TBSC Test Results

These are the lab results, and corresponding product labels. For the full article, click here.

How Kratom Helped Save A Family

Many of you are wondering how I got into the kratom world to begin with, and I’d like to share my story with everyone. I intend to do many stories involving kratom and its legality, and I think you need to know where I’m coming from first.

I’m married with three boys, ages 4 to 13. I’m currently a stay at home mompreneur, just trying to help pay the bills and feed the family. My youngest son was born in 2013; my pregnancy and then his birth set off into motion a lot of unexpected symptoms. I struggled very hard with postpartum depression, and my body started showing signs of being unwell. Prior to his birth, I reiterated to my OBGYN incessantly that I needed to be put back on my antidepressant AS SOON AS my son was born, and I was assured I would be. That, however, wasn’t the case.

I had a history of postpartum depression with my oldest son that went misdiagnosed and mistreated for a long time, so I knew exactly what it felt like, and the thought of reliving that nightmare terrified me. The doctor who delivered my son (via C-section) refused to put me back on the antidepressant that they’d taken me off of in the beginning of the pregnancy. When I went to my follow up after being discharged, they still refused to put me back on it. I had to go back and BEG, literally, and finally someone gave me a small dose of it. Small enough that a couple of months later, another doctor in the office said, “That’s a garbage dose, that doesn’t do anything at all,” and then doubled it. I ended up switching back to the doctor I'd had a few years ago, and she’s stuck with me ever since. So, there was that problem.

In addition to the depression, the anxiety began to creep up, as well. I’ve always had some form of social anxiety, but this was so bad that I stopped leaving the house altogether. During the school week, the only times I left the house were to take and then pick up my middle son from school. It was really, really bad. I spent months trapped inside my own head, agonizing over the dumbest things, and I couldn’t get it to stop. I realized the other day that I had stopped really listening to music for at least 6 months; I recognized popular tunes, but was completely unaware of the lyrics. When you’re literally trapped inside your own mind, all you can hear are your own thoughts, your own worries. It’s so isolating.

The things that really sent me over the edge were the physical symptoms. I was in pain every single day. I was getting piercing migraines that lasted for weeks at a time because my neck and shoulders were tense, even when I was sleeping. I began waking up with excruciating pain in both of my hands, wrists, and forearms, so sleeping became nearly impossible. Plus, with all of these symptoms, I was trying to care for an infant and a toddler. There was so much pressure. I ended up being diagnosed with fibromyalgia, generalized anxiety disorder with panic attacks, and bipolar disorder.

I began doing research on my symptoms and how to treat them. I just started googling everything I could think of, including natural ways that I could help myself on my own. Once you have just one doctor that refuses to believe you, you start to realize that sometimes the only one who you can rely on is yourself. In all my research, I stumbled across kratom. Of course, I was intrigued! I spent the next 6 months reading everything I could find on the internet about it. I wanted to know everything there was to know that I could understand, and I did it. I’m so glad I did because it’s changed my life forever.

I’ve been taking kratom off and on now since 2014. It tremendously alleviates my pain, and it also helps me feel better overall. I feel confident, and I feel more like myself than I have in many years, even long before I was pregnant with my youngest. It has helped me so much so, in fact, that I began offering it to friends and family. There are plenty of things I’ve done to ruin my own body, but I would never put anyone else’s body at risk like that. That speaks to how effective kratom really is, and how safe it is. My journey in activism is just now beginning, but my story is not.

If you're interested at an in-depth look into kratom, watch Chris Bell's documentary on Netflix, A Leaf Of Faith.


Tell me your kratom story in the comments below, or email me zebraprintmama@gmail.com, and maybe you’ll be featured in an upcoming article!

Kratom Legality: The Ugly Truth

See below map for details:

Green States

• Alaska
• Arizona
• Colorado
• Connecticut
• Delaware
• Georgia
• Hawaii
• Idaho
• Iowa
• Kansas
• Kentucky
• Louisiana
• Maine
• Maryland
• Massachusetts
• Michigan
• Minnesota
• Missouri
• Montana
• Nebraska
• Nevada
• New Hampshire
• New Mexico
• North Carolina
• North Dakota
• Oklahoma
• Pennsylvania
• South Carolina
• South Dakota
• Texas
• Utah – Bill HB0110 requested kratom be listed as a controlled substance, but it was removed from the bill before the bill passed.
• Virginia
• Washington
• West Virginia – Bill HB2526 requested kratom be listed as a controlled substance, but it was removed before the bill passed.
• Wyoming

The Yellow States

• Illinois – Kratom is currently legal to anyone 18 years or older, but two bills were introduced in October 2017 to ban it completely, which are currently pending: HB4106 and SB2051.
• New Jersey – It has been requested that kratom be criminalized in Bill A3281, and the bill is still pending action.
• New York – It is currently legal in the state of New York; Bill A00231 is pending, requesting the banning of kratom, as is Bill S06924, limiting kratom to 18 years and older.
• Ohio - Bill was introduced in 2018 to list kratom as a Schedule I drug. Click here for the AKA's Call to Action in Ohio.
• Oregon – Kratom is currently legal. The pending bill number is SB518, and is currently pending “study for purpose of determining whether plant mitragyna speciosa and drug derivatives of plant should be scheduled as controlled substances” by Directs State Board of Pharmacy.

Purple States

• California – Kratom is legal statewide here, except in the city of San Diego. Mitragynine and 7-Hydroxymitragynine were listed as “Novel Psychoactive Drugs,” and then banned.
• Florida – It is legal statewide, but banned in Sarasota County after being listed a “designer drug.” Two bills were brought forwards in 2017 to ban 7-Hydroxymitragynine and Mitragynine statewide, H0183 and S0424, but they did not pass.
• Mississippi – Legal statewide, except for in Union County.

The Red States

• Alabama - Banned in 2017 via Bill SB226.
• Arkansas - 7-Hydroxymitragynine and Mitragynine were added to the list of controlled substances, banning kratom.
• Disctrict of Columbia - Banned 7-Hydroxymitragynine.
• Indiana - Banned in Bill 1196.
• Rhode Island - Banned in 2017 in what's been coined a "sneak attack." A copy of the signed order is shown below:

• Tennessee - Banned Mitragynine and hydroxymitragynine.
• Vermont - Banned 7-Hydroxymitragynine.
• Wisconsin - Banned 7-Hydroxymitragynine and mitragynine in 2013.

I Would Love You Anyway

I was 18 when I tried alcohol for the first time. And when I raced a state trooper on the thruway with my little sister in the car. I was also 18 (or 19) when I was arrested on felony charges.

I know that you think I'm going to be disappointed when you make mistakes because of where I am in life, but you're seeing me as I am right now, after 33 years of life to live. I've had 33 years to make mistakes, and I can assure you that I have. The only reason that you're seeing me the way I am now is because of the lessons I learned from those mistakes. You can read a lot about my life in my blog, but this post is specifically for you.

I was raised in a very financially secure, Christian household, and my parents spent a lot of money sending me to a private Christian school 30 minutes from our house. My dad owned his own successful business, and my mom was the homemaker. My grandparents were very prominent figures in our local Christian community with a lot of influence over a lot of people. They also owned a successful business. There was a lot of pressure to be perfect, and that pressure started first at home. My mom struggled with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (although she denies it now,) and put the pressure on my sister and I to be perfect, as well. Ha.

As soon as I graduated high school, I moved out of my mom's house (my parents had divorced by then,) and I moved in with my cousin. The pressure to be the perfect daughter flew out the window as I drove down the highway.

Back then, I had an online diary I kept to journal my life, as well as to share it with friends. I received an anonymous, nasty comment on my diary, and I was convinced it was my ex boyfriend. I went straight to the police, filed a report, and they conducted an investigation. It turned out that nobody in his home had even logged on to the internet (it was dial up back then, kids,) when the comment was posted, so the police arrested me for filing a false police report, a felony. My ex (we called him Bell Pepper because...well...they're tiny) filed a restraining order against me, as well. If you ever see my mugshot, yes, I'm the asshole grinning.

All of this to say, shit happens. We all screw up. We all hold ourselves to ridiculous standards, and then we all let ourselves down when we can't meet those unrealistic goals. I have done some CRAZY things in my life, but I was still able to make it to where I am right now in life, dressing up like a responsible adult. I'm in a great marriage, despite my self-sabotaging past. I went to college (for a little while, before I was booted for failing Statistics twice in a row.) I lived my high school dream of being a photographer. I'm living my lifelong dreams of being a writer, and a mom. Screwing up doesn't mean your future is worthless. (Holy shitballs, Batman, I should listen to my own advice!) EVERYBODY does stupid stuff, which is why politicians keep getting caught with their pants down. See? Even big, powerful politicians screw up, and look where they are!

