“Lilac Girls” ~ Martha Hall Kelly

September 3, 2017 by

Lilac Girls ended up in my Audible playlist after a desperate plea went out to one of the online book groups I belong to. I, as usual, was having a particularly hard time choosing my next audiobook. I decided to put out the call and read the first suggestion that came in regardless of title.

I’m glad I stuck to my resolve because Lilac Girls would have been a work I may have passed over. While I enjoy works that delve into the relationship and perseverance of women, I have to feel pretty certain that it is going to be magnificent if I pick up one that couples that with a historical backdrop.

Lilac Girls uses the alternating voices of three women to tell a nearly true story of the very real Ravensbrück, the largest German Reich concentration camp exclusively for women. Caroline Ferriday, Broadway actress turned French consulate pro bono liaison, Kasia Kuzmerick, a Polish teenager that doesn’t get to stay young long, and Herta Oberheuser, a German doctor who makes Annie Wilkes appear mildly sane.

I will share with you that, while I understood the historical places and events were real, I did not realize the story being told was also based mostly from actual lives. Since I was sold on the idea of reading whatever book was recommended, I didn’t look into the summary. The end of the novel contained an author’s note that explained the history behind the women, sources used, fictional liberties taken, etc. It occurred to me that the book may have read different had I known that going in. I decided the book may have read differently for a whole host of reasons – that one is neither special nor a spoiler, ergo, I will include it.

The plot moves quickly through travesties and graces that eventually allow the journeys of these three women to intersect. Quick stitched in are honest feeling accounts of ordinary women attempting extraordinary and unthinkable things. As a result, this is a satisfying story with slightly unsatisfying character development and detail.  However, I would not count this as author or story flaw. This undertaking was massive in scope and I can only imagine what it took to tell the story in 17.5 hours of audio (under 500 hardback pages). Kelly could have expanded the work, but to what end? It appears that at some point in the process Kelly realized she had a choice to make – tell the story in a way that kept the readership consistently engaged, or create a debut novel of epic proportions that, although complete, required a dedicated reader to commit to the task.

I think she choose well and the result is an enlightening piece of history, spirit, and illustration of just how good and bad we can be to each other.

 

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

TTNY 5 – What I Like About Me

September 18, 2016 by

As a part of the “This Time Next Year” journal writing, I am supposed to write about what I like best about myself. However since I have not followed one single suggestion of this journal yet, I am inclined to not force myself to now.

Here’s what I will say. I have no fucking idea what I like best about myself. I am hoping this time next year I will have a better idea. Right now I feel like I don’t know myself at all. That’s a scary place to be because if I don’t know me then how does anyone else. And if the folks I have relationships with don’t really know me, what are the relationships based on. And once I do get to know myself what if those people don’t really like me anymore. What if I don’t like me anymore. So do I really want to get to know me? Do I really have a choice?

The answer to the last question, obviously, is no. I do not have a choice. Getting to know me and who I am and what makes my gears go is essential to moving forward with my life. I have made some pretty life altering changes recently. What a shame it would be to make moves like that, to create the freedom and the space I need to understand myself and then waste that time sitting around in falseness.

What a shame indeed.

But I have come to one conclusion. I will like me. I can’t believe that a person, when living their truth, is wired to not like that truth. It may be uncomfortable for a minute, but when the dust settles, I think the answer to “is this really who I am” can be found in the way the soul feels full by the idea. To start small, I know I love food. Food makes my soul feel full. I am a person who loves to cook, feed, eat, smell, learn, food. I know this is a true part of who I am because participating in it sets my soul right.

Is food a small thing? Sure it is. But I can hold on to it as that benchmark of truth and what it feels like to discover who I am.

I have always been who I am in relation to another person. A daughter, a wife, a mother, an employee…I am not sure that I have ever taken the time to figure out who I am as a stand alone feature. Running is probably the closest I have ever come to figuring that out. Even while you are with people, running is solitary event. Folks can be with you, support you, motivate you, but they cannot take one step for you. I am the kind of runner I am based solely on what I do in and of myself. My training. My technique. My desire. My ability. My body. My brain. It is just me.

