Dear little Risa…

I’m sorry that you felt like your feelings were too big for others to handle. 

I’m sorry they told you through words or actions that you were too much. 

I’m sorry that you decided that meant that you had to take care of everyone by pretending you were fine. 

I’m sorry that you took that into young adulthood and adulthood as people pleasing and pretending to want what you knew you didn’t. 

I’m sorry that you’ve spent so much of your one wild and precious life taking care of everyone but you. 

I’m proud of you for the beautiful, kind, caring person all that pain made you.

I’m proud of you for how hard you’ve worked to care for yourself as much as you care for others.

I’m proud of you for doing all the work to see yourself and your trauma as separate. 

I’m proud of you for being honest, even when it scared you. 

I’m proud of all that you were, all that you are, and all that you are yet to be. 

I’m grateful to know you and love you. 

My Year in Review

My theme for 2021 was “Strong back. Soft front. Wild heart”. There were times when I forgot. But as I look over my year, I see these words all over my 2021.

This year doesn’t feel like a year to make resolutions. This feels like a year to review, and find the good. I’d like to challenge you all to look back over your year – look at your social media posts, your events, memories…and see if you can find 21 good things. And don’t forget…good doesn’t have to mean happy. Good can mean change, good can be struggles, good can be joy, or even sadness…because all of these things help us grow. Growth doesn’t always feel “good”…but it’s always good. So, here’s my list. What’s on yours?

1. I took a risk and started a small business. She’s currently on hiatus, but not dead. And I learned so much!
2. New friends. I managed to make new friends, even in this wild, socially distanced year. If you joined my circle this year, you’re special to me. You matter. You changed me. You saved me. Thank you.
3. Science. Thank you vaccines.
4. Apocalyptic snow storms. During this snow storm I discovered resilience – I can survive without electricity. For a few days. I allowed people to help me. I took a whole shit-load of treats that couldn’t make it to their destinations and brought my neighbors joy. And during that snow storm, I met someone who changed my life, forever.
5. Beautiful body adornments. I love my tattoo artist/friend, and I love how she is able to take my pretty words and turn them into beautiful, deeply meaningful artwork that I get to carry around on my body and share with the world.
6. I became a plant mom, and didn’t kill any of them! I love having plants in my house!
7. I read a lot of great books…but the one that changed me the most was Untamed. And I started to see that I was meant to be a goddamned cheetah.
8. I took SO. MANY. WALKS. And as the seasons changed, I got to see a neighborhood I’ve lived in, but never really LIVED IN, in so many ways. I saw it blanketed in snow (sometimes from my ass after slipping). I saw it as spring bloomed, bringing so many beautiful colors. I saw it as summer came – first with amazing warmth and greenery, and then with unbelievable, sweltering heat. I saw it as the leaves changed giving way to fall, and now we are back to winter – cold and everything seems dead. But seasons remind me that nothing is forever. In the lows, we will always rise. And from the highs, we will always fall again. Appreciating the highs and learning from the lows, and trusting that the spring will always come again was a beautiful reminder.
9. I made mistakes and was reminded that people do that. I didn’t lose a friend over it. I didn’t die. I made a mistake. It was pointed out. I apologized. We moved on. Let’s normalize being HUMAN. It’s so much easier that trying to be perfect.
10. Social movements like Black Lives Matter came to the forefront. For all the wrong reasons. We shouldn’t need these movements. People shouldn’t have to die because of their race, religion, sexual orientation or gender. And they do. And everything is still broken. And there are people who are working towards change. And there were a few lights in the dark, where people were held accountable. Is it enough? Not even close. But it’s a start.
11. I took time to evaluate my own white privilege. It was humbling and painful and necessary. And the process changed the way I look at the world and exist in it.
12. I practiced self care. I took bubble baths, and did face masks. I improved my abilities to give myself pedicures. I allowed myself to rest when I needed it.
13. I discovered a beautiful morning coffee routine. Before starting my work day…before even getting out of my pajamas, I pad into the kitchen in my socks and pjs, and use two of the kindest gifts I’ve ever received (a fancy bean grinder and an espresso machine) to make myself a simple morning coffee. Every time I pull a shot, or smell the intoxicating scent of the freshly ground beans, I’m grateful for friends who became family. Sitting on the porch enjoying my coffee, sometimes in solitude with my coffee and music (or tiktok), and sometimes including visits from neighbors, friends, loves, or dogs. It became my favorite way to start my day. It was sometimes…the best part of the day.
14. I bought myself flowers. A lot. Farmers market flowers in Portland bring me joy. I didn’t need someone else to bring them (though it would be lovely) – I could bring myself beauty and joy. And there’s strength in that.
15. I did A LOT of work in therapy. I worked on being vulnerable. I worked to understand more about who I am, why I am, and how to change, if I want to.
16. I took solo hikes and hikes with friends. I took photos, and was so immersed in the beauty of my surroundings that I forgot to. I cried and laughed on these trails. I felt alive and dead, full and empty. I listened to the sound of my own heart.
17. I went to the beautiful Oregon coast – alone and together. I ate delicious things, and walked barefoot in the sand and water. I inhaled the salty ocean air and exhaled fear and pain.
18. I listened to amazing podcasts and music, and was even invited to be ON one of my favorite podcasts as a guest.
19. I got to see my mom/aunts/uncles/cousins/friends in Arizona for the first time in nearly two years. Hugs were had, laughs were shared, and loves were reconnected.
20. I met someone who always holds space for me. Always reminds me that I’m human. Sits in silence with me when I don’t want to talk about it, and listens when I do. Laughs at my silliness but never at me, and makes me laugh when I think I can’t even breathe. Someone who will drop everything they’re doing when I’m so sad I think I may break, and comes to sit in silence with me until I don’t feel so broken. Someone who sees me EXACTLY as I am, and somehow, is still here. I am forever grateful.
21. After 42 years of life, and 32 years of questioning and knowing but not believing, of trying to fit into the boxes I thought I was supposed to live in…I came out. I took an inventory of my life, and saw VERY clearly that I’ve always loved women. I fought it. I wondered why I felt like I never fit. Why I struggled in so many aspects of my life. And while recognizing this about myself and living in my truth and authenticity hasn’t been easy…it has been one of the most fulfilling, joyful, explosive, beautiful things I’ve ever done for myself.