You know, even if I came to you with no mistakes under my buckle, you making a mistake wouldn't make me love you any less. There will be times when I disappoint you, and there will be times when you disappoint me, but the love is always unconditional. We're family, kid, and there's just no getting rid of me. ;)

#YouAreWorthy

The Time My Boyfriend Was A School Shooter

I have graduated from being an obsessive TV watcher to an avid streamer, meaning I’d much rather watch YouTube videos or movies on demand than watch regular TV programming. I’m just selfish that way. In my YouTube journey today, I stumbled across a story about the Columbine shooting; I think it was the first real interview with Dylan Klebold’s mom, Klebold being one of the perpetrators of the Columbine shooting. She had a real understanding of where she was forced to stand, and I was very impressed with the emotional journey she must have gone on to get to that point. But anyway, she mentioned that there are now guidelines for assessing threats like this, and how many school shootings were stopped. Then they interviewed a man who was one of those stopped from killing people as a teenager, and how grateful he is that he was stopped. He is now a happily married father.

But nobody talked about my interactions with a potential school shooter. His plans were thwarted, but the school refused to call the police because, “We’re Christians, and we’re not that kind of people.” They WERE the kind of people, however, who allowed me to be publicly shamed when he stood in front of our class with some bullshit, half-assed apology, and he looked me right in the face when he said, “My TRUE friends know I would never do anything like that.” I was already suffering from physical symptoms of PTSD, and nobody in that school cared how I was. All they could talk about was “making sure he gets counseling, so he gets better.” What about ME?? WHY WEREN’T THEY CONCERNED WITH THE HEALING OF THE VICTIM??

I have tears streaming down my face as I write this. The incident triggered something in my head, and I was basically in a state of psychosis for months. I couldn’t see it at the time; I thought I was just being a “fun, crazy teenager!” But I was making really stupid, reckless decisions that would negatively affect me for a long, long time. I spiraled downwards so far, so quickly, that my family was stunned. Here was their sweet little girl, the girl who loved volunteering at nursing homes, who genuinely loved to help anyone in need, and she was going to bars by herself, getting into trouble, and getting arrested. It was a sharp 180-degree turn that happened in an instant. I was broken, and I couldn’t even tell.

Skip forward many years, and I can think about him and what happened without feeling the anger, the breath leaving my lungs, without my mind racing in fear. Until today. As I thought about my own experience, I wondered if he would do an interview with me. I wondered what we would say, I wondered if he would be angry and defensive, I wondered if he would apologize, I wondered how I would feel and react. I wondered if I Skyped with him, would I be able to feel that deep, black energy I felt on that day in high school? Had he truly changed? Would I be able to feel the change in his energy? The thought of speaking with him, however, threw me into a PTSD attack like I haven’t had in 15 years. I thought I was healed, but I’m not; I’ve just been burying my head in the sand, and pretending it never happened. I think what terrifies me the most about it all is NOT feeling that change within him, and being face to face with the same thing that destroyed me.



He was my ex-boyfriend. He took me to our Jr/Sr Banquet our junior year of high school, and that’s pretty much how the relationship started. He was so very sweet to me, and would write beautiful poems about how he was feeling. While we were together, however, he was really struggling with depression. I would spend hours on the phone with him after school, desperately trying to talk him out of committing suicide. There was a period in there where I think it was every day, or a few times a week, at least. I started to get sick of his constant need of reassurance because it wasn’t just reassurance he needed, he needed someone to argue with him every single day, and it was draining the life out of me. Most of what happened next remains a blur to me, as does most of my senior year. It was emotionally traumatizing, and my brain has blocked out quite a bit. I know that rather than making the decent, human decision, I decided to pursue something with someone else I had met recently, and the new guy ended up being my first kiss. I cheated on him. It broke him. I can remember looking at him after the breakup, and seeing a fractured version of the person I knew. I felt so guilty. It ate at my heart, and I tried to “make it better” with him, but that was impossible. I’d taken care of that relationship all on my own.