And I think I like just me. I think I like who I am and what I am becoming. There are so many things I wish I had done different. But sitting here at this computer, sifting through the fragments of me, I am starting to realize that maybe all this mess was purposeful. That maybe there is something to my idea of puzzle pieces and spirit animals. That caterpillars are on to something with their butterfly making ways.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

TTNY 4 What would I change about myself – I hate being afraid

August 30, 2016 by

Let me go ahead and put this out there (already knowing that it is going to sound some kind of way). There’s not a whole lot about me I would change. I mean certainly, I think I can always improve. There’s always a faster time, a better way, more knowledge, more ability. There’s always the opportunity to be better today that you were yesterday and even better tomorrow.

But if we are talking about things I would fundamentally change about myself, there’s not a bunch going on there.

Save one I suppose.

I really hate being afraid.

The problem is I am afraid most of the time. Now don’t get me wrong. We aren’t talking about Freddy Krueger afraid. I’m talking about pit of the stomach nag, fuzzy head afraid. That fear you get when you think you may have said the wrong thing, worn the wrong shirt, picked the wrong restaurant, gave the wrong advice, picked the wrong stratedgy…just being wrong in a way that affects other people period. That kind of afraid.

And I stay that way pretty regular. Just today I bought a few gifts and looked for a few more. Petrified. What if I picked the wrong thing, wrong size, wrong store, wrong price? What if they just generally don’t like it? And it was damn near paralyzing. In fact, it was so overwhelming that I damn near went back and returned everything 45 minutes after purchasing them. Ridiculous, I am aware.

I’m a little afraid right now because this little collection of words isn’t doing what I want it to. Or maybe it is. But I really think not. They feel corny and indulgent. damn near pointless.

But I am going to keep putting the nouns and verbs together because behind the fear is something else. There is a nagging sensation that two things are happening…

One, I am working through and being honest with the fact that I do get scared an awful lot. That’s a big one. It isn’t any part of the person I want to be. It is the one thing that I know limits every other wonderful thing in my life. Fear, at least the kind that I am talking about right now, does nothing to promote my best life. It isn’t keeping me safe from bodily harm. It isn’t protecting others. It isn’t shielding doom. It is just making shit that doesn’t need to be hard, really fucking hard.

This fear makes me feel less than. It makes me behave and accomplish less than. It really makes me want to crawl back in the bed right now so that I don’t do anything else today that might have consequences that are a little uncomfortable.

I actually did just crawl back in the bed just then and take a nap. It was wonderful. The most amazing thing is not that I actually got to take a nap (as bizarre as that is) but that I actually still remember what the second thing was!

Two, as in most things that I chew up in my brain, I don’t think it’s just me. While I am sure there are boatloads of people who do not experience this type of fear regularly, I am also sure there are a bunch of us running around with this characteristic that we just never talk about. In fact, I am also willing to bet these are people who, if they told you, you would be shocked.

And, because it does me good to keep processing through in a way that puts words in the universe, I am continuing to work through it on this keyboard.

The truth is I feel much better now. That nap was pretty amazing. Maybe more sleep is the answer. More probable is the idea that just listening to my body is the best answer. It just so happens that in this instance my body said nap and I was able to comply.

But that isn’t always the case. I can’t always do what I want to do; or at least not without some unpleasant consequences. So the fearful living at some point has to give. But, that didn’t develop over night so I am certain it won’t dissolve itself in one journal entry or one nap…but it sure has been a start.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

This Time 16 Years Later (TTNY 3)

August 23, 2016 by

It is time for me to write the obligatory “About Me” post. Interesting concept, the “About Me.” Isn’t really that the whole of what is going on with every post? Small little insights about the person doing the writing? But I suppose leaving it that way would be intentionally divergent without accomplishing purpose. There is a lot of value in providing the overview of background for context.

Because I am a writer, I have written a lot of these over the years. Whenever there is a new situation, writing space, or drought, this topic is always the easiest to go back to as it is the one that I am usually most familiar with.

16 years ago, give or take a few months, I was a seriously active Toastmaster member. I loved that stuff. If you are familiar at all, you know one of the first talks you give is about yourself. That talk became one of the favorite things I have ever written. I’ll put it in its original form somewhere.