2022 is certain to throw us more challenges. That’s every year. Every day. Every moment. But that’s being alive. I haven’t always been grateful to be alive. But what I’ve learned from the last year (and the last 42 years) is that I’m grateful for the opportunities for challenges. I’m grateful for the chance to change and grow. I’m hopeful and optimistic for the future. And while I’m under no delusion that there will be hard things…I know that we can do hard things. And those hard things are ALWAYS worth it. So, bring it on, 2022. I’m here for all the hard things.

Quiet in the Face of My White Privilege

I’ve been quiet for a while, listening and learning, and trying to wrap my head around what’s happening…but I need to speak as well. I’m well aware that in my speaking, I may say the wrong thing, or it might come out wrong. I’d like to ask that if you feel that I’ve said the wrong thing, please educate me. Please. We are all trying to navigate our way through what for many of us is uncharted territory. Please know that I am truly coming from a place of love, with the very best of intentions.

I was born and raised in a small town in northern Arizona. It was a predominantly white, predominantly Christian town. I only remember knowing a small handful of black kids. I also was one of only a few Jewish kids. This was where my identity lived. My mom was THAT mom, who came to school during the holiday season to educate (by way of latkes and dreidel games) my peers on Jewish life and culture. She also wrote a column in the town’s newspaper, often writing prevocative pieces on being a Jew in “The Christmas City” or about my stupid antics.

When I was in kindergarten, a fellow 5-year old asked me why I killed Jesus. This was my first real insight into the fact that I was different, and even possibly disliked. There were many other instances in which I was assured that I was, in fact different and disliked for being Jewish. My mom addressed this by finding us a Jewish community, albeit a small one, within this little town.

We didn’t really talk about race, that I remember. I don’t remember being told not to see color, or how to see color. I do know that I was raised in a household where differences of race, religion, size, gender, and sexual orientation were accepted and loved. My mom had gay friends. She had students of color who babysat me and came to dinner. The feeling that I have from my childhood was that who you were as a person in the world was what mattered – that you were kind, loving, intelligent, caring and present made you who you were.

White privilege was not something that we discussed. Really, the fact that we were white was not discussed. I always identified being Jewish as my identity. Never my race.

But, in the last few weeks, I’ve been looking at my life through that very painful lense. I was the child of a single mom and never had a father-figure in the home, but we owned a house and a car. I went to public school, but also was afforded the ability to attend Hebrew school. I had a Bat Mitzvah, and a modest party to celebrate that occasion. I went to sleep-away summer camp for several summers. I attended a private boarding school for part of my high school career. I had a college savings account. I had a car when I was old enough to drive. I went to an out-of-state, private university for college. In my teaching career I chose to teach in inner-city and underprivileged schools, but never lived in the neighborhood in which I taught. I never saw any of that as white privilege, or privilege of any kind until recently. I didn’t have to. Even now, as I walk through my neighborhood, stopping to photograph various things in people’s front yards and on strangers’ porches, I can see my privilege. I am unafraid to stop in front of a strangers house to get close enough to their front porch to photograph their cute garden gnome. My whole life, I was afforded the privilege of not knowing.

I know that there are people of color who did not and do not have access to the privilege that I was afforded. And because of how I was raised, by a truly good woman who made sure that I was taught right and wrong, and to judge people by who they are, not what they looked like or who they loved, this paralyzes me with guilt and deep, gut-wrenching sadness.

I know that I can never truly understand. I get to choose to put on or take off my Judaism – that which made me different and disliked in the small town I grew up in…because I am white.

My sadness, my guilt, and my pain are not important here. Or maybe…they are. To recognize that I feel those things BECAUSE of my privilege offers me the opportunity to exist in the world differently. I want to choose to see what the world afforded me (and what it did not) and use all of that to do better. That is all I can offer. My nature is to immediately try to “fix it”. I want to say that my pain will allow me to fix the world. That my outrage at the reality that I got to live for 40 years and never truly see my privilege will lead me to change the world. But the truth is, I can’t. I am not that powerful. But I can join the thousands and thousands, and hopefully millions of people who all want to fix this broken world we live in, and make change happen.

Martin Luther King said, ““Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” I want to believe that. And I want to be part of the movement that will make it true. I cannot change the world alone, but I believe that in coming together, each of us doing what we can every day, we CAN make this world a place where everyone has a truly equal opportunity to live the lives they desire. I want to live in a world where everyone gets to grow up like I did, believing that people can be judged by who they are, how they show up in the world, and the light that they shine.

I know we don’t live there now. But I know that the world is better now than it was only a few weeks ago, because people just like me are reevaluating their lives. We are recognizing and using the privilege that we have had to change the world so that everyone can have those same privileges.

When I first heard the phrase “Black Lives Matter”, my tender little white privileged Jewish heart raised by that amazing mom thought, “don’t all lives matter?” I’m embarrassed to admit that. But I’m not embarrassed to admit that I quickly learned about what the phrase meant. When I was a teacher, I always modeled not knowing. If I didn’t know the answer, I was honest with my students. They watched me research answers to unknown questions. I did not understand this phrase…so I went out and learned. I continue to learn. Black lives HAVE to matter, so that all lives can matter. All lives DON’T matter right now, and that is not, nor will it ever be something I ignore again.

Plan of Discovery

So, I don’t know who I am. How does someone like me figure that out?

I say someone like me because we are all unique, and discover things about ourselves differently. Me? I’m a researcher. I like to look to others who have explored challenges that I’m exploring, and then draw my own conclusions. It’s sort of like taking the pieces from 10 puzzles, putting each puzzle together, and then taking elements from each, and creating a whole new picture. Yes. My brain is a mass of tangled things..but it’s home!

Aside from figuring out who I am, (tiny little task, I know) I miss reading and writing. I haven’t been doing either as much as I’d like. Thus…a plan was born.

I did some research and selected 9 books from varying perspectives, all focused in some way on self-discovery. I’m going to commit to reading one each month, focusing on my own self discovery, and I’m committing to blogging about each one; not as a book review, but as added thoughts on the process of discovering who this person is. I’m clear that this is a very academic way to look at this process…but I’m an academic kind of gal. I’m hopeful that by the end of this project, I’ll have some ideas about who I am, or at least have discovered and begun to try out some new ways of figuring that out. And, I’m hoping that through my discovery and sharing, that you might discover something too. I know I’m not the only one who struggles in this aspect.

Here are the books I’ll be reading, in no particular order:

• The Seasons of Life by Jim Rohn
• Forgiveness: How to Make Peace With Your Past and Get on With Your Life by Sidney B. Simon
• Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead by Brené Brown
• List Your Self by Ilene Segalove
• The Big Leap: Conquer Your Hidden Fear and Take Life to the Next Level by Gay Hendricks
• The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment by Eckhart Tolle
• Sweet Sorrow: Finding Enduring Wholeness after Loss and Grief by Sherry Cormier, Ph.D
• The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
• Finding Your Own North Star: Claiming the Life You Were Meant to Live by Martha Beck

I’m excited to start this next adventure, and to share it with anyone who is actually reading. You’re all the coolest.

 

Who Am I?

I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I never really did.

I’ve always equated who I am with other people. I’m a daughter. Cousin. Niece. Granddaughter. Friend. Girlfriend. Fiance. Wife. Step-mom. Teacher. Bitch. Lunatic. Mess. Snowflake. All of these are things I am or was BECAUSE of other people.

But alone, who am I? I’ve never really spent a lot of time figuring that out. I have always just fit into the slot that suits whoever I’m with at the time.

What is tofu when it’s in the package? It’s nothing. It’s basically flavorless, soft and mushy, without any real personality. It’s what you add to it that makes it work. It’s how you cook it that make it good. The more time I spend alone, the more I feel like the soft, mushy, flavorless tofu in the package.

How do you get to know someone that you’ve spent 40 years with, and never truly seen? How do you look at that woman in the mirror, and apologize for ignoring her? How do you figure out who she actually is, without all the noise from other people?

I thought that just the act of being alone would do it. That being alone with her, 24/7/365 would force us to get to know each other. and yet…I have done everything I could over the last two years to ignore her. To silence her. It wasn’t on purpose. I’ve just literally never heard her voice before. I don’t even know if she has one, or what it would sound like if I ever let her speak.

How do I let her speak? How do I shine the spotlight on her, to finally see her? And…what if we don’t like each other? Then what?

It’s funny. One of the stories my mom told me as a child was about her childhood. Her father asked the family, “Who am I to you?” The way she tells it, this was a very uncomfortable conversation, that was followed by his departure from the family home. But a part of me understands why my grandfather would ask this. I constantly want to ask people who do know me, “Who am I to you?”…not because I have a thought in mind of what they should say, but because I am at a complete loss to know who I am to myself.

Or am I? As I type this, I think about the question, and pose it to myself. “Risa? Who am I to you?” My answers? A disappointment. A failure. A burden. These are the only thoughts that come to me as I ponder this question. And that, my friends, is depressing.

Is the question “who am I?” the same as “who am I to you?” I don’t think so. Because the question of “who am I?” is one to which I have no answers. The question of “who am I to you?” is one that I can answer. And my answer makes me want to know who I am even more, so that I can stop being a burden to myself. So I can stop abusing myself. So I can stop just destroying this person who has never truly been allowed to flourish…because I kept her shut tight away.

As I set off into my 40th year, I’d like to get to know myself. I haven’t a clue as to how to begin…but I’d sure like to try. Any and all suggestions welcome.

 

 

 

Words Have Power

This one is pretty personal and “journal-y”. Proceed at your own risk. 

The things that people say to us with words or actions can imprint themselves on us, and change the course of our lives, forever changing the way we think or feel. These imprints are obviously both positive and negative – we are shaped in all ways by the world around us, by the people we encounter, and by what we do with what is given to us.

 The people that I’ve loved are the ones who have the greatest ability to imprint their words on my heart. I’d like to believe that those who love us wouldn’t hurt us, but the more I live and love, the more I find that to be a false, naive belief. Honestly? It seems like the people we love have the greatest power to hurt us BECAUSE we love them.

The words that I believe caused me the greatest harm, for the longest time were said to me by someone who said he loved me. He was the first man I ever loved. And the words he said to me have been carried with me since then. Nearly 20 years. I’ve never told him how his words destroyed me. How his words, said 20 years ago have gone on to be a constant stumbling block for me in all my relationships. That the legacy he left with me is one of pain.

My first love has had a lot of power over how I see myself, my beliefs about men, my beliefs about sex, and how I approach intimacy. He has been with me in each and every relationship, in each and every sexual encounter I’ve had…and not for good reasons.

He disapproved of my body. Maybe disapproved isn’t the right word…but my physicality was displeasing to him. And he chose to share that with me. And then, my fantastic, connecting brain turned his OPINIONS into FACTS.

1. Men will not love me because my body is imperfect.
2. Bodies are good and bad. Mine is bad.
3. Other people get to determine the quality of my body.
4. My body is what determines my worth. It’s imperfect/undesirable, so I am worthless.

 As our relationship continued (yes, we kept dating!) my brain made more connections.

1. Sex can replace love.
2. Men will sleep with you whether they find you attractive or not.
3. I don’t deserve to be loved, because I am imperfect…but I should settle for sex.
4. Sex is a commodity. It is what I have to offer, even if I’m you’re not attracted to my body…you’ll still f*** me.

And then when he ended it, these conclusions came:

1. If I were more attractive, he would have loved me.
2. I should have changed to please him.
3. I am unloveable.
4. Sex is all I have to offer.

He didn’t hand me the proverbial gun; I don’t blame him for the conclusions I’ve drawn, but he did hand me the ammunition. I do blame him for providing me with the words and actions that allowed me to draw these conclusions. My conclusions are my own…but his words and actions are his.

I know I am responsible for what I’ve done with what he gave…but what he gave was terrible, and I think that’s worth acknowledging – we are all responsible for our actions and choices.

For my part, I’ve worked, and will continue to work specifically on the connections I’ve drawn between love and sex, between my weight and the ability of others to love me, and on my own self worth.

Here’s what I’d like to be able to truly believe someday:

1. That I’m worthy of love, at any weight, in whatever body I have at the moment.
2. That love is much more that the physical bodies we carry around.
3. That sex is a beautiful thing that I share with someone who I completely trust, not something to be used to win someone’s love, or something to be used in place of love.
4.  That words have SO much power…we need to use them wisely. Kindly. With as much care as a loaded gun.

Begging

Grover was a beggar. He had this way of looking at me that just said, “C’mon mom, pleeeeeease??? Just one little piece? I’m so cute and sweet and I just might die if I don’t have some of whatever it is that you’re eating.” I couldn’t say no. But, as every good dog mama knows, we have to teach them how to behave. So I did. I taught him, through basic positive reinforcement, to wait patiently until one of his humans was ready to give him something. And it worked…most of the time. I mean really…look that that face. Could you say no?The thing is…I can’t seem to teach that skill to myself – not to beg. In humans…it’s so unattractive.

I’m a beggar. Even for things I’m not completely sure I want. Or rather, for things I don’t need or shouldn’t have, or that are bad for me. I’m so afraid of NOT having them, of NOT being chosen, of NOT being wanted…that I’ll reduce myself to begging. If someone snubs me, I apologize, even if I didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t want them to go…even if they are TERRIBLE for me. I always find myself apologizing, begging for forgiveness, begging them not to leave me.

I’m terrified of being left. Of not being picked. Of being alone on someone else’s terms. I’m fine to be the leaver. I’m fine to be the one to end friendships, relationships, employment…but let one of them try to leave, and I turn into a groveling child, begging their forgiveness, begging for them to stay, begging for my job…even if I didn’t do anything wrong, even if THEY broke my heart, even if I hated everything about the job. To me, it is catastrophic to not be wanted. Even if the person who doesn’t want me is terrible for me.

It’s amazing to me how something that I can’t even remember happening can shape me in this way. The trauma that I experienced as a baby somehow continues to shape me as a 38 year old woman. My father left. He abandoned me and my mom. He ran up all the credit cards. He had the power shut off. He stopped the diaper service. He told some friend of his when we would be gone, so they could break into our house. He never paid any child support. He didn’t want me. And if he did…he never showed it. And he was bad for me, and bad for my mom. And the best thing he ever did was leave us…but for me, it was also the worse. Because his abandonment left me here. A begger. Someone so afraid of being left that she leaves people before they can leave her. Someone so afraid of not being picked that she won’t even try anymore. Someone so afraid of failure…that she’d rather give up.

I don’t want to be this person. I want to be strong, and smart and together…but I’m not. I’m still that little girl in school who let some little brat put a stick up her nose, because I didn’t want her to be mad at me for saying no. I’m that girl who let people cheat off of her, for fear that they wouldn’t like her if she didn’t. I’m that girl who pretended to like the things the other kids did, so they would like me. I’m the girl who lied about her first time, because she didn’t want to say she was the only one in the group who’d never done it. I’m the girl who let the guy do whatever he wanted, even though he was mean to her, so he wouldn’t leave. I’m the girl who begged him not to go when he left, even though he had broken her beyond repair. I’m the girl who pretends to smile, when she’s dying inside. That’s me.

The Top 10 Reasons I’m Glad You’re My Mom

Today is my mom’s birthday! Happy birthday, Mom!!

Every year I struggle with what to get her. She’s the kind of woman whose love language isn’t “stuff”…and it’s taken me a while (38 years) to figure out that she isn’t “just saying that”…she really doesn’t want me to get her anything. This frustrates me, as MY love language does include gifts, no matter how simple. I love shopping for, giving, and receiving gifts. But now that I’m a big girl, it’s time for me to think outside of my own language, and try to give other people what THEY need. (Life lesson #9,684,837,285,969: Loving people the way THEY need to be loved. More on that another time.)

So, today’s blog is dedicated to you, mom. For all you’ve been for me, for all you’ve done for me, for all the times you’ve picked me up when I’ve fallen, and for all the times you’ve stood by and let me do it myself, quietly supporting me nearby. This is for you.

Top 10 Reasons I’m Glad You’re My Mom 

10. You were (and are) willing to put up with all sorts of gross life things (pregnancy, birth, diapers, various and sundry illnesses, messy rooms…) Sorry for all the times I did gross things on you, said gross things to you, made you clean up gross things…I’m thinking specifically of that stomach flu that left its mark on the stairs, and all over the bathroom. Sorry. I love you.

9. You never let me get away with “it”, but never let me think I was bad. Why did I think I could smoke IN THE HOUSE, and nothing would happen??? Sorry *hangs head in shame*

8. You carted me around all over creation. Gymnastics, dance, friends’ houses, school, events, doctors appointments, band concerts, camp…shall I continue? You probably put 100,000 miles on the car just dealing with all my “stuff”. Thank you.

7. You made sure I had family, and friends that were family. Thanks for making sure I had strong relationships my my Saba and Safta, spent time with all my aunts and uncles and cousins…and for building great friendships with people like Judy and Earl, Fielding and Helen, Deb and Bill, Emil and Jeanie, Jean and Jeff, Martha…so I always had people. Great people who made me feel loved and valued, and part of something bigger.

6. You taught me that women are powerful…except when it comes to mice. We could do anything. The two of us moved that hide-a-bed up the stairs (or down?), you drilled and hammered and nailed and planted and fixed and fixed and fixed (sorry for breaking so much stuff!) and taught me that we were strong and independent…but there was that one little mouse that sent us both screaming. Then you taught me that it’s ok to ask for help when you’ve reached your limit. I’ll never forget watching Fielding slip that poor little mousie into his pocket…

5. You provided me with boundaries. Even when I shouted and screamed and threw things. You provided more boundaries, and held them, even as I raged against them. Thanks for loving me enough to make sure I knew how to behave, and that there are things that little girls (and grown ass women) just don’t do. And that EVERYTHING you do has consequences, good and bad. And they come even if you beg them not to. *sigh*

4. You gave me Judaism instead of anger when that kid at school asked me why I killed Jesus. In doing so, you gave me a foundation, a second family, a heritage, answers, questions, books, and traditions. While I’ve wandered around trying to find my place in Judaism, it’s always in me, because of you.

3. You shared your love of music with me, and instilled in me a passion that will never be lost. I don’t remember listening to “kids music”…but I do remember listening to Jimmy and the Wazoo Peach Pitters and My Little Potato. I remember singing along to all kinds of things in the car, and learning to stay on melody while you sang harmony. I remember attending concerts, some I wanted to go to, some not (chamber music? Really?) but always attending. Thanks for showing me a wide world of music to appreciate.

2. You sent me hundreds, maybe thousands of cards and letters anytime I was away. I got more mail than any other kid at camp. Any of them. I got more mail than any other kid at Orme, even though you saw me every weekend. And I was being a terrible human at the time. I got more mail than any other kid at the UJ. Almost every time I opened any mailbox, or when mail was delivered, I had a card or a note or a postcard with your familiar scrawl on it. With your loving words inside it. You made sure that my life always overflowed with love, when we were under the same roof, and when I was off trying to find my way in the world.

1. You gave me roots, and wings. Through all that you’ve taught me, the boundaries

you’ve given, the faith you taught, the music, the family, the internal power…you gave me strong, unshakable roots. These roots have and will continue to keep me solidly planted, no matter how the winds and storms rage around me. I will remain strong because of all the work you put into raising me. And simultaneously, you somehow also managed to give me wings. You let me try things and fail or succeed. You let me push the boundaries. You let me fail. You never tethered me, even though it must have been scary to let me take that first walk by myself to Emil and Jeanie’s, to let me go to Orme, (and listen to me when it was time to come home) to let me go away to school, to let me try and fail and try and try and try again…thank you for always being there to catch me when I fell, to cheer for me when I succeeded, and for always believing in me. Always.

Happy birthday, Mom. I hope I finally got you just the right gift.

 

 

 

The Whole30 Reset

The sugar and carb addiction is back in full force, and I know I need to tame it. Not to mention, when everything feels out of control, this is something I CAN control…and it’s good for me.

I’m also trying not to “go back”…while I was successful at losing the weight through one set of strategies “last time”…I don’t think it will be healthy for me to constantly look back. I’m not the same person I was then, so why would I do it the same way?

That said, I’m still a firm believer in the basics – calories in, calories out, eat REAL food, exercise as much as possible.

BUT…I need a HARD RESET to get going. That’s where the Whole30 comes in.

If you’re not familiar with it, you might wanna check it out here. Basically, it’s an elimination “diet” that’s designed to remove the typical food groups that can cause health issues, cravings, weight gain, inflammation, and fatigue for a period of time (30 days or more) in order to allow you to better “know” your body, and how the foods you eat effect your body.

This is only a small part of why I’m doing it, though I’m sure I’ll discover some new things about my body and how the foods I eat effect it.

The biggest reason I’m doing it is because I have a seriously unhealthy relationship with food, and that needs to change, and the best way I could think to change it was with a dramatic shift. A re-focus on what food is supposed to be – sustenance, and not what it has become for me – a security blankie, a shield, a friend.

It’s funny…when I was thinking about it and preparing for it, the idea of eliminating all sugar, grains, legumes, dairy and alcohol seemed daunting. Horrifying even. The donuts I was eating to sooth my soul on a far-too-regular basis certainly would not fit on this plan. How could I survive??!!

Today is day 7. I’m not dying, or losing my mind.

For me, I think, the stricter, the better. I like rules. I like parameters and guidelines. I like knowing where the boundaries are, so I can stay within them…even if they’re self-imposed.

So, it’s so far, so good over here. Lots of good protein, veggies, fruit…and clear thinking. Stable, healthy thinking. And even a little bit of self-love. 30 days to a new life? Yes, please!

 

 

What am I Worth?

What determines our worth? Is it a person? A salary? Our size? Progress in life? Me? You? Or is it already pre-determined, and nothing I do or do not do, choose or do not choose, can affect my worth, positively or negatively?

 

I’ve recently been forced to think a lot about this, both in work and in life. I’ve had to make some hard decisions – to settle for less than I think I’m worth, or to move forward without people, or jobs, or things, because I think I’m worth more.

Then, came the guilt. I don’t know if this is hard-wired into me, or if it’s something I’ve learned over time, but I can and will feel guilty about ANYTHING. The guilt came from feeling like I should be grateful and satisfied with what I have. With what is presented to me. The feeling that perhaps I have an over-inflated sense of what I deserve, and that I should stop wanting more. That maybe all the things and people I’ve walked away from or said no to were what I deserved, and that I should have been satisfied and grateful for them, instead of seeking more, or better, or different.

In my heart of hearts, I believe that we are worthy of whatever we truly, deeply desire. I believe we determine our value by what we demand of ourselves and the world around us. I believe that no one else can determine our value, as long as we don’t let them. Which, at the end of the day, means I am in charge of my value and worth. If I take the job that was offered, despite the fact that the salary they offered was insulting, I’m telling the universe that’s what I think I’m worth. If I stay in friendships or relationships where I feel undervalued or unloved, I am telling them (and the universe) that I believe that I deserve that treatment. WE TEACH PEOPLE HOW TO TREAT US. 

I struggle with how people see me. That’s where the guilt comes from. The little voice in my head saying “But what will they think of me when I tell them I turned down a job because the salary was insulting? I don’t have a job…they will think I’m an idiot for not taking it.” Or the voice that says “I don’t have many friends…you at least have friends, even though they treat you poorly. You should keep them.” Lets be clear – no one is actually saying these things to me, other than ME. I’m so busy judging myself, I can’t see reality anymore. 

So, here I am. Saying it out loud. I am going to go after all the things I want in this life. I am worthy of them. And I’m willing to work to get them…but I’m not going to settle any more for less. I’m going to live MY life MY way…because it’s mine. And I want to look back at the end, and be amazed by who I was, what I accomplished, who I helped, who helped me, and the people with whom I’ve shared my world.