Victorious Place, and I pray that part of my life is dead. I think people make changes when things not only hurt, but hurt enough. I feel I’ve done enough time. Really!   We’ve got to know when we’re in the red zone–harm’s way, folks.  I face many challenges everyday, but I jumped anyway to save my life.

I survived. I stand. I stand with insight and pride. I am so thankful that my life’s hardships awakened me, and that’s what I call epiphanies.

Some folks would like to know my educational background. I have a little schooling–but what is better than life experiences? After all, there is always some one better, prettier, and smarter, but, of course, writers write.

I am an Independent Book Reviewer. I love dogs, especially Poodles. Plants are awesome too, and I absolutely love Volkswagen Beetles. If you want to know more, I invite you to read my writings.

Don’t you want to experience positive, life-changing epiphanies that will help you? Don’t get it twisted. Other people will learn too–especially when you move.

Writing to heal is real—from me to you!

Thank you very much.


Talkin’ at Me vs. Talking to Me!

Talkin’ to me. Oh! Cowardice human being.

“Some people have never had a job tasting pies,” you say and follow it up with, “But not you. The last time you had a job you were in high school. So I’m not talkin’ to you.”

You’re not Talkin’ to me. You’re talking at me. I felt the attended assault coming from one with low self-esteem. Full of pain—thought you were hurting me, but you were revealing your face.

“Some people never had a job tasting pies,” you say.

You’re so right. I don’t taste pies for a living, but for those who do, what does that have to do with you? Next, you say, “I find you to be a very negative person.”

I say, “As long as you find me. That’s very kindly.” You can’t deal with reality. If I can’t talk to you, I can’t talk to nobody. You were home when I arrived. I say, “My money is ha ha ha…ing me.”

You say, “I’ve been talkin’ to you for an hour, and you haven’t said one positive thing. Oh, but you ain’t by yourself. The line you stand in is full of people putting their keys in envelopes and returning them to the bank, but don’t come here…. there is no work ……..Blah, Blah, Blah………………….

Your words reflect your pain; although, your intent is to berate. I left your environment years ago. You’re the queen in the mind of the uniform. You have lost sight of humanity because of the things…….the things…..the things……..that don’t mean a thing.

It wasn’t me who spoke negatively. Your heart is full of jealousy. Are you really the person you want to be? You are unqualified to inflict your pain upon my soul. You see, I understand that I don’t own a thing, my question to you is, “Why is the bank receiving the keys?”

The things…………..the things…………the things………..

bah bah black sheep

Does the bank own the things? The bank may be here to take ownership of the things….the things…when I’m gone. I’ve been on that road. That’s how I know. Life happens so quickly that even Queens bequeath

There is an operation system in my body that I can’t see. The heart pumps blood through my veins to my brain. Oxygenation is a serious thing. I simply breathe in and breathe out. The design of the body is art—and I’m not the Artist! But I’m in tune to the inner.

As for qualities such as compassion, too many people are lacking and slacking. As far as tasting pies, what is your favorite flavor? We share blood—genetics, but why do you have a hatchet? You want to see me in a casket?

I love you, but you see me through tainted eyes, and I do not accept your definition of me. Man doesn’t read hearts and minds. Your ambition exceeds your abilities. Lighten your load. You are precious. Handed full responsibility that you generously accepted. You, the divine one, by appointment of being the first. You give much to our link and that I appreciate. The link is not interested in my gifts or in me. Your first mistake was not believing what you seen. With that said, I give people what they can handle and no more.

Tasting pies is a superficial ingestion to many but poison to me. Face lifts vs. spirit lifts. I’ll take the latter. Kind words and simple acts of kindness lifts the spirit. Now I’m on my stepping ground. I don’t treat people the way you treat me, and that is the blessing of being bah bah black sheep.

I am Vivian Dixon Sober from what lineage? Polluted! Abusive! So I Finally Let Go. You know. It’s all about me. I’m talking to you—not at you.

Talkin’ at Me vs. Talking to Me!

Vivian Dixon Sober
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