One morning in January 2002, my best friend came into school as usual, and she rushed over to chit chat, like we always did. She told me that my ex had been talking about doing a school shooting, and that he had written down a map of what he wanted to happen. There were several scenarios told by several different people because he hadn’t kept his thoughts private. Enough people heard, reported it, and then told me about it. One scenario was that he was going to kill me, and then kill himself. Another scenario was he wanted to torture a couple of other students, and possibly kill them, as well. He wanted me there to watch, regardless of which plan he chose. He also wanted to torture and kill other students in front of me, give me his college money, and then kill himself. I walked past him in the hallway after he’d been spoken to by the principal, and his eyes were completely black. He looked at me with pure hatred in his eyes, and it was terrifying.

He denied that I was a part of any of his plans to school authorities. I had heard it from more than one person, though, and the people weren’t even friends with each other. I’d be interested to hear what he told them back then, and then what happened to him afterwards. But I’m also afraid to hear his version of the events, as re-living my own version is painful enough.

I can remember sitting down with my grandparents to discuss my anger. I said something like, “I don’t want him to get help.” My grandma paused, and then asked, “Don’t you want him to get better?”  “No.”  “….why?”  “Because he doesn’t deserve to get better.”

Now, as someone who understands the mental health issues I struggle with, and how hard it is to come out of dark periods in your life, I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about someone. I would never wish a lifetime of suicidal depression and debilitating anxiety on anyone. But back then, I felt it deep in my soul that I didn’t want him to get better. I wanted him to just be called a bad person, locked up, humiliated and hurt publicly like he had done to me.

In theory, keeping the incident private was advantageous to him; it was never put on his record, meaning he could walk away from everything, forget it, and nobody would know the wiser. Shortly after graduation, he enlisted in the military. Considering there's a screening process to be accepted into the United States military, I'm willing to bet they would have liked to know his past mental health issues, which include real threats of terrorism in a high school.

I hope he’s ok now. I really do. We both did some serious damage to each other, and we just left it that way, as if it would go away on its own. I don’t know if he ever thinks about what happened back then, but I do on occasion. I try to remember things about my senior year that I haven’t been able to, and it always reminds me why I’m not able to do that. I lost my very best friend in the world because of the downward spiral it had thrown me on, too. It was like I had done a complete turnaround personality-wise, and started doing stupid, selfish things. I say all of that because I can’t remember the argument that took our friendship down. I can’t remember anything fun we did that year. I have a few little random memories throughout that school year, but most of the important stuff is gone.

I didn’t think I’d ever share this story publicly, as I don’t want to hurt him all over again. But, this is MY story, therefore, I have the right to tell it. I can already feel a weight being lifted off of my soul with this little purge of emotion.

White Trash Christmas And #WhyIStayed

I'm sure you all remember the Ray Rice scandal and the twitter phenoma that came afterwards of the #WhyIStayed; it wasn't that long ago. I considered posting, but I felt like SUCH a hypocrite. When the news was breaking about the beatings and the abuse, I wondered aloud, "Why doesn't she just leave??"

Why didn't I just leave?

Today, I came across a picture on Facebook of someone I know who attended a White Trash Christmas Party. To go with the theme, she dressed as a pregnant woman with a black eye, a beer and a cigarette. I have a hard time justifying dressing as whatever you think is "white trash," but what really struck me (no pun intended) was the black eye. Was this supposed to be funny? A woman who gets beaten is supposed to be taken as a joke?

I called her out on it in as nice of a way as I could (I've been known to have diarrhea of the mouth), and her only response was, "It was a joke." I blinked at the screen a few times as my mind tried to fully grasp what was happening in front of me. This person that I had known for literally my entire life was perpetuating this stigma that domestic violence is something that is to be taken lightly.

I only commented a couple more times before deleting her from my page; I didn't feel like arguing and I didn't see that I would ever get my point across. I was heartbroken, however. I won't reveal the identity of this person or any details that would give any clues of who she is, but it really just broke my heart. As I wrote my last comment before deleting her, I had tears streaming down my face. Is everyone who has been the victim of domestic violence considered trash? If that's the case, I'm a piece of trash and that's what she thinks of me.

Remember when people dressed up as Ray Rice and his wife for Halloween? They got a lot of flack for it and for good reason. What I was trying to explain was that there was no difference here; the only difference is skin color and is that really even a difference in this situation? Abuse is abuse. Forget the beer and the cigarette; I've seen irresponsible mothers choose those things. To equate those choices to that of someone being abused is just...not ok. They are not the same thing. It's like dressing up as a rape victim; did they choose to be raped? No. Is it funny that you're dressing up as someone who has been sexually assaulted? No.

The whole thing was offensive just from a human standpoint, but it was especially offensive to me because I come from a home with domestic violence. The thing that people don't seem to understand about abusers is that they're master manipulators. They have this way to make you think that they're like gods. Whenever I would threaten to leave my ex, he would tell me that he would destroy my life and destroy the lives of my family. He told me I would never see my son again (our second child together was not born until after I left). He told me that nobody would ever put up with everything that I made him put up with and that I was lucky to have him. He told me that I was the reason he was so angry, and if I would just stop doing things to make him angry, we would have the perfect life. And I believed him. It was easier for me to stay and endure the abuse than to involve my family and never see my son again. If you believed, and I mean truly believed, that someone had the power to put you on the streets and keep your child from you, would you not do whatever it took to keep that from happening?

Most of the abuse was verbal and emotional. I always said that if he ever hit me, I would leave. I secretly wished he would hit me so I would "have a reason" to leave. But that's not true. I would have stayed. And I did stay. He "accidentally" gave me a fat lip. He "accidentally" almost broke my nose. He "accidentally" flicked his cigarette at me. He didn't mean it! He always seemed to misjudge the distance between us at the most inopportune times. I didn't see it then; I always thought it truly was accidental. Now I'm looking back and I'm incredulous; how did I not see it before?? For someone who can flick their cigarette in someone's face with almost 100% accuracy (saw him do that more than once), suddenly this time was an accident? He was like the scummy used car salesman in our relationship; every single time he sold me this crappy, rundown, rusty relationship that only sputtered when you tried to start the engine. "The best relationship ever!" "Runs like new!" "100% money back guarantee!" I always bought his lines. Always. (The irony is that he actually ended up being a used car salesman. Don't ever buy a car from my ex. ;) )

When my ex found me, I was a damaged person. I didn't know who I was and I didn't know my worth. I was the perfect target for manipulation and he saw it and grabbed onto it. That's what happens with domestic violence cases; the women come into these relationships desperate for love and acceptance and the abuser takes complete advantage of their vulnerability. It's not the woman's fault; when you live with someone who consistently drills into your head how worthless you are when you're already thinking the same thing yourself, you're bound to believe it. You're bound to think, "This is the best I can get. Look at what a waste of a human I am."

So does that make the woman trashy? It's easy to look from an outsider's point of view and think that it only happens to poor people who are uneducated. You think of someone in a dirty trailer with a dirty, dirtbag husband or boyfriend. What you're missing is that abuse happens to affluent people, as well. I grew up in an affluent home; I grew up with privilege. I was abused. I was emotionally, physically and sexually abused. I lived through it, I survived it and I've built myself to be a better person in spite of it. And I don't appreciate being labelled as trash because of it.

My Last Baby's 1st Bday and Sweet Violet Cakes Review

This post is quite late, but my last baby turned 1 on November 1st. :( I wasn't as emotional as I thought I would be, but I think that's because I was so stressed out about his party. Eek! But it turned out good, anyways. :)

We bought the cake from Sweet Violet Cakes in Mohawk, NY. She was very sweet and easy to work with; I explained what I was looking for, sent her some examples and then she ran with it. The birthday party was John Deere themed and here's the cake she came up with:

Just LOOK at the detail on these cute little animals!

I added the candle, but you can see how the attention to detail goes the entire way around the cake.

She offered a variety of cake flavors and fillings; we decided to go with just plain vanilla. It was delicious! It was nice and moist and the frosting was sweet. It paired very well with ice cream! The cake was covered with frosting, while the animals, barn, fence and the number 1 on the side were made of fondant. Ironically, she made exactly enough animal decorations as we had kids at the party, so each child got one, which they were ecstatic about.

Sweet Violet Cakes offers reasonable pricing and also offers delivery (within reason, of course), so if you're looking for someone to make a special cake for your special occasion, you can check out the facebook page here and shoot her a message. There are pictures of some of the other beautiful cakes she has made and you'll get an even better of an idea of why I chose to work with her. :)

Now check out this candy buffet that my sister in law set up:

Mmmmm snacks:

AND, the birthday boy himself, who had a wonderful time: