Alethia Rains

Graphics. Photography. Design




Disclaimer: This poem is a work of literary interpretation and art. It is not about anyone or anything. It is only the musings of a 41 year old lifelong worker.


They grind us to the bone.

Work. Work.

Draining us of everything we have to give

Work. Work. Work.

On our vacations they tell us to…..

Work. Work. Work. Work.

They make thousands off our thoughts and ideas while we make pennies…

Work! Work! Work! Work! Work!

They demand our attention while our sons are contemplating suicide.


They take away our holidays and time with our faimilies.

Work. Work.

They treat us like scum while they know they are among the one

Work. Work. Work.

When we are sick, they tell us to take a nap… and get back to ….


They claim ownership of our blood our sweat and our tears while demanding we


All the while, sitting on their thrones and entitlement.

We work.

Then we die.

And have nothing to show for it.

Its been a hot minute.

I’m sitting here, drinking my coffee on January, 2 2021 asking myself if anyone still reads blogs? Everything is insta and snappy these days. Most people tend to read 140 characters and call it a day.

Will anyone even read these?

It started on a whim when I looked up free blogging sites this morning. I clicked on “WordPress” and tried to make an account, only to find out I already had one. I had forgotten about this site I created what seems like a million years ago. Upon opening I was brought back to a time when this person I used to know was a still mostly a stay at home mom, was still married, still working for others and had something to share. There was a magazine I tried and gave up on, this site and a design site I was going to start and never did.

I’m reading through all of these posts wondering who this person was who wrote them. I vaguely remember her. She seems to have an opinion and a purpose though a little spiteful with an air of optimism that is trying to peak through. I look through the photos and wonder how she was able to do that so well. She seems to be standing up for others and yet I don’t quite see her standing up for herself. I no longer know this person, but this person used to be me. In the time it has been since I last opened this blog and last wrote down words, I’ve lived another 5 lifetimes. I feel that it will be a bit therapeutic but no… more so a required path I must take and continue to write on this blog. I have to. Before the memories fade away.

I will be told not to post any of this to my business page. To make a new page and separate business from my life. However, since the majority of my business life has been wrapped around so much of how my personal life has panned out, I must have some sort of common ground to build upon. I will be creating a separate blog that will be something of recollection of my life but as a warning, it will be a deep sea of f*cked up.

As a new start to the new year, I will be devoting time to my creative side and allowing myself to relax more. In my rambling musings, I hope that it may help others in their journeys if anything to help them see that they are not alone.

Repost: “Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?”

Reposted from something I read way back in 2016… oh how the years have changed.

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing…

Source: Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

This…is amazing. This is how we grew up.
I remember playing on a tennis court…. with my roller skates. Bouncing off the net. The little boy I was babysitting at the time untied the string that held the net up…. I didn’t notice. I proceeded to skate towards the net to bounce off of it and flipped straight forward and landed right on my face. I was about 12 years old.
One very bloody busted mouth (not lip…mouth) later and a huge scrape running from my chin to my nose later, I snuck into my house avoiding my mom at all costs. I hid my face. I didn’t cry. Back then we weren’t softies. We did drink from the hose and stayed outside from dusk til dawn. We used the community dumpsters as playgrounds lol
One of the more horrific injuries I sustained as a child was when a popcicle stick went through the back of my throat. No, not the flat wooden ones, the round push-pop ones. I recall being very tired all of a sudden and falling asleep only to wake up in a pool of blood all over my brand new airbrushed sweatshirt. I was more bummed out about the sweatshirt since I didn’t get nice new things very often.
Now I look at my own kids and think, holy smokes….my kids are woosies. They need bandaids for small scratches and whine when they have a tummy ache. No they aren’t babies either. They are 7, 12 and 15. My 15 year old has missed more school in a year than I did in a lifetime due to “stress” at school and what he perceives in his life. (Oh English class…. you are so cruel!!)
No matter the troubles I had at home, I always worked hard to get good grades. Back then we weren’t given a choice. It was do or die….or perhaps just grow up to be a loser like we saw in tv specials.
I thought this blog post really spoke about how things have changed and completely identify with all of it. I was pushing a vacuum at 4 years old and made to sit and pick out every single piece of anything in the carpet if I messed up and vacuumed the wrong thing. My kids can barely keep their rooms clean…..

Photography: Art VS Product

You’re an artist, you see people in your local group looking for photographers… you message or post your services. You contact the potential client, explain your prices and everything seems good. Then you never hear from them again. What happened?

A week or so later you see the same client posting all of their photos from another photographer. Now you feel like a loser. Like your work wasn’t good enough.

That’s not the issue. That particular client wasn’t looking for art. They were looking for pictures.


Some people treat photography like it’s another Jamberry, MaryKay or Scentsy business. They grab a good camera and if they have the disposable income, they grab some good lenses and call it a day. They are now a professional photographer.

This works for them. This works for their clients. There is nothing wrong with it.

The issue is when creative people, artists, and dreamers who look at photography like an extension of their very soul get pushed to the bottom of the pile. They usually cost more. They spend more time on their craft. They work for hours perfecting and fine tuning their skills. They focus on their work…. Really FOCUS. They FEEL what they create. It’s not just another job. They end up taking it personally, as though something is wrong with their work.


It is frustrating to compete with them I know. Usually, it’s a thread…. someone looking for a photographer. They want an affordable photographer that has a quick turn around. Specials, deals and percentages off. They want a (Scentsy, Jamberry, 31 gifts, Avon, Body by Vi) seller. That’s what photography is to them. It’s another thing to buy.


Those are NOT your clients.

Your clients seek you out. They want your vision. They look at you as an artist. They are willing to pay a premium for a premium product.


If you have any doubt about this, go look at some of the most famous successful photographers. Look at their work. Look at their prices. I guarantee you they are not posting in groups about their BOGO deals and offering to do weddings for $100. They offer a unique product. They aren’t offering 100’s of photos in both color and black and white ran through a quick batch edit. (Imagine trying to artistically hand edit 100 photos and have them to your client in 2 days)


We need those people. They are not “faux-togs,” “cheapies,” or even bad photographers; just a different point of view. They offer a service much like those vendors in the mall or the Direct TV people in Walmart. It’s usually quick and easy and it makes them money. It works for them and the clients they attract.

For an artist, this is good. It weeds out the people you are not working for. It’s not competition. Walmart is a huge company that offers good prices on goods. Then you have Whole Foods which offers a higher quality, higher prices, fewer goods. Neither is struggling to find customers nor are they fighting each other for them.

You may find yourself doing the cheaper work for a while and that’s ok. You have to start somewhere. Eventually when you find your special place in the art world, you will see that the Whole Foods customers are knocking on your door. Those are your clients. They want art and are willing to pay for it and appreciate it.

If you don’t appreciate and respect yourself as an artist, nobody else will either.
Know your worth.

The passing days.

IMG_5772wm IMG_7215wm IMG_7216wm IMG_7700wm IMG_7715wm IMG_7805abwm IMG_7805bwm IMG_7824wm IMG_7846wm



I envied her. Her ability to escape. She was able to leave and head toward the light. While my strength kept me behind I still felt the pull of that long warmth. Begging me to reach out for it. Would that be the only thing to come? Days pass, time goes by and nothing changes. It’s all still the same. I envied her. She got out. Everything stopped and she was finally free. Free from pain and doubt and self-loathing. I envied that.

I envied her. Her ability to escape. She was able to leave and head toward the light. While my strength kept me behind I still felt the pull of that long warmth. Begging me to reach out for it. Would that be the only thing to come? Days pass, time goes by and nothing changes. It’s all still the same. I envied her. She got out. Everything stopped and she was finally free. Free from pain and doubt and self-loathing. I envied that.


April. My favorite month. With April came the sun. Unexpected things. Happiness. New tidings. With April came heart and soul. Most of all, came hope.


assholewm IMG_6626wm IMG_6630wm IMG_6634wm IMG_6637wm IMG_6649wm IMG_6658wm IMG_6668wm IMG_6846wm IMG_6859wm

This was March for me.

This was March for me. Slowly enjoying the warmer weather and trying to think outside the box. Embracing the imperfections and focusing on capturing what I saw in my mind’s eye.

grace2 grace3wm gracewm IMG_4554bwwm IMG_5280Wwm IMG_5390dresswm IMG_5392anim2wm IMG_5417dresswm IMG_5451foxwm IMG_5455wm IMG_5471wm IMG_6065bag levetextureavbwm M16wm Mask1adrwm mask2adrwm Watcherwm

Taking Control.

A while back, my youngest son comes into my room crying. He asks me to come with him. He likes to Skype with his friends from school so I thought nothing of it. Apparently he had found a friend he didn’t know from school, another boy around his age, to play Minecraft with. This boy along with 2 others were bullying my son. I read the texts back and forth and was not too happy with what I saw.

While sitting there, the boy “skyped” my son. So I answered. (note, neither have their webcams on). I hear a young voice pop up and I say hello, that I’m the mom and I don’t appreciate him harassing my kid.

He proceeds to curse at me and then tells me I “sound like an 80 yr old woman.” I, of course burst out laughing because it was so…. dumb. I told him thank you, and goodbye.

Here comes in the difference between being a bullied CHILD and a “bullied” adult: I then went in and blocked the contacts. I then deleted the contacts.  I am an adult, so I took control. I then asked him…. “Who are these people to you?” My son had felt helpless, he is a child. It’s to be expected. As adults, WE control how we feel. WE control who we listen to. WE control how we react.

Tears still in his eyes, though a little less so after the eruption of laughter….. he asks me how to deal with this. The thing is, he is bullied all the time. At school, online etc.. I tried to explain to him that when you think for yourself, and march to the beat of your own drum, people feel threatened by that. They don’t like it. Since the dawn of time, those who are different have been persecuted for it. He really enjoys being in his own world and I commend him for that. He has his very own story line and he isn’t afraid to speak up. As his mother, it is my job not to “fix” it all for him, but to aid him in getting a hold of the situation. Yes, I step in when needed, but I won’t be able to fight his battles forever.


My Story

I have become so accustomed to being “hated” on, it surprises me to have anyone actually take the time to get to know me. I grew up being pushed around, having my hair pulled (I grew up with Shirly Temple curls), being called ugly, fat, weird etc. Groups of kids would wait at the bus stop after school to “beat me up.” I once was pushed around and picked on so badly on my bus, I ended up having a panic attack. My mom had to work to support us so nobody was really there to “defend” me. I had to learn on my own. Looking back, I was that little girl who picked out her own clothes did her own hair and her own thing. I didn’t like to take my shoes off, I wasn’t very fond of people seeing my feet. This made for difficult nap times in Kindergarten, time-outs were often. I was bossy. It was my way or the highway. I had a temper too. I wanted to do things myself. To put it frankly, I was a real pain in the ass. I was also quiet. Reserved. Lived in my own head. The perfect victim.

By high school, the bullying was just a day to day thing for me. I ignored it. Read my books on the bus, retreated into my own mind for comfort. One day in Drama class, I happened to see one of the boys who bullied me sitting alone. My curiosity got the better of me and I went over and quietly asked him, “why do you pick on me?”

He told me, “because you look like you can handle it. I’m expected to be this big ‘jock’ and to be popular, so I do it to get a laugh from my friends.” I understood, I was shocked. It was literally as though he was hoping I’d ask so he could just rid himself of the guilt. That day on, he never bullied me the same way again. We actually “teased” each other more than anything. No, we never became friends, but I understood. It was no excuse by any stretch of the imagination. Bullies are people too. Something drives them to do what they do. Whether it’s low self-esteem, family expectations or just fearing what they don’t understand.

Not everyone can “handle” it though. I had far worse things to deal with so the bullying was breeze when put into perspective. It helped me release those feelings of “sorrow” when people were mean and replace them with more curiosity as to why they behaved the way they did.

In the long run. Learning how to react to bullying as a child, helps as you get older. The problem is, not every child has a good support system to help them deal with it. Every person is different. I let my kids know to be there for those who might be bullied. Stand up for them and offer them support. As adults, we should do the same. Instead of attacking others, we should try to understand them instead.



Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: