Tag: inspiration

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Finding a way to give thanks

holding hands pic

Anyone who follows this blog or knows me personally knows that many aspects of my life have been less than ideal. My earliest memories include snapshots of the poverty, abuse and loss that continued throughout my life; like a movie reel on repeat … only the years and the characters changed as my life evolved. Mental illness and substance abuse have plagued generation after generation of my family and its heartbreaking inevitability in our genetic make-up, no matter how educated one becomes, yields to a feeling of  helplessness at times. And sometimes, even sheer “bad-luck” and accidents seem unfairly distributed.

For a long time, I was angry. I was angry that we were poor. I was angry that genetics and a lack of resources led to significant loss in my life. I was angry that my parents were rigid in their rules and discipline. And I was even more angry that those rules felt imbalanced with their display of love and affection. I was angry that I had to work so hard for things that others were simply handed. And as life continued and loss and abuse found me yet again as an adult, this time outside the context of my family, I was again angry. Angry that sick people continued to spread their sickness to those around me. Angry that myself and others were seen as objects instead of people. I hate being hurt and I hate disappointment. My disdain for those two things have changed the way I see and deal with the world. And yet they are an unavoidable part of life. As I grew, I was faced with the challenge of handling my hurt and disappointment without allowing anger to consume me.

I needed to grow as a person, to accommodate my pain and disappointment without becoming bitter. I knew that the Scrooges and Grinchs in life were simply people who were hurting. I understood them but I didn’t want to end up like them. Why are some people destroyed by their pain whilst others are able to use tragedy as a catalyst for positive change? Well, ongoing and effective therapy and treatment is certainly a must. An end to the causative factors and proper support too, yield to higher success rates and recovery. And sometimes, I simply think personality and a strong constitution determined by genetics give some people a “one-up” in life. They are the “survivors”, the “soldiers” in life.

I have done the things I mentioned above. I’ve gone through therapy and encourage others to do the same. I have removed myself from environments and people who cause me pain and I have built myself an army of people who love me and support me and understand me. I have fought tirelessly to create a different life for my children than the one I had. And I do believe I have done well. In many ways, I believe I have altered the course of my future. My life, my marriage, my professional success is much more positive than I ever imagined it could be. And I’ve managed to raise kind and sensitive children too. And yet genetics and cycles of abuse always seem to find a way of sneaking back in. There is no way to completely wash your hands of your past. You must embrace the ways it has changed you and then fight to make those effects positive ones.

So how does one deal with this on the day-to-day? Outside of the therapy couch, how does one cope with the reminders of life’s unfairness? Well, after the anger, after you’ve yelled and screamed and cried yourself to depletion … you start to heal and then,

You find a way to give thanks.

One by one you face your demons and you pull them apart and you find a positive thread wherever you can. Because with every negative, there’s a positive. And with every tear drop, somewhere we can find a reason to smile.

I am thankful that I know and understand persons with addiction and I am thankful not to be plagued with the same. This has allowed me to help countless friends and patients who suffer from this disease and to see all people as humans, no matter how flawed. We all have different demons, addiction is only one of them.

I am thankful that I know the pain of being picked last. I was never the popular kid. I have explained this feeling to my children and always encouraged them to include others and to treat people with kindness and fairness. While the honor roll is a rare occurrence in my home, I am frequently stopped by parents and teachers who tell me “You have really nice kids.” I thank the universe for the pain that allowed me to build “nice kids.”

I am thankful that I grew up with less money than the average person. It motivated me to work hard and to have a different life. Going to the same family beach house every year created wonderful memories but it also motivated me to travel more, to see the world beyond my little neighborhood. Had my grandparents not bought the bay-side trailer that they did, I’m not sure we’d have ever had a vacation. Poverty encouraged me to strive for better things, not to settle for complacency. And it taught me to appreciate the things that I have. In a culture of disposability and instant gratification and entitlement, I am thankful to have lived with less. Everything I have, I have earned. Poverty taught me to make-do and to take road trips … two of my better skills!

I am thankful that I know the face of mental illness because I know it isn’t what the world as a whole thinks it is. It is much more “normal”, much more beautiful, much more complicated than the world recognizes. I am thankful that I can see both its beauty and its complexity and yet understand the pain it causes as well. Seeing it, recognizing it, is the first step in treating it. Knowledge is power. And early intervention is key. I am thankful that I know mental illness when I see it. And I am thankful that I don’t contribute to its stigma and that I am a safe place for those who are suffering. You can’t change your genetics but you can use them to identify and treat a problem when you see it. I am thankful for the insight to intervene sooner.

I am thankful that I learned how to work hard from an early age. I started working at the age of 12. That made working four jobs in college a doable task. And working four jobs while in college full-time, made working three jobs as a mom, plausible. Being a hard worker always pays off. I am thankful that I learned how to be a hard worker.

I am thankful that I was once a dancer. While I am not everything my mother wishes I was, when I was a child, she always wanted me to be a dancer. She scrubbed the floors of the ballet studio so that I could take classes there. And when I finally stepped away from those classes, she let me, without restraint. I love dancing and will one day return to the studio. Through the art of dancing, I learned an appreciation for all of the arts – the portrayal of emotion through the movement of the body, the visual experience of colors and movement and light when they are combined, and I learned to hear music in a deep and meaningful way. I have passed my love for the arts onto my children and as much as they love to kick and flip and run, they are giddy with a trip to the theater. The arts are lenses to the beauty that lies in the world and learning to see through those lenses opens one up to seeing beauty in all things. I am thankful that I can see the beauty around me.

I am thankful that I appreciate and understand charity.  Friends, family and strangers showed my family charity when we were in need and that charity that was shown to us, was in turn, shown by us, to others in need. Had we not been in need, I may not have understood just how meaningful that charity was. From my earliest years, we were blessed and we in turn, blessed others. Be it donating hand-me-downs, volunteering in soup kitchens or handing an extra sandwich to the homeless, we learned to help those in need. And by doing that, we have spread that sense of charity to others. This winter, my children piloted a homeless gift bag assembly project with their 4H club. The bags that we have been making the last four years as a family, are now multiplied by the families in 4H and many more people in need will be shown that goodness. I am thankful that my family is spreading goodness.

I am thankful that I am resilient. Suffering, though painful, once survived, creates a stronger, more resilient person. At times I worry that my children will struggle more as adults, because they haven’t had to struggle to survive their youth. And yet, I’ve used the positive struggles of my youth to teach them. They’ve learned to do chores, to wash their own laundry, to cook. I don’t take their homework up to school when they forget it and they’ve gone hungry on days that they forgot their lunch. But they still feel loved and safe. I’ve tried to allow them to struggle and work hard with my loving support and I hope that benefits them in their future. And as the heartaches of motherhood have plagued me, I remind myself that I am resilient and I am thankful to be not only a survivor, but a conqueror.

I am thankful for tradition. My family did an excellent job building and maintaining tradition. Especially around the holidays, I am thankful that my mother passed down the family recipes and set the table with glass dishes. I am thankful that my Dad used glitter glue to write each of our names on our stockings and that our Easter baskets were always homemade. I am thankful that no matter how strained we were financially, Santa and the Easter bunny always came. I am thankful for siblings to camp-out with the night before the holidays (we always slept in the same room the night before Christmas and Easter) and to share the holiday excitement with. I am thankful for large family dinners on the holidays and for the same Italian sausage from the same Italian deli every Christmas breakfast. All of these traditions, I’ve passed down to my own children and I am thankful to have them.

I am thankful that the persons who have hurt me have shown me “how not to act.” I have learned through the faults of others, how words and actions and attitudes hurt others and I have strived not to repeat their mistakes. Granted, I make many of my own mistakes and I am, for certain, a flawed individual. While the battle is a constant one, I try everything within my power not to repeat the mistakes that were made with me. And if I do … if I catch myself repeating that cycle of dysfunction, I am thankful that I have the hindsight to recognize the beast and to know what pain it causes. It is much easier to fight a beast with fervency when you know the strength of its bite. I am thankful for the insight of the aftermath of destructive behaviors.

I am thankful that I found someone who filled my empty tank of love. Physical affection and encouragement are two things my life lacked. And not because my parents didn’t want to offer them. It wasn’t shown to them and I think they didn’t know how. I could have ended up in a dysfunctional, co-dependent relationship as a result of my un-met need; but instead I found a man who showers me endlessly in the love and affection that I craved for years. He is both amazingly fulfilling and tolerant of my constant desire for physical contact and affirmation. It is no accident that I was drawn and fell in love with the latin culture because it so embodies those characteristics. I am thankful for not only a partner but a whole family of in-laws who provide me the love I need.

I am thankful that I am a young mom. A surprise pregnancy at the age of 21 meant that all of my friends were partying and traveling the globe while I simultaneously studied, lived on oatmeal and changed diapers. But that pregnancy had a way of making everything come together. My relationship was rocky, school was hard and my apartment was bare. I don’t ever recommend intentionally becoming a young and single mother. But I didn’t choose motherhood at 21, motherhood choose me. It motivated me to work harder and study harder. It taught me that all things were possible and my momma-bear instincts drew me to higher-standards. Through that dedication and hard work, I managed to create a solid relationship, a fulfilling career and two awesome kids. The hardships I battled as a young mom mean that I’ll be young enough to enjoy my independence as they age. And I am thankful for my youth as I travel the challenging road of mothering a teenager.

I am thankful for my education. At the time, I hated the uniforms, the rigid rules, the holier-than-none culture and the rich kids. I hated working every summer, only to have to use my money to buy the books for the school that I really didn’t like. But my private school education kept me in-check and it made college a breeze. And since a pregnancy complicated my educational path, I’m glad my studies weren’t any harder for me than they already were. At the age of 25, I graduated with a BSN RN and found myself gainfully employed. While my highschool education provided me a path to my college education, my college education opened my eyes to the world of science and world beliefs and cultures. It was because of the diversity of the people at my state college and the diversity of my education that I began to realize that the beliefs I was raised to embrace weren’t the only way of viewing the world and I began to find more tolerance of other cultures and belief systems. I also blossomed in my social behaviors and love for writing.

I am thankful for people. I have lost more than my share. But each person that I have lost has left an imprint on my soul and they have taught me not to take a single individual for granted. People are why we are here. People are what we live for. People shouldn’t be pushed aside. They shouldn’t be ranked in worth. Each person brings something to the table, find that thing and thank them for it. Every life carries worth. We are all temporary. Don’t live with the regret of not appreciating one’s worth while you have it. Be thankful for the people you have.

I am thankful for perspective. I am thankful that I understand first-hand that not every person who grows up on food-stamps, continues the cycle; some people just need a little help. I’m thankful that I believe women when they say ” Me too”… because I am “me too”. I am thankful that I know wonderful immigrants who help and not harm. And I am thankful that I know immigrants who have abused their privilege. I am thankful for a family of blended cultures. I am thankful for my colorful life because black and white ones are artificial and boring. Color adds depth and perspective.

So this season, be it in church, at your dinner table or simply when you are alone and you have an opportunity for self-reflection, when you are asked “What are you thankful for?” Try to think beyond your kindergarten response of “family”, “friends” and your “new puppy”. Think beyond the obvious and the easy and find a source of heartache and pain. And then break it apart. Separate it into all of its parts and see if you can find even one positive outcome that came from it. And then, find another.

We can’t change our past but we can learn from it. We can use it to empower ourselves and alter our futures. We don’t have to be a prisoner to our pain. We can use our pain as a tool to help ourselves and others. The happiest people in the world aren’t the ones who never suffered, they are the ones who in the face of suffering … learn to give thanks.

 

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Our Halloween House

 

I remember when we moved into our first single-family home. Family members who were "in the know" discovered the property and had helped my parents to make it happen. It was on the other side of town and needed A LOT of work, but it was a generous offer that allowed our family of six to move out of a single trailer and into a larger space- four bedrooms, a den, dining room and a living room and even our own fenced yard. We were excited, but only at first.

You see, a motorcycle gang had previously resided on the property and although it was summertime when we acquired it, it looked very much like a "Halloween House". With only one other house beside it, it was removed from the rest of the neighborhood. There were holes in the doors and spray paint on the walls. The old wooden floors were stripped of their finish. The fence, doors and shutters were painted black. And the property was completely over-grown. The steps creaked. There were mice. And across the street, there was even a cemetery. "This is where we are going to live… in a Halloween House?" My 6-year-old brain tried to wrap my head around it. "What was wrong with the trailer park?"

It took a village to clean that place up and make it our own. Long days with the blood, sweat and tears of many a good soul turned that sad-looking property into one that we could be proud of. Lots of elbow grease, new carpet, fresh paint, even some new plumbing, and the broken black and white house turned to a sunny white and baby blue cottage. And there were azaleas, and lilies and tulips to boot. And right in the very front of the property, just behind the fence, sat the most-wonderful oak tree with the most- perfect branches for climbing. My father attached a small swing to it for my baby sister.

Irony would have it, that when we got all moved in … we missed our trailer; the kids did anyway. My parents couldn't believe, after all the effort that went into restoring the property, that we were asking to "move back to the trailer park?!" I had gotten used to sleeping in the living room there. We were all so close together. It was cozy. Sleeping in my bed in the "new room", I felt so far away from everyone; even though my parents' door was just a few feet from my own. My brothers were now on an entirely different floor. This house sounded different. My siblings and I missed the instant community and playmates that waited just outside those aluminum steps on the cement patio that we had learned to walk on. This house was more removed and there weren't many kids in the area. It was just the four of us now, to make play with one another. We had out-grown the trailer and my parents knew that. It was time to move-on and make a new place feel like home.

In September, we started at a new school; a private school that was academically challenging and required that we wear uniforms. It wasn't an easy transition – to leave our friends, a community where we could have 'the run of the place' and a school where we were "comfortable." Even though we weren't getting what we needed from school or life, we didn't know it back then. My parents were wise to make the move, even though we hated it.

That fall wasn't a fun time for us. So in an effort to jazz things up a bit, my father, forever the Halloween King, spent one weekend in October constructing a "Halloween Hunt" (as we used to call it). He had done it the year prior, in the trailer, and we loved it. He planted clues throughout the place, scavenger-hunt style, which would ultimately lead us to a "treasure box" filled with small toys and candy. But this house was bigger with a much greater potential for hiding clues and decorating. And so, the Halloween King took us on a spectacular hunt around the house, back into the dark den, down into the unfinished basement, outside facing the tombstones, into the yard covered in orange and yellow leaves … all in search of our treasure. And with that, and time of course, we grew to love our new home. You see, despite all the effort that went into repairing that house, it didn't feel like the perfect house … until … it became Our Halloween House.

And no matter our ages or life's happenings, the Halloween festivities and the 'Halloween Hunts' continued, each year becoming more and more elaborate. And just when Dad would say "Guys, I don't think I can do it this year," our disappointed faces would give him the motivation to pull it off, yet again. One year there were clues attached to the fallen leaves, nailed to the ground. Later, when we were older, the hunt led us into the cemetery that we had grown so accustomed to living next to. And with little money but a whole lot of creativity, he always found a way to make our homemade costume ideas come to fruition. From our earliest years, through high school and even into college, we always dressed-up and we never repeated a costume idea. In our family, it didn't matter how old you were, fantasy always resided there.

When we left the house and started families of our own, the 'Halloween Hunts' stopped but an 'All Hallows' Eve Bash' replaced it. Instead of spending days typing-up clues and putting together a hunt, my father spent days making invitations and putting together goody bags for the trick-or-treaters. It took him an entire month to decorate the house! And while few trick or treaters came to our house in my youth, because of its location on the outskirts of the neighborhood, as the decorations grew, so did the numbers of visitors, up to the hundreds. Many came by car just to knock on the door of the "Halloween House". The celebration of the season never faltered. Even into his sixties, my father climbed into that tree to hang lighted plastic jack-o-lanterns that became a signature landmark every fall. The front yard became a cemetery of its own (faux of course), growing bigger every year. The lights that covered the house and the yard got brighter too; even brighter than at Christmas. Our empty bedrooms were filled with boxes of Halloween decorations. My mother's curio cabinets, left behind with the divorce, were filled with monster collectibles. And the den became a permanent set-up for a Halloween village.

Having moved out of my hometown when I started my family, if ever I had a patient or ran into someone who said that they lived there, I'd tell them that that was where I grew up. They'd ask where I went to school and what neighborhood I lived in. Then, I'd ask them if they knew "The Halloween House". Everyone always did. "That's my house," I'd tell them, "My Dad, the Halloween king, still lives there. Stop by sometime, he'd love to show you the inside." For however impressive the outside was, the inside had even more. It was a Halloween lover's paradise. And everyone who drove-by it was impressed and they were even more impressed to meet someone who once called it "home."

 

 

Life is a series of choices and circumstances, some of which we can control and others, which we can't. Life would have it that 'Our Halloween House' would fall into a similar state of disrepair that we once found it in. And my father would find himself making the hard transition that we once did, thirty years prior. This time, it's the kids who know it's time to move on. And as we learned in our youth, just because "it's time", doesn't make it easy. Like the avocado-green aluminum trailer, our Halloween House had its place and its time, but its era is now over.

It is fitting that our good-bye party there falls on the weekend before the infamous holiday. No decorations this year, those are all packed away. No lighted jack-o-lanterns, no Halloween village. This year, it's like a true haunted house. And really, the decorations aren't needed. It already looks spooky enough. But the people will still come. The kitchen, with its roof caving in, will still smell of mulling spices. Old Halloween tunes will still play through the open windows and a fire pit will still warm cold toes. Out back, my pets are still buried. And in the front, still stands the most-perfect tree with the most-perfect branches for climbing. I'll hoist my kids up into it and tell them, once again, which branch "belonged" to me and which ones belonged to their aunt and uncles. Its orange and yellow leaves will once again cover the ground and I will remember the way it used to be.

Good-byes are always bittersweet. You couldn't pay me enough to rehab that house again. And just as the house has changed, I'm removed from that town now too and it no longer feels like 'home'. Many of my memories there are not good ones. And the house was never a perfect one. It was always drafty and always creaked, but it was our house. It gave us a place to lay our heads and call our own. It gave us a yard to play in and a tree to climb. The community pool is where we became avid swimmers and the school that we once hated was just the beginning of a most appreciated journey upwards in academia.

There is more story to be told, many more chapters of life still to be written. It is with a sigh of relief but also angst that we turn the page of that chapter of our lives and look ahead to new adventures. But you can be sure that it's a chapter that will never be forgotten. Like all things in life, things change, but Halloween will always be celebrated. Until I'm old and gray … when the weather turns cooler and the leaves change, when candy corn appears on the shelves of stores and children begin to imagine what they will reinvent themselves as for the night of trick or treat, I'll always recall my youth and what Halloween was like with a Dad who was is the 'Halloween King' and the magic that the season held, living in "Our Halloween House."

halloween househalloween dad

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Navigating our way to a happy marriage

sailing-ship

“A successful marriage is like an elegant ship sailing through the waters and storms of life. The problem with all ships is that they get barnacles, ugly little unseen monsters that attach themselves to the bottom of the boat. Soon the vessel is stuck dead in the water-like the marriage that is going nowhere as the partners peacefully coexist. Little things, like the irritations of misunderstanding that come with wrong expectations, build up.”-Hans Finzel

 

My marriage is my most favorite expedition yet … and no one gave me a compass.

Fernando and I are often teased about our constant state of “being in love”. We don’t apologize, instead we accept it as the compliment that it is. Having both come from broken homes and given our life circumstances, it’s a small miracle that we’ve done as well as we have. But it didn’t come without a ton of hard work, sacrifice and forgiveness; no happy marriage does. Still, it can at times feel awkward with so many of our close friends’ marriages ending in divorce and still others who continue to look for their perfect match.

I’ve eluded before to the fact that the success of our relationship, while certainly a product of hard work, is also due in-part to sheer good luck. And I still maintain that stance. You might call it God’s grace and I’ll say the universe cut us a break; but sometimes science and psychology simply can’t explain why a particular circumstance was met with so much success, while others, who have what seems to be the perfect sailing conditions, end up shipwrecked. The sea of life is full of so many obstacles and weather conditions and each brings unique challenges that couples must navigate. Sometimes, despite a couple doing everything right, there are just too many stressors or differences for the marital vessel to stay afloat. With so many factors that may influence a relationship, it is impossible to truly predict its long-term success … even my own.

Nevertheless, I do believe that given the right mate – hard work, true grit, and a selfless heart are the most vital components to any marriage. And that age, money and even shared interests have much less to do with it. My husband and I have a significant age difference, grew up on different continents, in different generations and started our relationship with nothing-not even an air mattress. Be it luck, hard work or mere compatibility, the man I fell in love with fifteen years ago still very much holds my heart and he still calls me his “Queen”. We are an unlikely match who have managed to not only keep our marriage alive but to stay ridiculously in love doing it. And that is the measure of a marriage’s success … it’s not merely staying together. What good is a marriage if you’re simply tolerating one another? Life is too short to spend with the wrong person, but a marriage is certainly worth fighting for.

So I thought I’d take the opportunity to share the things that I have noticed have helped us to remain successful in our marriage. Many of these things seem to be missing in other relationships that I have seen fail, but it doesn’t account for all of them and it certainly doesn’t account for the sheer good luck that we’ve had. It’s not a simple formula or the end-all-be-all … there’s no such thing! It’s not the viral internet list that says “Never go to bed angry” and “Always kiss good night.” It’s not about how you met or the silly little rules girls in particular try to make (like “If he doesn’t propose in two years, he never will.”). Love is just not that simple. Instead, I’m sharing what I believe has helped us to not only stay afloat but to sail the rough waters of life in unison, with humor, grace and strength.

 

⇒ Take your time saying, “I do”. Fernando and I caught a lot of flack that we had been together for five years and had two children before we finally took the plunge. And certainly, other couples with a much shorter history have been beautifully successful. However, my stance is and always has been – if a person is your soul mate today, then they’ll be your soul mate in five years. Waiting for marriage won’t change that. But, if a person is deceiving you, time will usually reveal this. Allow your relationship to have that time.

Marriage is a life-long commitment. We took that commitment very seriously. Which meant waiting until we had no doubt about our decision. And by the time Fernando and I said our vows, we knew exactly who we were committing too. Making that final commitment too soon could be a painful and expensive mistake. Most of the marriages that I have seen fail, have been ones that were rushed into. Be it pressure from life circumstances, a pregnancy or simply youthful eagerness to take the next step … had they taken their time, they would have seen the fatal habits and character traits that ultimately led to the marriage’s demise. It’s a promise of a lifetime … don’t rush it.

⇑ Aside from time together, conquering life’s challenges and stressors together is another “must-do” before marriage. I’ve known couples who courted for 2 years and went to take the next step and it was a disaster. Why? Because in those 2 years they never took on any challenges together. They each lived in their own homes, their finances were stable, nobody close to them died, the seas of their lives were calm. And then suddenly, the waves started rolling in and the person they thought they knew, was someone else entirely. Stress does that to you. The five years that Fernando and I spent prior to our marriage were filled with so many challenges that by the time we said “I do”, there was no question who we were marrying. Divorce, death, poor finances, an unplanned pregnancy, working four jobs and going to school … we knew that if we could survive all of that … we could survive just about anything. You can’t plan for misfortune; but I’d be extra cautious if I was making a life commitment to someone who I’d never seen under high stress. Again, take your time!

⇐ Just like you’d never embark on a journey without studying the waters that you are about to sail upon, we too must study our partners. Take every opportunity to know them and understand them. When you understand someone, you can better attend to their needs and provide for them. My husband isn’t a talker. When he is upset, he wants to be left alone and likes to process his problems quietly before he cares to share them with me. I on the other hand, want to talk about my issues ad nauseam. This took some learning on both our parts. He had to learn how to be a listener and I had to learn how to leave him alone when he came home upset. Had we not taken the time to study one another, we might have assumed that each one processed our stress the same and we would have been grossly unsuccessful in supporting one another.

⇓ When you embark on the journey of marriage, you are co-captains. I am no one’s first mate. Together, we navigate and explore and build. If I submit to him, it is because he made the better call and on another day it will be him submitting to me because I had a better view. We are both equally responsible for the condition and path of our ship. The old-fashioned idea of “my husband is the head of the household” is often times used as a cop-out to blame him for his failings and to avoid conflict and responsibility. If my husband is making the wrong call, it is my obligation to speak up and fight for what is best. I will not let him make a fool of himself or do detriment to our family. And he too, is equally obligated to respectfully inform me when I am out-of-line.

⇒ Being co-captains means that our obligations lie in one another. As a result, some of our other relationships will suffer. It’s an unfortunate but inevitable price that a good marriage has to pay. Fernando is my best friend. And I have best girlfriends too. However, I have a lot less friends than I used to. Most of our friends are other couples and I have even fewer single friends and male friends. This is the opposite of what I had when I was single. I always hung with the guys and rarely hung-out with any couples. But now that I have a marriage to protect, the relationships I choose to hold onto must also cherish my marriage. I cannot engage in any relationship that would pose a threat to us. And so my best girlfriends are the ones who fight as hard for my marriage as I do. They’re the ones that remind me how wonderful my husband is and tell me to “take it easy” when I’m pissed off and come to them to vent. They’ll never be the ones that say, “Forget him, come drinking with us”. And my guy friends must also be good friends with my husband. If at any point one of us says, “I’m not comfortable with you hanging out with that person,” we are both obligated to comply; lest our marriage pay the price. It feels tragic at times, the relationships that have fallen by the wayside … but in order for your partner to be your number one, I think its inevitable to lose others. Being married has made me “picky” in a way that I never was before. I have a treasure that I must protect and only those who have gained both our trust are privy to it.

⇓ Marriage, like parenthood, isn’t for the selfish. It means putting another person before yourself. It means swabbing the deck and sending your partner for a well needed nap. It means preparing the dish that they like, exploring the places that they wish to see, and loving them the way they liked to be loved. And if the marriage is balanced, the other person does the same. My husband once told a friend of his, “I don’t worry about myself, all I worry about is Amanda. And I know that I’ll be fine, because it’s Amanda’s job to worry about me. All I have to do is love her the best that I can. She’ll love me in return.”

Sure, we all need to indulge ourselves here and there … a pedicure, our favorite snack. “Me” time is important and a sense of “self” and accomplishment is certainly a necessary component in life. One can not lose themselves completely in an effort to serve others. Having a profession or a hobby that provides a sense of pride and accomplishment fuels self-satisfaction which in turn fuels the relationship. But I believe that if we’ve picked the right person and we put our efforts into loving them, then we will need to do very little for ourselves; because our partner will see all that we have done for them and they will be eager to love and support us in return. If they don’t, then they aren’t the right partner. You don’t have to be compatible in all things … you have to be selfless.

⇑ And being selfless means sacrifice. It’s a leap of faith. It means doing things that make us uncomfortable because it is good for our partner and trusting that they will do the same. It means attending someone else’s work events, following through with a request even when we’re really freaking tired and giving up that thing that we’ve been saving for because another expense came up that is more important to “us”. It means working really hard for a long time and maybe not seeing results yet, but continuing to work. It means giving up your night-out with the boys because your wife is sick and overwhelmed (not because she told you not to go). And it means telling your husband to go, even when you’d rather have him home, because you know he deserves it and you can handle it.

We’ve all seen that marriage that ended because someone had an excessive buying habit for things that they enjoyed. And we’ve also seen those couples who’s spouse bought them their dream car after 25 years of wishing, because they knew that they’d never buy it for themselves. Which couple understood selfless love and sacrifice? And which couple suffered from selfish indulgence?

⇐ Along with selflessness and sacrifice comes another point that I feel very strongly about. As marriage partners, we should make every effort to say “Yes” to our partners requests – so long as it is not to the detriment of our self, our home or our family. Guys, that means letting her have a night-out with her girlfriends, so long as those girlfriends are not a disrespect to the marriage. Men need to understand the value of female camaraderie. Ladies, that means giving him sex when he asks for it … and enjoying it! Convince yourself that you’re a high paid escort if you must, but play the part. It’s simple. Keep one another happy and the marriage stays happy.

⇑ If you don’t do constant maintenance, your ship is gonna spring a leak. I think a lot of people, make the commitment and think “That’s it!” They’ve found their person and they no longer need to go through the tedious work of courting anymore. They stop suppressing their bad habits, stop wearing make-up, stop opening doors and bringing home flowers. The routine of the everyday creeps in and frozen meals replace the home cooked ones that we used to make to impress. We all get comfortable … and we should, to a degree. We shouldn’t be marrying someone who we can’t be ourselves with. And let’s be honest, we all put on a few pounds post nuptials! But we should never stop trying to impress.

Burps and farts, while an understandable part of life are still gross, even when you’re married. For the benefit of your partner, you don’t need to belt them out. And date nights are a-must, even if it’s a date night at home. Find a way to make it special. Open a bottle of wine, bring home a fancy dessert, cook a favorite meal, put on a clean shirt. Make-up, a sexy dress and some stilettos gets my husband fired up every time. And when he holds me by the small of my back and opens the car door or pours me a glass of wine without me asking … I swoon all over again.

Your viewpoint going into a marriage shouldn’t be “Shewww … now I got ‘em … now I can relax.” Or worse yet, “He/She’s lucky to have me.” It should be “How lucky I am to have this gift, how can I be sure to have it always?” Not a day of my marriage goes by that I think I am immune to its failure. There are women prettier than me, smarter than me, and kinder than me and if I thought for a second that someone wouldn’t scoop my husband up if given the opportunity, I’d be fooling myself. Possessiveness and jealousy aren’t the solution. Everyday I must strive to be the best partner for him so that his eyes never feel the desire to wander. And, if they did, if he strayed and left me anyway… he could never say that it was me, the marriage would end on my clear conscience because I gave him everything that I could.

⇐ Sticks and stones can break my bones and words can ruin a marriage. No one respects a captain who doesn’t respect his first hand. I know a few couples who would argue this point but I’m going to maintain my stance. Your spouse is to be cherished and your words should reflect that. Even if you think it’s being done in good fun, the moment you begin to disrespect one another through your word choice, is the moment your marriage begins to crumble. It may crumble very, very slowly but it inevitably will crumble. And if you manage to stay afloat anyway, congratulations! You just taught your children how to tolerate someone disrespecting them. Words can build-up or tear down. You can’t call names. You can’t tell one another to “Shut up”. You can’t make false accusations. We all have our moments and we are all human, but there must be a conscious effort to exclude these things from our homes. They’re toxic. All great feats are won by compromise and reasonable discussion, not screaming and name calling.

This was a skill that I had to learn, as my upbringing modeled all of these negative behaviors. And it required that I learn how to de-escalate and calm down before I could talk about something. It was Fernando who taught me that. Sometimes, that meant that I had to go to bed angry and once in a blue moon it meant that I had to take a drive. But when I returned, or in the morning, after some sleep and some time to process, we could reasonably talk-things-out without using hurtful words and saying things that we didn’t mean. The “I feel”s and the “I am concerned because” make for much more effective conflict resolution than the “You always” and the “F**k you”s. And it doesn’t take an expensive therapist to learn this skill either. While paid therapy is sometimes necessary and is certainly a viable option; a good couples book, the desire to improve and continual practice are oftentimes all you need to learn healthy communication.

⇑ Unlike toxic words, humor is the salve to most things. Not hurtful humor, not selfish humor or inappropriate and untimely humor … but a simple ability to laugh at ourselves when life flops a big ‘ol cod up on our deck or we find ourselves accidentally standing on the sail ropes. Mistakes happen, life happens and it helps if we don’t take them too seriously. The best couples are the ones who laugh together!

And in my bag of marriage tricks, one trick that I think few people utilize, and it works like a charm, is complimenting your partner in the presence of others. Try it! Their head will swell and they will love you for it!

 

I don’t know what the seas up-ahead have in-store for us. And I don’t know how long life will allow me to have a co-captain. But as long as he’s here, my hands will be next to his on our ship’s wheel. And together, we will fight the angry waves that come. We’ll shift our sails when the winds dictate a change in course. And we will continue to look onward towards our next adventure and our newest discovery. And with some grit and good luck, we’ll do it with grace and confidence and humor. Our course is endless and our love is our compass. The universe gave me a sailing partner and with him, I’m having the expedition of a lifetime!

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Snorkeling the Waters of Life: A tale of life with anxiety

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We were so excited! Our road-tripping adventures that year had landed us in the Florida Keys and we were ready to take full advantage of the stunning waters that surround the tiny chain of islands. We had never explored tropical waters before and were giddy to get out there and have a new experience. Having done my research on the best spots to snorkel, I booked us a boat ride and snorkeling trip from Marathon Key to the beautiful Sombrero Reef. A 30 minute boat-ride would arrive us to the reef and we’d spend an hour or so in the water, snorkeling some of the most breathtaking waters on the planet.

Having only played around with a snorkel and mask a few times before, it was recommended to us that we spend some time practicing off-shore before our paid excursion. So the day before, we headed out to Bahia Honda State Park, gear in-hand. I expected that I’d be a natural. I’m a strong swimmer and with so many beautiful things to see, how could I have any trouble keeping my face in the water and breathing through a tube?

We waded out into the crystal-clear waters until we began to see coral and vegetation and little colorful fish. I secured my mask, placed the snorkel in my mouth, submerged my face in the water and went afloat. The life I saw swimming around me was amazing! Never before had I witnessed such a clear view of sea life just feet from my body. I wanted to stare at it all day.

And then, about 60 seconds later … I began to panic. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I started hyperventilating. My initial awe of the sea life around me crashed and I couldn’t see the fish anymore. I was so consumed with my angst of breathing that the rest of the world blurred out of focus.

I shot-up out of the water. The peaceful sea and near-by snorkelers were still there, just the same. “What is my problem?!” I thought. Again, I tried. Again, I began to panic. “Why is this so hard for me!?” “Slow your breathing down”, I told myself. I made it a few minutes longer and then again, I was pulling my head out of the water and the tube from my mouth because I felt like I was suffocating.

I wasn’t the only one … the other adults in our party too found it harder than expected to regulate their breathing. But I was disappointed nonetheless that what appeared to be so simple was a struggle for me. Nevertheless, I was determined to master this skill before our expedition the next day. We had all day at the beach …. and I was going to figure this out!

I used the skills I’d learned as a nurse to assist my patients through labor as well as the tips I had received from other snorkelers and I continued to try. Still unable to focus on the fish, I put all of my focus into taking slow, deep breaths. I spoke to my inner-self, “You’re ok. Nothing is wrong.” I reminded myself to relax. Becoming more aware of my body, I realized how tense I had become and it took a conscious effort to relax each set of muscles, one at a time. It’s much harder to breathe and float when your muscles are tense. Each time I put my face in the water, I lasted a little longer before I felt the urge to lift up and pull my snorkel out. And each time, I tried again.

Then I started to find a rhythm. I breathed ….. in …… and …… out ….. in ….. a ….. slow …. and …… purposeful …… pattern ….. and my body began to relax. Slowly, I began to see more of the ocean bottom and felt less consumed with my breathing. My focus shifted from what I was doing and how I was feeling to what I was seeing. And by the end of the day, submerging my face in water while breathing through a plastic tube became second nature. And then, I didn’t want to leave. In fact, I was so in love with witnessing the goings-on of the ocean floor that I didn’t even hear my then 11-year-old screaming above the surface that there was a six-foot shark approaching, mere feet behind me! LOL, Oh well, that’s Florida for ya! The shark swam-off like they usually do (humans aren’t that tasty) and I continued with my explorations. The disappointment that had darkened my day shifted away and the initial excitement I felt, returned. It ended up a good day after-all.

The next day, we embarked on our excursion to Sombrero Reef … and we were blown away! The sea life that had impressed me the day before was nothing in comparison to this. Sombrero Reef was bursting with life. The moment we entered the water we were immediately surrounded by schools of colorful fish. There were purple and yellow brain and fan corals, giant parrot fish and angel fish, striped fish and spotted fish, more varieties than I could possibly know the names of. It felt like I was in a live-action version of ‘The Little Mermaid’ … minus the mermaids. Nurse sharks lurked on the seafloor and even a barracuda was minding his business in the shadows. Every second was breathtaking. It felt like I’d somehow jumped into the page of a National Geographic photo and I didn’t want to look away for even a second.

My family and I were changed that day. We are adventure takers and we are always looking for new and varied experiences. To this date … while many moments have come close, none have topped that day.

As we boarded the boat to return to shore, we couldn’t contain our excitement. And for the rest of the night, none of us could stop talking about the wonders we had witnessed first-hand in those Florida Key waters. I was so thankful that we had taken the opportunity to explore them. A 30 minute boat ride from the shore and $30/person proved to be worth every penny … and more. But I was even more thankful that I had gotten the advise and taken the opportunity to practice the day before. That trip would’ve been wasted had I not.

I have an adventurous spirit, I am a skilled swimmer and I have never before considered myself to be an anxious or fearful person. Experiencing what I did that first day of snorkeling was sobering; but it happened. I wasn’t thrashing around or acting a fool, but I was panicking. What I thought would be easy and second-nature, required purposeful intent and repetition in order to master it. But I persevered and I worked through my episode of unexpected anxiety; and when I did, I gained confidence and discovered a new favorite thing to do.

This past month, my family and I had another opportunity for a snorkeling adventure when we swam with the manatees in Crystal River. The setting was completely different as it was barely dawn and the water there, whilst clear, is fresh and cold and full of vegetation (perfect for manatees). It had been two years since we snorkeled the Keys and while we had peered at a few fish here and there on various beaches after that, we hadn’t done any prolonged snorkeling since that trip. This was a 3 hour adventure that started before the sun even rose. Unlike fish, manatee are harder to find, more easily spooked and are protected as an endangered/threatened wildlife species. This trip required that we remain calm and still in the water. We were instructed to float and not swim, to use slow subtle movements and to whisper so as not to disturb or frighten the manatees.

I sunk into the water, floated onto my belly, placed my snorkel and submersed my face in the cold, dark water around me. And as I took my first few breaths, that feeling of panic began to creep in again … but this time, I knew just what to do. Like labor breathing or riding a bicycle, my body remembered how to cope and my mind allowed it. Within a minute or two … I clicked right over to that purposeful, rhythmic breathing that I had mastered in the Keys … and I was at peace, floating with the manatees.

Another life-changer for the books!

 

Life is an open sea full of wonder. There is so much to do and witness and be a part of. Seeking out those adventures, searching for new opportunity and making the effort to follow-through and try something new is sure to yield more rewards than you can ever imagine. ‘In the end we’ll only regret the chances we didn’t take’ and the times we quit too soon. And yet nothing will stop you from taking a chance or encouraging you to quit faster than fear and anxiety. It is the biggest bully and the darkest demon.

The older I get, the worse it is. It’s genetic. Anxiety has paralyzed the people I love from socializing, making new moves and trying new things for decades. Whether it was a fear of failure or a lack of self-confidence or simply being overwhelmed by life itself, they have missed-out on so much because they didn’t try. Surrounded by that in my youth, I looked to others who took chances with admiration and I modeled myself after them. As I grew, I prided myself in being one to take on new challenges and new experiences, even when the anxieties of others discouraged me. And I have grown to be an accomplished and confident woman with few regrets because I broke away from that pattern. I am frequently complimented on my ability to remain calm, be it at work as a nurse or at home as a mother. I am good at remaining collected in stressful circumstances and I work well under pressure.

But the truth is … what no one knows … is that be it genetics or hormones or a learned behavior … sometimes … no matter how calm, cool and collected I am on the outside … on the inside, I am fucking terrified. And instead of pushing forward, sometimes all I want to do is run away. It’s weird how I can resuscitate a neonate who isn’t breathing without hesitation … and yet a phone-call can sometimes be paralyzing.

I know I can’t let fear and anxiety win. I have worked so hard to break away from that pattern and I have been rewarded so many times for doing so, that I know I have to continue to fight. I can’t allow my inexperience or my disadvantage or my genetic make-up to exclude me from anything that I have been given the opportunity to do. I must always try. And once I have tried, I must continue to keep trying. Life is too short not to.

 

Anxiety is the most common mental disorder in the United States … by a landslide. Studies show that anxiety affects 1:5 adults in the U.S. While it was once thought to be a disorder that largely plagued young people and children, recent studies now have mental health professionals altering their views. Many people are reporting an onset of anxiety later in life, though the type of anxiety experienced does tend to vary with age. According to this article posted in NCBI [https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3263387/], “Phobias (particularly social and specific phobias) may predominate in childhood; panic disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) may be at their highest prevalence in adulthood; while worry disorders (ie, Generalized Anxiety Disorder) may be most common in old age.”

So, I guess I’m not alone.

If you haven’t yet experienced an episode of anxiety, odds are, one day you will. And regardless of whether or not you ever experience it yourself, it’s important that everyone understand it so that they can be a help to those who struggle with it. For too long society has shamed or dismissed it and even excused it. None of those actions are acceptable.

If you had been with me that day in the Keys, what would you have said to me? Would you have shamed me by saying – “What the hell is your problem?” or “Yikes … you need help.”? Would you have dismissed it by saying – “You’re fine! Just don’t think about it. Just do it. It’s not that hard.”? Would you have excused it by saying, “It’s ok, you tried … it’s just not for everybody. Don’t feel bad … let’s just get out and go sit on the beach.”? If you had … you might have robbed me of one of my now favorite activities and a life changing experience at the reef.

We have to do better than that!

The same way I was unable to take-in the wonders that laid beneath me amongst some of the most beautiful waters in the world because I felt like I couldn’t breathe – people with anxiety can’t take-in life because they feel like they can’t breathe … or move … or think … or control it. And like me, it usually rears its ugly head at an unexpected time and they hate that it is happening. Shaming them, dismissing them or excusing them are all equally unhelpful. Instead they need someone to coach them. They need someone to teach them how to relax and breathe slowly and deeply. They need someone to tell them that they are “Ok” and that they “can do this”. They need calm, positive energy not aggressive or negative words and actions. They need help. And while medication is definitely a necessary tool for some people, often times cognitive-behavioral therapy (like education, problem solving skills, relaxation techniques, and sleep hygiene) works wonders!

Trying new things is scary … it can be terrifying actually. But with purposeful intent and practice you can master it. And when you do, the treasures that you will discover will more than compensate you.

If you struggle with anxiety, don’t stop trying because you’re scared. Hold someone’s hand and jump in … and when you do, make sure it’s someone who will teach you how to breathe …. and then, open your eyes to the wonders around you. Life is breathtaking when you are focused on the right things and you have the coping skills to enjoy them!

photos aken by Amanda Meneses at Sombrero Reef
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Do as I say … not as I do ….

chalk board pic for blog

"Do as I say, not as I do"….

Not sure who came up with that one-liner but clearly, it's bullshit. You don't have to be a child psychologist to know that children learn most from what they observe in adult behavior and much less in what they are instructed to do. If you tell your kids not to curse, but everyday you fill their ears with obscenities … odds are they will grow up talking like sailors. If you tell your kids to eat their veggies but you yourself always pass the salad and live off of carbs and protein … I promise, you will have a hard time getting your kids to comply with eating the green stuff. It's simple.

Statistics have shown very clearly that our children tend to copy the behaviors we display. According to many studies … teens whose parents are current smokers are substantially more at risk to become regular smokers at an early age or to experiment early on with cigarettes than kids with nonsmoking parents. Studies on alcohol abuse carry similar results. Study after study confirms the propensity for cycles of abuse. Be it verbal, emotional, physical or sexual … those who are abused tend to abuse others. And anyone who has survived this in their youth needs to seek professional help to learn how to break those cycles. Hating what your parents did to you typically doesn't create the skill that is needed to initiate positive change. You need help to learn how to behave differently.

These findings are no surprise to anyone. But what about the more subtle habits and behaviors we display? How do they affect our children? What messages do our word choices and body language and home environment teach our children? If we roll our eyes and dismiss our children, will they feel important and validated? (Ugh … that one is hard with teenagers … but one I am working hard to fix!) If we mock them or criticise them for their display of emotions – be it crying or feeling angry, will they grow to be emotionally vulnerable adults or will they shut down and become hardened? Can we teach them that feelings are real and emotions are vital and still teach them self-control?

What if we replied to the complaining child "I understand that this is frustrating, nonetheless, this is my decision." – rather than "I said shut your mouth" or, in the other direction, "Fine, go do what you want … I'm tired of your complaining." What do those words and actions teach our children? And in reference to the constant rec sport debate …. No, not everyone needs a trophy, but we can praise them for playing their best and teach them to shake hands with the other team. This "snowflake" generation is a direct response to a hardened generation and the right way, as always, is somewhere in between. We don't need to coddle our children, but we do need to respect them. Not everything needs to be sugar-coated but it doesn't have to be a smack in the face either.

Through either action or inaction, our habits, mannerisms and body language speak volumes. Through our words too, we teach our children when we talk to them, about them and around them. Our word choice, voice inflection and tone send messages much louder than the actual speech we may be giving.

It's no secret now that what we say to our children shapes what they think of themselves. Calling them "dumbasses" or "sluts" doesn't typically yield intelligent and self-respecting individuals. But fewer people discuss how our words and behaviors in regards to other people shape what our children think of themselves. God knows I am far from a perfect mother, but my hope for myself and others is that as we reflect on our own childhood, we learn to be better parents and role models every day.

I can still remember times that my mother criticised other girls behind their backs and how I, despite her best intentions, turned that criticism inwards. She wasn't talking to or about me, but I saw myself in those other girls. When we criticise the way other people act or dress or behave in an unkind way – we teach our children not only to exclude or to judge other people, but we create insecurities in our children. We send them the message that we look down on certain types of people.

And the truth is, we don't get to choose who our children become. We can help shape their character, but who they are is deep within them and we can't change that. You can make them go to medical school but you can't make them enjoy being a physician. You can tell them to get married but you can't make that marriage work. A "my way or the highway" mentality doesn't usually work unless you have super passive kids and super passive kids never grow up to change the world. But nurturing our children and gently guiding them allows them to build strong roots and to grow.

Remember that flamboyant guy you imitated? … Maybe your son is grappling with his own sexuality. Making fun of that man could end-up delaying your son's ability to come out for years. Don't approve of homosexuality? Well … our nations history shows us that ridiculing it, didn't stop it. People simply stayed "in the closet" and families were hurt because of it. Would you rather your son feel hurt and rejected and carry on a secret lifestyle or would you rather show him respect and tolerance and give him a safe place to call home?

Remember that girl who dresses sexy, who you referred to as "the little hooker"? Your daughter will one day want to look and feel sexy. Do you want her identifying herself as a "hooker" when she does? Or is there a way to channel your reasonable concern and focus on safety and self-respect rather than character, to encourage her to make positive choices in the future?

Remember how you rolled your eyes or giggled at that kid who was dressed "weird". Maybe your kid liked the way he looked and your reaction sent the message that he can't reeaally be himself. Are you sending the message that your kids can only be themselves if it meets your liking?

Remember how you talked about someone or teased them for crying/being fat/not doing something right? Your child was watching … and will likely copy your behavior and do the same to others. …. Even worse, they will choose a mate who behaves like you … and their spouse will be making fun of them for crying, for gaining weight, for not doing something right. Think you're immune?… Then you're about to get served a big 'ol dose of humble pie. Parenting is good for that. Teaching your child that they "Can be anything they want to be!" means nothing if your criticism of others and body language says otherwise.

As a mother, I have had my moments. Sometimes it's hard to teach my teenager that the way they or their classmates are acting is less than ideal without using the words "obnoxious", "ridiculous", "annoying", "attention-seeking", "dumb"…. but I've discovered that "bothersome", "unnecessary", "unkind", "unsafe", and "disrespectful" also convey the message I am trying to send without the dismissive and hurtful tone. It's equally hard not to roll my eyes when they are being dramatic but I'm perfectly okay with "You're going to need to take it down a notch."

Being a parent requires us to always be "on" and I am a work in progress. I wear my emotions on my sleeves and my thoughts seems to drool right out the side of my mouth. But I'm trying. I don't want to cause my children the hurt that I experienced as a child. I don't want them to pretend to be something that they aren't in order to meet my approval and I also don't want them to pull away and rebel because my expectations were too aloof and my rules were too rigid. And yet, I want them to be safe and I want to create the best human beings that I can.

My god, it's hard! Parenting is rarely the beautiful thing I once thought it would be. In fact, it's quite ugly most of the time. But my hope is that my results will one day reflect my efforts. Plenty of times I screw up and say the wrong thing and hurt my children without intending to do so. I am human. I swear like my father and I worry like my mother. I can't change everything or break every generational cycle. But my hope is that the more aware I am of myself and my tendencies, the more I will improve. And if I use the mistakes of my parents as inspiration to do better instead of excuses to repeat them or a reason to be angry, than goodness came from a dark place. And unlike parenting, that is always a beautiful thing.

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Teaching our Children: Christian Lessons Carried on by a Self-proclaimed Non-believer

holding hands pic

If you follow my blog, you already know that not every behavior my parents modeled for me was a positive one. I challenge you to find one set of parents that did. Despite the dysfunctions that plagued our family, there were also positive aspects to be had. And I fear, I don't often focus on these positives enough.

A large part of my childhood revolved around our church community. And many of the lessons I was taught stemmed from a fairly fundamental view of Christianity. Dr.Dobson was a favorite in our home. If you follow my posts, you already know that religion is no longer something I subscribe to. I think a lot of unhealthy habits and behaviors can easily grow from fundamentalism including exclusion, judgmentalism, revenge ("an eye for an eye"), and even violence and abuse -("spare the rod and spoil the child").

But I think it's only fair to give credit where credit is due. While I have many gripes about my childhood and even more about religion, there were many things that my parents did well. And they used Christianity as the basis for much of it. In a spirit of taking the good with the bad…

Here are some lessons taught by Christians … and carried on by this Non-believer:

 

We always ate dinner together at the table. Meal time was community time. It encouraged family togetherness and conversation and it created an awareness of each other's lives. It's harder to be self-centered and disconnected when you share a meal with someone and are aware of their days' struggles.

It's a practice that I've carried-on in my family today. One of the reasons I continue to work night shift is that it allows us to continue to eat dinner together. Many days it's the only time we all have together. Not hungry? Too bad … you sit at the table anyway. For that 30 minutes we commune as a family. And I've found that often times, that sulking teenager soon has something to share about their day that we wouldn't have otherwise heard.

Thirteen years of dinners we have had together and now the kids are dumb-founded if someone is missing from the table one night. While their growing independence may create a desire to pull away from this tradition, the sense of normalcy surrounding this routine is one I hope they continue to appreciate.

My parents taught me to be a friend to the less fortunate and to appreciate people for their genuineness, not their popularity. My father, in particular, had an affinity for the unusual and less popular kids and he taught me to not only discover their worth, but to celebrate their treasured uniqueness. Most of my childhood, I was friends with the dorks and still am …. dorks usually grow-up to be way cooler than the cheerleaders anyway 😉 Ok ok who's judging now … point taken.

They taught me charity. I remember my mother holding the hand of a homeless man in church once. When everyone else stepped away because he smelled bad, she stepped in. She always volunteered for the projects for the poor. Through her, we learned that there were many people much poorer than we were and that their misfortune was usually due to a history or unfortunate life events and not through some direct fault of their own.

Consequently, I've raised children who sympathize with the less fortunate. They carry extra snacks with them, to pass out to the homeless, every time we go into the city and donating clothes and bagged lunches are monthly practices for us.

They taught us to appreciate the things we had and to take good care of them. It was a lesson in respect for the work it took to buy the things we had. Nothing came free and every gift, no matter how small was to be cherished. I still have quite a few items from my childhood, in good working condition, that I have been able to share with my children. In a world of disposability, I cherish this lesson and continue to teach the same to my children.

Focus on the Family is a Christian ministry that focuses on helping families thrive. Family Game Night was one of the suggestions my Dad took from this and he practiced it regularly with us kids. Being able to escape from the current stressors and focus on something less serious, to spend time together just having fun was crucial to our survival. Some of my favorite memories came from those family game nights and it brought-out a youthfulness in my father that I rarely saw. My mother didn't usually participate on these nights and instead used it as an opportunity to have some "quiet time". As a mother, I now understand that need and have used my disappointment of her absence as a child as an opportunity to understand and improve.

Game night is a common practice in my household and while it is sometimes a challenge to pull my teens/tweens away from the screens, once the game is underway, it is almost always a great success! I love that Game night gives my kids another opportunity to see me as a fun-loving person and not just a parent all the time.

 

Leaving my childhood, there were a lot of things my parents told me to do/not do … and many of them I chose not to subscribe to …. including religion.  Although, my father and sister have also since left the faith. But regardless of where I now stand and what my current beliefs are, I did manage to carry-on many positive practices that were rooted in the church and practiced by my then-completely religious family. And while I still found myself holding on to some bias and judgment and a restricted view of the world, I'm learning to overcome that.

We all have unhealthy examples set for us and the sources or reasons behind them vary. But by hearing people's stories, seeking out different perspectives and being willing to accept that lessons can be learned from so many different places, I have learned how to shed a lot of that bias and yet still hold on to the goodness that came from a religious household.

The same way I learned from my parents to befriend the unusual, to play with my children and be to silly, to appreciate the community of a family meal, to be charitable to those in need and to appreciate the things I have … my children can learn from me. And my hope is that they learn their lessons not just from me, from any source they can.

The world is full of lessons we can learn and opportunities to improve …. regardless of where they come from. If I can learn from the addict, the prisoner and the fallen, then I can learn from the Christian. I am thankful for many of the lessons my parents and my church taught me. I am thankful that they taught me to fight for and believe in my family. I am thankful that given their limited resources, they sure as hell did try to create an intact and happy family. The church and it's teachings are full of good lessons to learn from, even if you don't buy into the whole package, even if you're a non-believer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cold Soup

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A head on collision with a 100 mph impact, divorce, tragic death, health issues that leave life-long scars, low economic status, cycles of abuse and dysfunction, victimization due to both environment and intentional assault…

What do these events do to a person? Who does one become? Tell me, how is one changed by them? Because they will change you. Forever.

Well, of course one could become cynical and bitter, lose their sense of self and sense of hope. They could develop tunnel-vision – an over-compensation of one’s traumatic life experiences that lead a person to see only one outcome for a particular experience and therefore make over- generalizations and judgements of others. They could continue their dysfunctional cycles because that is what they were shown, what they were taught. We see it all the time… you can picture the people and hear their words now. “It’s not my fault…”, “That’s the way I was raised….”, “It’s because when I was a kid…”
dot…dot…dot…

Or, one could in the face adversity and trauma, turn away, run, crawl and hide from life experiences and possibilities – in an effort to avoid being hurt again. That is a very real and natural, self-preserving trauma reaction, that without intervention could lead to a loss of one’s will to live. And challenging life experiences could be used to justify those actions and attitudes. It’s understandable. Life can be cruel and at times there seems to be no sign of improvement in sight.

This insight shouldn’t be used as an excuse to judge others for their life choices but an opportunity to hold our own selves accountable. No one experiences life the same or has the same genetic make-up. And therefore, don’t bother drawing comparisons.

We all have scars. We all have left-overs … remnants from our past that bubble-up or sneak-in… giving those who happen to be watching close a peep-hole view of the world we came from, behind the doors we thought we had closed behind us. No one comes away from a battle unscathed and we ALL have a story.

 

The point is, what you do with your story.

 

I remember a time when I walked into a patient’s room and she and her husband were eating soup, cold, out of a can.… cream based soup at that! Horrified, I said “Oh no, we have a microwave!” “We know”… they said, “its fine, we’re used to eating it like this.”

Now, those who know me, know I am direct but curious and never approach with the intent of making a judgment but instead, of gaining insight. And … I have the biggest mouth in the universe. So, I inquired, “What makes one start eating soup out of a can, cold? I’m just curious … and why would you choose that when you have a microwave available?”

The husband’s demeanor changed immediately. A smugness and attitude crept in. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. Sometimes this is what we could afford and we just got used to eating our food cold.” And then he made some vague reference to his days spent in college dorms and eating cheap food.

I knew in that moment, he saw the little blond registered nurse standing in front of him and he thought we came from very different places. I’m sure he thought I grew up in high society – with my highlights and big vocabulary and BSN. Fact is, when I was growing up, we couldn’t afford canned soup. My mom fed our family of 6 for days with a ham bone and a bag of dried beans …. probably from the church pantry. But it was heated and eaten at the table with dishes – the same set of dishes for 20 years that some relative handed down to us, because that was cheaper than paper plates. And we hand-washed them because we had no dish-washer. And I never had the privilege of living in a dorm. I paid for my college degree myself and commuted back and forth in between my four jobs in order to do so.

I knew exactly what it was like to ‘go without’… but that was no excuse for not striving for better. Eating cold soup straight from the can is lazy. And lazy has not a thing to do with economics. That’s what I wanted to say… I wanted to tell him not to use poverty and background as an excuse for continued choices and behaviors …. but I couldn’t.

Instead I very calmly and quietly said, “Yeah … me too … I grew up without money too. It was hard. At least we always had a fire source though and I didn’t have to eat food cold.” He was speechless and I just left the room.

Maybe some people like canned-soup cold and maybe they don’t want to dirty dishes. That wasn’t the point of that story. Had that man stated those reasons for his choices, I wouldn’t have had a judgment or an argument to make. He likes it, period! And that’s fine. Your past will always tint your future, but don’t use it as an excuse to keep buying the same color. Yesterday, you could have gone the extra mile to heat your food, with or without a microwave. Today, you have a microwave.

 

Cynical. Cyclical. Defeated. A victim ……… OR ……… Learned. Experienced. Diverse. Hard-working. Resilient. Fortuned with varied experiences. Gained perspective. A survivor. A conqueror.

The choice is yours.

What do challenging experiences lead to? How are you changed by them?

I can only tell you what I’ve tried to do. And I am flawed. My personality is a strong one and it’s not for everybody. Those experiences I listed up top in my intro…the ones that change people…they happened to me…and not just once. Many of them happened enough times or for enough time that they left scars. I don’t let my scars define me but I don’t cover them up either. They are a beautiful part of me and how I have evolved. I acknowledge them. I ponder them. I work on them – to keep them soft and pliable, not hard and rigid. They are reminders of a past and experiences that I learned from.

What will you do?

Will you run away? Or will you fight? Will you hide? Or will you seek an opportunity for success? Will you use fear as an excuse or a goal to overcome? Will your lack of perspective be a crutch or a reason to go explore?

What have my experiences taught ME?

They’ve taught me that tomorrow is promised to no one. That everyone has a story, and if you sit long enough with someone – they’ll tell you. That you never really know ‘what you would do’, until you’re there. They’ve shown me that kindness and goodness show up in the most unlikely of places. And that those two things, matter more than just about anything. I’ve learned that anger is a normal and an often immediate response but it can be controlled. And time and introspection is the best healer. I know that I can’t change my past … but I can accept it and learn from it … and further, I can learn to appreciate it for what good it has given me. Because there is some amount of good in everything.

And I am still learning, that like my past … I can’t change people and people don’t owe me anything. But, I can choose to learn from them, and to accept them as they are and I can relish in whatever goodness they have to offer. My life is a gift to me and I have one shot at it. So I’m choosing not to be a victim but a conqueror, an adventurer, a seeker, a student.

Many years after my youth, I own my own home … and it doesn’t have a dishwasher. Instead, I married a man who doesn’t mind hand washing in the least. Occasionally I do buy paper plates for convenience. And I never eat cold soup unless its gazpacho. And I eat it in a chilled bowl with fresh avocado on top because damn it, it’s delicious. And life should be filled with as many moments of deliciousness as we can fit in …. not laziness … just deliciousness.

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Tiny Treasures

 

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I spent a week in paradise, searching a beautiful chain of islands for rest, for answers, inspiration and strength. I hungered for solace but my mind was plagued by busy thoughts. Too exhausted to move and too restless to sit still, I was tired of thinking and yet silence drove my mind into a feral beast that lashed in every direction.

Like a small child to its mother, I turned to the island for comfort but when she reached out to touch me, I turned my cheek. I yearned for her to soothe me, yet I resisted.

All week I combed the beaches, not for shells but for answers. Walking past thousands of perfect specimens, I looked into the vague distance as I fought with my demons and talked to my angels. Asking for guidance, I waited for an answer but my requests were met only by a nagging silence. In the most wonderful company, I felt alone. Alone, I felt tormented.

Tired of walking, I sat at the water’s edge with a fishing pole. The periodic taps of biting fish and the occasional fight of a catch helped to maintain the busy-calm that I was looking for. The views around me were breathtaking and yet my perspective barely extended beyond the minnows nipping at my toes. I was lost in my mind and consumed by my thoughts.

Soon, despite the fishing pole wedged between my side and right arm, my anxious hands found the sand and shells under the waters I sat in. And I found myself collecting miniature shells and lining them up on my bare thighs.

“For the doll house”, I thought. “With these tiny shells, I can make something for the doll house”. And soon, I was in-search for the tiniest of shells, hidden in the sand around me.

Finally, I was searching for something other than answers.

As the storm clouds rolled-in, I scooped up my collection and we headed home.

The next day my mind found itself in the same battle … no energy for busy, no patience for quiet. Again, I combed the beaches empty-handed and again, despite the beauty that surrounded me, my mind was drowning. Sitting along the water’s edge, my fingers once again found the sand beneath me. And then, as my fingers sieved through the powdery white sand, their tips found themselves on the underside of another tiny shell and finally, my angels answered. “Keep searching for tiny treasures”.

“Keep searching for tiny treasures”

Slowly, my mind began to work in a different way and the view ahead of me began to clear. Instead of searching for something I may never find, I rediscovered the tiny treasures of my lifetime.

I remembered my childhood home. Inside those walls, there was plenty of pain and heartache … but on summer nights, in the backyard, there were fireflies! A mason jar, a childhood crush and the sweet green grass that always grew too long made summer evenings there, magical.
I don’t remember most Christmas’s and I can’t recall a single first day of school … but if I close my eyes, I can take myself right back to the sound of crickets and those glowing, flying, tiny treasures.

Looking further back, on the years we lived in the trailer park, I remembered when my Dad brought home “Kool-Aid” for the first time. I sat on the table with my face planted over the plastic pitcher. As he emptied the seemingly empty packet and added the sugar, a mysterious, sweet smoke billowed out and stuck to my lips. Then, as he poured the water, the white powder, like magic, flashed into a brightly-colored drink. He was a magician and that was the best “juice” I’d ever had!

It was from the orange clay that surrounded our white and green aluminum home that we spent hours making the best “cheese pies”. They were sun-baked and carefully crafted by the hands of babes.

One summer, the seventeen-year locust came. There might not have been much work and we might have started to out-grow our tiny home …. but those giant bugs provided endless entertainment. We’d carry our pet turtles outside to the empty baby pools and watch them catch and crunch the unsuspecting insects under the hot sun for hours.

I lived my first six years in that trailer and those are some of my fondest memories. Artificial dyes and sugar, poor soil and pre-historic-looking pests were childhood treasures I’d nearly forgotten.

And then, there was that summer at my grandparents “beach trailer”. My brothers and I ran outside in the evening rain when we saw some toads sitting on the porch. Using a fishing bucket and our bare hands, we chased the bumpy, brown amphibians by porch light. By the end of the night, we were soaked and filthy with mud and we had caught a hundred toads! Past our bedtime, Mom finally called us in and tipping the bucket, we released our tiny, hopping treasures back into the wet, dark night. And we carried the pride of our catch into our dreams.

On a camping trip, I found a large shark tooth along the water’s edge where I was playing. Holding it tight in my hands, away from the other kids who were trying to snatch it from me, I raced across the campground to show my mother. I found her in the cabin, alone, crying, but she stopped when I opened my hands. “What a gift!” she said and she forced a smile. In my jewelry box, I still hide that fossilized tiny treasure.

It’s the extra pickle on your sandwich and two cherries in your milkshake. It’s the smell of fresh-baked cookies. A sunset. The warmth of blankets when they come out of the dryer. It’s a text that says “I love you, that’s all.” It’s a bird’s sweet song. It’s an innocent giggle and a satisfied grin. It’s two tiny hands holding a buttercup, “For you Momma”.

The world is speckled with tiny treasures waiting to be found- little creatures, yummy treats, beautiful sights, wonderful sounds. And every place, no matter how dark it may seem, hides its own secret stash …. if you’re willing to look for them. Past the shadows and under the storm clouds, these treasures will be waiting and the joy they bring you, can carry you.

With the same fervor that you seek such wonders, you must also seek to maintain a focus on them, lest you lose sight of them into the background of life and worry.

This week, I saw a Momma dolphin fishing in the canal with her babe. I saw a manatee feeding in the grass. I saw pelicans dive and an egret swallow it’s dinner. I held an infant shark and chased little lizards. I was surrounded by treasures and yet I couldn’t take them in, because I was distracted.

My ‘life lens’ was out of focus. Instead of looking too far ahead, I had to look around. By focusing solely on ‘tomorrow’s’ problems, I was missing the beauty in ‘today’. And a missed appreciation for the beauty of today is exactly what I’ll mourn when tomorrow finally comes.

As I make my way down the shoreline of life, I know I can’t predict what will lie ahead. While I won’t lose sight of the horizon, my focus is on ‘today’. I can’t change tomorrow and I can’t change fate but I can discover each day’s hidden treasures and allow these small blessings to carry me onto the next.

If I’m lucky, I’ll one day look back at a set of footprints that’s stretched far from view and I’ll see just how far I’ve come. My journey will make me stronger and wiser and more resilient to the changing tides and life’s harsh weather. My body will tell the story of a thousand difficult days, but thanks to my angels, my pockets will be stuffed with lots and lots of tiny treasures.

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The Magic of Savannah

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Surviving life takes honesty, to know when your mind and body need a break. It takes gumption, to get off your tail and to go find solace when you need it. It takes wisdom, to know what places and what people will replenish you. And like everything that ends well, it takes a little magic. Anyone who tells you there isn’t magic, simply hasn’t found any yet. The world is full of magic, you just need to know where to find it.

Fernando replenishes me and Savannah holds my magic.

Walking along the river’s edge my tired feet carry me and the weight of my heavy heart. One step at a time, putting one foot before the next, I am reminded that this is just what I needed to do.

The lapping of the small waves and the glistening of the setting sun on the water’s surface sends waves of comfort into my soul. Like the rocking of the tides, my head is devoid of thoughts and then flooded again. Alternating between the welcome absence of thought and the inevitable pining and searching for inspiration and support, I see the river as a beautiful woman. Standing alone, she appears massive and exudes power and strength. Like a warrior upon a cliff with her wild hair whipping in the wind, her presence tells the land around her that she rules here. No one, nothing, can conquer her.

But in just a moment and a turn of one’s head, an enormous container ship makes its way down the waterway and the massive river appears small and overwhelmed. She is dwarfed by the load passing over her and it appears as though it will smother her. Don’t be fooled. She is still a warrior. With grace and beauty she carries that ship on her back, shouldering the weight of every burden that she is given. It is then that you see her true strength. Summoning my inner-warrior, my soul becomes one with the river.

While my soul is immersed in the water that runs along beside me, my feet carry me away from the water’s edge and find a new surface on which to tread. This path is a familiar one. My beautiful ‘River Street’ is paved in cobblestone. I love cobblestone.

As my eyes move from the water’s surface to the path ahead of me, I examine the stones laid before me. A magical passageway, each ancient stone cut by hand … none of them the same as the one beside it. Each one holds the markings of a hard day’s work and the weight of centuries. I am reminded that the most beautiful things in life are the ones that are not like the others. No one stops to admire the bricks of a modern building- stones that are cut by machines, each one designed to look just like the next, lined up, perfectly uniform and just the way they were intended to be from the start. There is no inspiration found in artificial perfection.

So why do we yearn for flawlessness when our hearts are always drawn to imperfect beauty?

My feet work harder to carry me over the uneven stones and I feel unsteady. Yet I welcome the journey. These stones inspire me. They hold their position, still standing strong after years of being tread upon, beaten by harsh weather and saturated by floods. For years, horse hooves clopped upon them, wagon wheels and trolley cars rode them hard and leather, hand-sewn shoes and hard boots walked over them, day-in and day-out, wearing their once sharp edges smooth. And despite its scars, still, it bears the burden and provides passage to those who come to the river.

Even the trees here, ancient and draped in moss, like a wizard, exude wisdom from the years they’ve survived. Thick with stories only their roots can tell and strength from carrying the weight of the epiphytic plants that adorn them, the great oaks comfort me.

Like the wave of a magic wand, a stroll down these streets assures me that my feet, though still tired, and my heart, only slightly less heavy now, too, will carry the load that it is given … with roots that run deep and branches that provide shelter, one step, one lapping wave at a time.

I am thankful for my honesty, my wisdom, my gumption … but most of all … today, I am thankful for the magic of Savannah.

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Lessons Learned and a Life Worth Living

It’s not until after I talk to others (like really talk) that I remember, not everyone grew-up like I did. Many people had much more functional upbringings and were more privileged than I was. That used to make me bitter. But over the years, I have shared treasured encounters with the blessed souls who had it worse…and my life perspective has been restored.

You see, no matter how bad you have it…you have the capability to do well. And when you do well, many times the people around you, seem to have it better than you do. They have bigger houses, better cars, lifestyles that seem easier. But that’s just your perspective. You’ve climbed further than many of them have. If you remained stagnant, you’d look around and see a whole bunch of people just like yourself. But that’s not satisfying! You have to change the way you look at things. You’ve survived and conquered and that is something to be proud of, not ashamed.

I was born in a trailer. The oldest girl and third child of four. When I was six we moved into a tiny single family home-a fixer upper, but ours nonetheless. Amongst the six of us, we shared one bathroom and four bedrooms. Across the street from my childhood home was an old Catholic Church and school. Electing to raise us devoutly Catholic, my parents yearned to send us for a Catholic education. We were very low-income but my Mother worked out an agreement with the school to work off part of the tuition by working in the lunchroom. That, combined with hard work and good grades, along with generous relatives, afforded me a private school education. I was a lower class citizen that was given a middle-upper class opportunity and that probably made all the difference in my life success.

While my family was always very involved in our church and Catholic school community – serving as altar servers and lectors during church services, walking to daily mass at 7 am before school, tutoring special needs students in religious education classes, boy scouts, girls scouts, liturgical dance…the whole shaa-bang, behind closed doors our family was saturated in dysfunction. My parents combined income in the late 80s early 90s sat around $15,000 a year-which was a huge contributing factor in the resources available to us as well as the struggles of day-to-day living. I began working at the age of 12 and have never lived a day without a job since. Alcoholism , drug abuse, mental illness and generational cycles of abuse and their associated challenges plagued my family for years.

Our family struggles reached an all-time high when my oldest brother (tormented with mental health issues and drug and alcohol abuse) opted-out-of-life, tearing us into a family of 5. My other brother, closest in age and personality to me, coped with his own intense life struggles and substance abuse and was often times separated from the family. When I was 13, my parents finally divorced after many separations and attempted reconciliations. I was in charge of caring for my little sister and often times an elderly aunt while my mother learned how to make a living for the first time. A strained relationship with her led me to live with my father half-way through high school. Due to the location of his house in relation to my high-school and his work schedule, I often woke up at 3 am in order to be able to catch a ride to school with a friend by 6am.

Through fortunate opportunity and good grades I was able to graduate from a private high school and was accepted to college. I went to school full-time and worked 4 jobs to get by. College was such a breath of fresh air for me. There were so many people to meet, stories to hear, perspectives to be seen. I developed a grand appreciation for science and discovered my love of creative writing. I also abandoned the idea of organized religion and drew closer to the ideal of humanism. Good character, compassion and a love for fellow human beings and the planet became more important and reliable to me than church doctrine. Death, misfortune and tragedy continued to follow me but so did opportunity and blessings and new ideas.

In my 1st year of nursing school, at the age of 21, my oldest child entered the world. This proved to be a challenge but one worth taking. Motherhood was the best thing that ever happened to me. Given my life situation at the time, the challenge was a heavy one but she served as the greatest motivator to my success. I graduated on-time with a BSN in nursing in 2005 at the age of 23 with my 14 month old in arms.

At the age of 25, I bought my first home and delivered my second child within 3 weeks of one another. While I was out on maternity leave with my son, I married my children’s father and planned our wedding ceremony for family and friends (in between unpacking the new house of course). And from then on, the dust has continued to settle and the puzzle pieces of life have slipped into place.

My husband and I’s relationship has been a true testament of love, hard work and a bit of luck. It wasn’t always pretty and it wasn’t always easy but it’s been almost 15 years together and 10 years married and there is no one else I’d rather have by my side. He was the most unlikely of pursuers and has made me the happiest woman alive. I am hardly the woman I was when we met and he is largely responsible for that.

By the grace of God or some rotational shift of the universe, I am now a blissfully married mother of two and a damn-good labor and delivery nurse. And the rest of my family has found happiness too. I have seven beautiful nieces and nephews, step-parents who love me and two siblings who, like me, fought through the battle and came out victorious.

My road has been at times, a very bumpy one and my life, a very colorful one. But I am so thankful for every experience because of what I have learned. I have learned how to set goals and to work hard. I’ve learned not to judge. I’ve learned that people aren’t always what they seem-good or bad and that appearance means nothing except to provide a temporary illusion. I’ve learned that second chances are sometimes the key to life’s treasures. And that life’s treasures sometimes lie in the darkest places. I’ve learned not to count on many people but how to become the person that others can count upon. I’ve learned that love really does conquer all and that a little bit of luck makes life magical. I’ve learned that in the scope of life, very little actually matters….but the things that do matter-are everything. And what I have learned that matters most is that no matter what the world throws at you…life is always worth living…and its worth living to the fullest. It is made up of seasons and every season has its end. Every day is an adventure waiting to happen and a story waiting to be written. And every challenge has a gift packaged up inside, you just have to unwrap it.

Now, when I meet other people who “had it easier” than I did….I remind myself…few people know the depths of my struggles and few people share their own deepest struggles…but those challenges are what makes you who you are today…and you are a damn fine specimen if I do say so myself.