But I have decided I am not going to start all over for my “set a timer for 5 minutes and write about yourself” exercise from This Time Next Year day three. (Yes, I skipped day 2. I can’t draw for shit and nobody wants to see that.) Instead I am going to break all the rules from day three and edit the shit outta what I already wrote and take whatever time I need to do it. I do what I want.

Interesting note (if not for you the reader then to myself for reflection later) ~ I haven’t read through this in quite sometime. Therefore, I am not real sure what’s gotta be changed, updated, added. In other words, I really hope this turns out.

Without further ado ~ the 2016 edition…

My father’s people call me Hapa Haoli. The words are Hawaiian; Hapa, meaning half, and Haoli meaning, white or mainlander. My mother is a beautiful Georgia Peach with the hair and freckles of the Irish and my dad is strong Hawaiian with salt water in his veins and sand in his hair. Both cultures are so rich with family tradition. You could say that I am a southern transplanted Hawaiian with a strong sense of family.

I am a southerner by heart, by speech, and by eats. There is nothing about the south I don’t like. From cornbread to grits, a hundred degree weather to 100 percent humidity. I have a drawl, I say ya’ll and a cook with so much ham hock and butter my vegetables are unhealthy. I say ma’am and sir and I can tell you, with pretty good accuracy, where yonder is. I love family reunions, weddings at the bride’s Grandma’s house, and azaleas in the springtime. I love the way southern people don’t move to fast, the way we take the time to say hello and smile. The way we take things easy – we really have no choice – most of the time it is too hot to do anything fast. Most of the colleges aren’t as big, but the football is great. Most of the doctor’s aren’t as rich, but she knows my history without my chart. My history, my momma’s, my two sisters my aunt, our neighbor – you get the point. I wouldn’t give up my Southern roots for all the tea in China – because we drink ours sweet and I don’t think they do.

I am Hawaiian by birth. My father comes from a family whose tree is planted firmly in the sands that are Hawaii. My father makes it a point to impress upon us the importance of the Hawaiian blood. Its traditions are rich and family important. I don’t have any Hawaiian friends. They are all family. They are not Mr. and Mrs. They are Auntie and Uncle. Our strength is in our Mana, the life spirit that comes from our ancestors before us. The force in our spirits that connect us to the land, the water, and each other. When the Mana is strong, there is nothing a person can’t do. The Mana of my dad, the mana he has passed on to me, is the central force of who I am.

In Hawaii, you are of the land or you are a visitor. There is no place in a Hawaiian’s heart for disrespect of the islands. The land is sacred. It is a part of the history of the people and as such has embedded upon its children the love and respect due to an honored parent. My father has done his best to keep traditions alive. It has been hard since we live so far away, but he has done well. My sisters and I can cook some of the more common dishes such as luau luau and lomi salmon, and we all dance the hula (albeit some better than others). The distance between the place I was born and the place I was raised is great, but they are both home.

My family is my rock. I believe that even without oxygen, my family could sustain me. The people in my tree define who I am. My mother has given me the courage to withstand all things. She has taught me the meaning of integrity and perseverance. She showed me how wisdom was important and that taking a stand was cool. She gave me the permission to open my mouth in protest as long as I remember that everyone deserves respect. My father gave me the backbone to follow through. He taught me that who you are is shown more by what you do than what you say, who you know or what you have. Together they showed me that nothing is more important than waking up every morning knowing you were loved unconditionally. I now have my own children to love unconditionally.

My two oldest children are nearly grown. One is already an adult child who has launched into the world in beautiful fashion I could not be more proud. The other is an amazing free spirit who is still changing and growing. Watching this child become the person she was meant to be has been like watching one of the great transformations.  My two littles are only 11 months apart. As close as they are in age, they are like sun up and sun down – both beautiful and glorious yet on completely opposite ends of the earth.

These children feed me life. As much as parents are supposed to teach their children, they have taught me more. They have showed me that most answers are simple and most hurts can be cured by a hug and an ice cream. I now know that folded clothes, if left unattended for a second, will need to be folded again and dirt has radar. I have also learned that their best chance of becoming wonderful adults involves being around wonderful adults. In this they have shown me the kind of person I strive to be.

I have the best friends. They are like a bouquet of flowers – each different and colorful and bringing incredible life into my world. I love them dearly. They are more than friends, they are fellow journeyers. They walk with me down my life’s path and allow me to experience theirs.

My personality evolves everyday. With each new experience my repertoire changes. I grow and learn and increase myself. But who I am, where I am from and the things I hold important are as certain as Georgia Heat, Hawaiian Surf and the roots that have been nurtured by each.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

This Time Next Year

August 16, 2016 by

I bought this cool little journal. It’s titled “This Time Next Year~365 Days of Exploration”  by Cynthia Scher. It’s this neat little set up that is full of prompts that move you through this look into yourself and different pieces of you each day.

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The funny thing about me grabbing this book is the only thing I think I ever constantly done for 365 days straight is breathe. I’m trying to think of another thing. Right now, I got nothing. Maybe we will come back to that.

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But I am in the middle of a divorce so I think I am going to give this a real shot. This next year is going to be a life changing one. I think I kind of owe it to myself to pay a little closer attention.

The first day is supposed to be kinda easy. I am always kinda suspect of any writing idea that appears on the surface to be easy. But who am I to borrow trouble…

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Your name. That’s supposed to be the easiest thing right? Mental note to wax poetic about how that isn’t the case at some later, more appropriate time.

The story behind my name is ~ See, not easy. My name is about as story filled as it gets. So I am going to make a long story short and make yet another note to myself to come back to this later if I run out of time this  morning (this is in honor of my commitment to write everyday, whether I can publish it or not, whether I complete it or not, whether I delete it or not). My first name just is as far as I know. It was not the only option, but it did win out in the end and I am thankful as I am not sure the other contestants were completely thought through.  I share a middle name with my paternal great grandmother (story goes my name was decreed, not suggested). My soon to be former last name comes from one of the best families I’ve ever known and given to me by a young man who rode in on a white horse (that looked a lot like a pickup truck) almost 20 years ago.

Your nickname is ~ Momma? People typically just call me by my name. I had a nickname once many moons ago. Honey. That’s a cute story all its own as well and the face of the sweet little toddler that gave it to me is still fresh in my brain.

The story behind your nickname is ~ Guess I got ahead of myself up there 😀

Your secret name that you you wish you had ~ Ummmmm? I dunno. Siri calls me Queen Bee. My oldest spawn has me saved as “Giver of Life” in her phone. Since this is my journal, I guess that counts.

The story behind that name is ~ My kid is super funny and creative. I heard the Lordes lyric “You can call me Queen Bee” and loved it.

You are a (quick what pops into your mind ~ whole person. Yet another thing I’m going to have to come back and expand on.

The most important thing anyone should know about you is ~ That I am a whole person. A sum greater than the parts. Some of them match, some of them contradict, some are static, others always changing. If you don’t know me today, all you really know about me is who I was yesterday.

You are passionate about ~ Words and food. Both matter.  Both convey emotion. Both provide connection, community, opportunity. Words and food. So many possibilities in those two little things.

#nobow

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

Living in the Thinking Chair

June 20, 2016 by

I live in my Thinking Chair.

I don’t mean, obviously, that I am confined to or spend all my time in said chair. 

So, I just gooogled “live” in preparation for my next sentence after the crossed out one above. Funny how concentrating on semantics will lead you to a really neat insight. This. This is why I love to write.

 

I remain alive in my Thinking Chair.

Nearly my whole life I have desired a space, a corner, a chair. It would be only mine and it would be a safe haven for those things that restored my heart. It would be uniquely me with purpose and obvious function and feeling. It would remind me of those great movie scenes where the self assured, self confident, successful woman wore her too large, off the shoulder knit sweater that still made her look amazing and not frumpy, with her piping hot coffee sending steam in front of a beautiful non makeuped face and impossibly put together bed head, as she settled in to her well deserved Sunday morning in her space. I don’t even know if that’s a real movie or one I created. I’ve played it so often in my head it’s hard to tell at this point.

In this, the last year of my 30’s, I got my space. I got my Thinking Chair.

The search for the chair started out as a hunt for a reading chair. I wanted something that would fit nicely in the empty bedroom corner and was designed for long periods of comfortable book snuggles. I had a decent budget. So I started sitting in chairs. My older children joined in the hunt. The giggles at mom as she sat, lounged, floundered, threw legs over chair arms in the middle of furniture stores were plenty.

“Mom, seriously?”
“She has to make sure it’s comfortable!”

I indeed did.

Let me tell you there are some beautiful reading chairs out there. Round ones that swivel. Super soft ones that recline. Convertible ones that turn into a bed. And I loved many of them.

But I couldn’t pick one. While they were all within the budget, they were the whole budget. And while they were all beautiful, they all felt manufactured. It’s weird trying to describe this inanimate object as lacking because I felt it had no heart, but that’s exactly what was going on. I couldn’t find a chair with personality. I have a hard time spending time with people without personality. I guess that spills over into my chair preference as well.

Declaring the search over for the day, we stopped by the mall on the way home so the girls could get some craft stuff. I rarely find myself at the mall, so I had no idea that a large, second hand shop had opened up there.

And there it was. My chair.

I sat, laid, lounged, curled. I asked the associate if it was new as it looked like it had never been touched. She said technically no as it had come from an estate sale. However, I pulled cushions and unzipped covers; the thing looked brand new.

“Momma! It’s the Thinking Chair!”

 

Madison was absolutely right although I had not noticed originally. But her childhood nostalgia registered the similarity to the famous Blue’s Clues staple immediately.

And now, the Thinking Chair helps me put my clues together.

In this space I have my space. Just sitting in it suggests that I have made time for my soul and that is good. Being here gives encourages freedom from responsibility, permission to let my mind wander, safety to let my thoughts roam, comfort for the exercise of The Many.

I remain alive in my Thinking Chair.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair Tagged With: , ,

Effective Goal Setting for The Many

June 15, 2016 by

Alrighty Rockstars. We are talking about goal setting. Why? Because it’s what’s on deck in the book. Will the writing always be led by the book? Well, let’s see if that’s one of the goals! (Hint: If you know me at all, you probably already know the answer to this one)

Every single leadership, professional development, personal life management, everything ever since everything has emphasized goal setting.  Evidently, my new little book is no different. So, I consider this sage art. Again. With good intentions. Again.

Amy says decide what you want and then write them down. In fact, most every version of effective goal setting I have ever seen begins with some version of determine and scrawl.

And that’s where my train jumps the fucking tracks. Before I even get out of the crazy train station,

If we are friends in real life, on Facebook, or have had even a cursory encounter with me, you are probably aware of “The Many.” If you are not familiar, here’s a great recap.

Now often I have wished for a clone – more hours in the day, more hands, help with all the various things I am responsible for…The Many is not that. The Many are a bat shit crazy cornicopia of chicks living in my headspace. I have never been on a subway but I have been backstage at a strip club, lived in military quarters, and spend a good deal of time in beauty salons. I imagine if these locations mated together and had a baby, that’s what The Many would look like.

So take the folks from the subway, strip club, Navy, and the beauty salon into a confined space. Pass around the refreshments and encourage them to make a cohesive set of goals. Go ahead and do it. I’ll wait.

See my dilemma?

When I sit down to do any type of goal planning it always ends up the same…

I want all the things. All. Of. Them.

Even the things I don’t want, I want. I do not want to skydive. That shit totally freaks me out. But, I want to WANT to skydive. It’s fucking insanity.

I want:

  • attention while being a person who doesn’t want attention
  • to be a person who works 80 hours a week while having all the time in the world to do 100 other things
  • to party like a rockstar until 0400 and be up for the 0600 workout looking like Paige Hathaway
  • to push publish on every single thing I write and not be completely freaked the fuck out about how much you know about me
  • to eat donuts, pad thai, BBQ, pasta, and all the cheeses, while drinking copious amounts of not light beer while maintaining 14% body fat and “I hate her” abs
  • a closet full of clothes that make me feel awesome without ever having to shop again
  • to attend 0800 Mass on Sunday while lounging around on lazy Sundays until noon
  • to speak my mind with confidence
  • to run the Keys 100
  • to be the Mother of Dragons
  • put together a novel plot line that doesn’t make me feel like I’m a complete poser
  • to live life on a regular basis not feeling like a poser
  • to win the lotto without ever spending money on the lotto

At this point the whiteboard in the room is currently being wielded by one of The Many in a wide, erratic circle daring a bitch to come at her. Tables have been flipped, flasks have been pulled, and some are hiding in the broom closet waiting for the dust to settle. Which it won’t.

Coach that, badass.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair Tagged With:

The Biggest Mouths

February 20, 2014 by

So, I have waited just a little while before weighing in on The Biggest Loser controversy. (See what I did there? I almost reworded that. Then I decided, “What the hell. Let’s throw bad puns to the wall and see what pretty colors it makes!”)

Rachel-300x254If you are not a Biggest Loser fan and somehow missed the February 4th storm, here is a brief synopsis. 24 year old Rachel Frederickson became the 15th Biggest Loser winner weighing in at 105 pounds. Her starting weight of 260 meant that Rachel had lost 155 pounds, 60% of her total body weight, in about 8 months.

Twitterverse exploded. Blogs rang out. Facebook posts abounded. I think petitions were circulated, a posse was rounded up, and an inquisition was launched to investigate whether or not Dolvett had let her eat in the last 6 weeks.

Seriously, the reaction, including that of the show’s participants, was intense.

She was labeled as astonishingly frail, lost too much weight, unhealthy, too skinny, and had an eating disorder.  This, said The They, was what has always been wrong with show. This corruptible and damned piece of reality television. Rachel was ushered in as the Queen Madame of all that was wrong with young girls, body image, healthy living, life balance, and, I think, the crash of the housing market was eventually tied to her as well.

The onslaught was intense. The battery of insults, accusations, and finger wagging coming from The They behind the keyboards was such that I felt the residual heat. My first reaction – which I tend to trust yet investigate – was.

Damn, some folks who don’t know anything sure are saying it with big mouths.

Understand, I am a huge critic of pop culture, media influence, and have expressed general disgust over the handling of what some folks would call “entertainment.” Hell, I have banned The Little Mermaid from my house. There are quite a few pieces of TV production that I would label as dangerous, irresponsible, and down right trash. The Biggest Loser isn’t one of them.

Do I recognize that is only my opinion? It’s a blog, of course I do.

Do I recognize that some folks may have a disposition, challenge, or other personal hurdle that makes a show like The Biggest Loser a trigger point? Of course I do, I have the same kind of shows. For instance, Honey Boo Boo makes me want to slap people and The Bachelor(ette) makes me want to punch them in the throat.  I am the momma of four daughters. I think Honey Boo Boo is an abused child and I hate watching girls go to any length to get a freaking flower. Seriously, you would date a guy that you knew was dating 20 other girls? No, you wouldn’t. But I digress.

But, The Biggest Loser has just wrapped up its 15th season. 300 participants have appeared on the show in the past 10 years.  Some of the past winners have had starting BMI’s in the 60s. Yes, BMI, 60s. The show does not promote surgeries, supplements, fat burners, or the like. In fact, we saw what happened earlier in the season when Jillian committed what was called “an unprecedented violation.” She gave them caffeine pills. Even that is not allowed.

biggest-loser-then-and-now15 seasons, 300 contestants, certified trainers, nutritionist, therapists, medical doctors. The Biggest Loser’s cardinal sin, as far as I can tell, is that there is a cash payout.

Now I do wish there were some aspects of the show that were different – most notably the grotesque product placement. I wish they were able to make their marketing budget by promoting local produce, farmers markets, and the like. But hey, it is a business. I am sure the folks who participate in sponsorships and product sales to supplement their fitness businesses understand that.

Outside of the show format itself, what Rachel has accomplished isn’t the big bag of evil it is being portrayed as. At 105 pounds she is, by the guidelines, underweight. By THREE WHOLE pounds. I can lose and gain three pounds with water pills and few beers. So what if she cut the last couple of days leading up to the competition to win a quarter mil?? Boxers do it. MMA fighters do it. Body builders do it. Wrestlers do it. Lots of healthy, strong, athletes cut to make weight and/or appearance.

But it isn’t healthy said The They – neither was being 260 pounds and living off pizza.

And I look at the things they said about her again – astonishingly frail, lost too much weight, unhealthy, too skinny – and thought “double standard”

I hate that. Quite frankly, most people do. Wanna see a facebook post blow up? Go to a female body builders page (which I love, by the way), find a pose picture and tell her she is too big, too muscley and looks like a man.

Let me look at the overweight They who criticized her and call them astonishingly fat, ask about the big meat wrapped around the big bones, grossly unhealthy, and tell them the buffet line is closed. I would never be allowed to say that about people. Why? Because it is wrong, it is ugly, and it is hurtful.

It didn’t sound any better when The They said it.

But I think the angle that pissed me off the most was the accusations that she had daddy issues, low self esteem, and, ultimately, she must have an eating disorder. Rachel became the poster child for what it looks like to have an unhealthy relationship with a dinner plate.

Except no one – NO ONE – knew that to be true. In fact, it still isn’t true. And it doesn’t matter how many times The They say it – it is not fact that Rachel has any type of mental challenge in the area of nutrition at all.

But her name still came out of people’s mouths like they knew her. And seriously, I hate that.  The same “feel good, don’t judge me if you don’t know me, everyone has their own journey” They suddenly had some personal hotline into the life and motivation of a woman they had never met.

Never met. As in, don’t know, haven’t shared a meal with, no access to schedule, no conversation. In short, no clue about her, where she comes from or what she’s doing.

I bought People magazine because she was on the cover. Don’t judge. I wanted to know what she said. And here it is.

I am proud of my journey and excited for this new life…I’ve never felt better. I keep saying it: I am healthy.

Then rock on baby girl. Rock. On.

Filed Under: Health and Wellness, The Thinking Chair

One Strong Belief (Writing Prompt)

June 2, 2011 by

Day 3 Challenge | Buster Benson | One Strong Belief

It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

The world is powered by passionate people, powerful ideas, and fearless action. What’s one strong belief you possess that isn’t shared by your closest friends or family? What inspires this belief, and what have you done to actively live it?

The hardest part about this beginning is the caveat “that isn’t shared…”

Because my strong belief is that their shared value is irrelevant. I mean, it’s nice to have those who agree and support. But that cannot be the defining reason for holding (or not holding) a belief.

Beliefs, by nature are amazingly personal things. They cannot be dictated or forced. They must be freely held and without coercion. If conformity or rebellion is a factor – it is no longer a belief but a statement.

I believe in

  • children
  • Cheetos
  • children with Cheetos
  • God
  • social liberalism
  • political and fiscal conservatism
  • pool days
  • The Constitution
  • The Cat in the Hat
  • my purposefulness
  • your purposefulness
  • naps in the sun
  • coffee
  • life
  • choices
  • consequences
  • words
  • hugs

I believe that my list is incomplete. I believe it can be different tomorrow. I believe that I am a complex, simple, conflicted, in line, normally different dynamic woman. I believe I am ok with that. I believe I appreciate it if you are too – and ok if you aren’t. We all have our difference – I believe that too.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair

15 Minutes to Live (Writing Prompt)

June 1, 2011 by

Day 1 Challenge | Gwen Bell | 15 Minutes to Live

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.

1. Set a timer for fifteen minutes.
2. Write the story that has to be written.

I am a happier person than I often allow myself to be. I am grateful that it is, in all probably, not my last 15 minutes on earth. Because it is not, I think it is a good idea to repeat that first sentence.

I am a happier person than I often allow myself to be.

I am a blessed woman. Handsome husband, four beautiful children, mom, pops, sisters, family, comfortable home, great pets, awesome job, productive hobbies. Seriously, where is the despair in that?

Honestly, despair is, among other things, chemical and relative. I believe I am cognitive enough to handle the chemical. It’s the relative that I need to be more mindful of.

Because this is not my last 15 minutes, the story here is pregnant with possibility. However, there is no story, no pregnant, no possibility, without full focus in the now.

The thought attempting to take shape in my mind is, so often we focus on getting “to there” where ever “there” is. In that task, we forget how to live here, in the now. The rub of that is, once we get to “there” we won’t know how to live in that either.

So doesn’t it make sense to live in the now, focus here. Enjoy the things we have created while still continuing to build the dream. Then “there” will always be “here” and we have found the way to consistently live in our integrity and purpose.

Hmmmm…story needs some work. I hope you followed at least some of it. It worked for me on this day…and sometimes that just has to be enough.

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair