Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

When I was in Jr. High my mom let me wear make-up.  I was so stinkin' excited to finally get to wear make-up.  My favorite shade of eyeliner was blue, like electric blue.  And I didn't just put it on, I painted my eyes with it.  We are talking colored the entire outer lids with bright blue eyeliner.  I added to that a lovely shade of pink and purple eyeshadow followed by gobs of jet black mascara. Oh, but I wasn't done.  My favorite lip color was bright pink Wet' n Wild lip liner followed up with even brighter pink lipstick. It was quite the sight, folks. We're talking "lady of the night" look here. 

And even though my mom told me over and over again that I looked like a streetwalker, I paid no attention because I thought it made me beautiful.  After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and my heavily painted eye said I was smokin'. 

Fast forward twenty something years and my definition of beauty has changed incredibly.  You can all breathe a collective sigh of relief knowing that I don't sport the electric blue and hot pink color fest on my face anymore. But even so, I am not referring to looks when I say beauty. 

In previous posts I have alluded to the fact that recently my life has gone down a path that I never would have imagined.  Because of different circumstances, one being my health issues, I have traveled down a road that has taken me to some interesting places.  Along this journey, I have been graced with meeting (and reconnecting with) the most inspiring people.  People who have come in to my life at the exact moment that I needed them.  People who have shared with me their stories, struggles, and triumphs while navigating through treacherous times. People who have taught me, motivated me, lifted me up, and encouraged me when I was feeling like I was drowning in a sea of physical pain.  

I find it intriguing how much I take away from other people's stories.  I have walked away from conversations about personal struggles feeling empowered to face my own challenges head on.  There is great power that comes from sharing one's story, and even more power learning from others.

 I have found that stories of perseverance, courage, and determination to overcome the demons that people face ON A DAILY BASIS are what make people beautiful, in my humble eyes.  Demons that may have to do with unrelenting pain that takes over one's body, alcoholism, drug addiction, the mind chatter that says you are fat and because of that you are unworthy of love.  Hell, the demons that say you are unworthy of love just because. Have you ever known someone who WASN'T fighting a battle every single day in their own head?

I believe these battles are part of what makes us who we are. Throughout them, we learn just what we are made of.  We learn who we are at our core.  We learn what we believe in, what triggers us, and what makes us tick.  We even learn from the battles that we lose. Probably most from the battles we lose.  Often times, we are beaten down to the point where all we feel is hopelessness and failure. These battles intensify when our minds tell us that no matter what we do, it's never right or good enough. The question is, in every moment, do we give in to those thoughts? Do we let them take away our power, or do we fight back?  Those are the battles that scathe us with wounds that run deep. The ones that leave us with scars.  Beautiful, brave, glorious scars that remind us of all that we've OVERCOME.  

And then there are times where we come out victorious. Where we are able to sneak, stumble, or charge past those unrelenting negative thoughts, beliefs or addictions.  Where we stand strong in the conviction that, damn it, we ARE good enough and we are WORTH THE FIGHT.

How different would the world be if we started looking at people through their trials and weaknesses? How much more willing would we be to embrace those around us if we knew they struggled everyday with addiction? Or self loathing? Physical illness? Loneliness? Rejection?

How much more love would we have in our hearts for people if instead of judging them for what they look like on the outside OR how WE think THEY should be living their lives, we look into their eyes and allow ourselves to see and feel their souls?

One of my favorite quotes that inspired this post is this:

   

"If only our eyes saw souls instead of bodies how very different our ideals of beauty would be."

Before all of "this" happened in my life, if you would have asked me if I was beautiful, I would have said no.  However, being that I have come to know who I am down to my very soul BECAUSE of the battles fought within the past two years, I not only believe it, I know it.  I AM BEAUTIFUL. Not in the beauty queen/model sense of the word and not because I wear eyeliner and lipgloss like its goin' outta style. But because every single day there is a war going on inside of me.  Some days I win, and some days I lose, but I never give up.

Next time you find yourself in a full fledged war with yourself or even just a battle, take a step back, take a deep breath (take a lot of deep breaths) and repeat to yourself "I am worth it".  You are worth it, you are strong enough, and you will get through it.

And that, my dear friends,  is what makes you B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.

Guest Post: I Used My Spiritual Practice as a Crutch-by Lauren Noreen

My head ached, a migraine from the day before hadn’t dissolved like I had hoped and my eyes burned from a restless night’s sleep.  I had certainly awoke on the wrong side of the bed. My partner, hearing my tired groan, placed his arm over my back in a gesture of comfort.  Tired tears welled up behind my eyes, but I pushed them down and gently maneuvered my way out of his embrace and stumbled out of bed.  It was still an early hour, he fell back to sleep and I silently stormed over to my meditation pillow.  

I set the timer on my phone for 10 minutes and closed my eyes.  I threw myself into my daily spiritual practice.  Despite the appearance of a more peaceful posture, I grew more and more frustrated.  With each exhale, I pushed the frustration back down.  I continued to sit until the timer went off.  The minutes of physical stillness allowed for some peace, but I continued to fume. 

Finished with my meditation, I brewed myself my routine cup of coffee.  Avoiding the tension that was bubbling up inside, I displaced it onto the coffee making process.  I jammed my hand against the drawer as I reached for a spoon and recklessly poured some milk into a mug, spilling it onto the countertop.  Again the tears bubbled up, but I pushed them down and moved to the second part of my practice: reading something inspirational.  

I opened up to my bookmarked place in The Untethered Soul.  I surrounded myself with my highlighter, journal and of course, the coffee.  The familiarity of this routine comforted me.  

I mumbled “Good morning, “ as my partner peered out of the bedroom, my eyes still glued to a passage about feeling your feelings.  Again I swallowed the anxiety that bubbled up in my throat, tightening the small muscles along my neck on the way. I highlighted the inspiring passage.  I knew it’s truth intellectually and told myself that I would save the feeling for later: I was doing my spiritual practice.  

I finished my reading and sat with my partner on the couch.  While he leisurely checked his email, I turned on the TV and hit play on my recorded episode of Super Soul Sunday, continuing my spiritual practice.  Oprah was interviewing Pastor, Robert Bell.  I enjoyed Bell’s interview until I was triggered by something he said.

Oprah asked Bell to share the details of his personal spiritual practice.  I was interested in hearing what kind of meditation he practiced and the style of his prayers.  

He paused and then replied that “his life was his spiritual practice.” His interactions with his kids, his wife, his work, the people he meets with everyday are all his spiritual practice.  

I felt sick to my stomach.  In that moment, I made a connection between Bell’s words and how I spent my mornings (and days) those past few months: I was hiding behind my spiritual practice. I was afraid of living my life.  My spiritual practice was controllable, neat, predictable and safe.  I clung to it and wouldn't’ let life get in the way of it... My hand was clenched with my spiritual practice inside and for that reason, the time spent in meditation and reading couldn’t expand out into the rest of my life.  I feared to let it all unravel.  

Instead of contracting further when I heard Bell’s message, I chose to expand.  I chose to soften.  I chose to receive his message. I knew that what he was talking about was what I wanted--an open-hearted life in which I was part of it all.  

I took a deep breath.  I chose to open up and take in his words instead of push them away like I had been doing all morning.  I clicked the remote to “off” and gently guided myself back to the moment.  I turned to my partner and embraced him with a softness that was absent when I awoke.  I relaxed into the uncertainty of the moment and allowed the pain I had been avoiding all morning to coexist with my open heart.    

Disclaimer: A daily spiritual practice is needed to connect us to ourselves and to rinse our minds of fear and reenergize our spirits. This must be translated into a living, breathing moment to moment conscious life in which we take what we’ve learned from our practice and practice it in our interactions with each other and the decisions we make and actions we take.   In this (true) story I hoped to highlight one of the ways we can use spirituality to avoid living our lives.  

Overtime I shifted my morning spiritual practice, not on the outside, but on the inside.  On the outside, I continued to meditate, drink my coffee, read something inspirational and pray.  It was the way in which I did all those things that changed. I remembered that the point of my spiritual practice was the quiet time and connection to help me to live my life with the loving, peaceful, focused consciousness that I desired

BIO: 

Lauren Noreen helps women and men drop the self doubt and fear that’s holding them back so that they can feel confident in attracting their heart’s desires.  She is a Teacher, Inspirational Speaker and Life Coach working with clients all over the world.  She is also a Certified Eating Psychology Coach and helps men and women find their natural, healthy weight, end mood swings and experience a better quality of life by shifting how they eat.  

She lives in Boston, MA with her finance, L.J. and her 2 cats.  You can download her new FREE audio guide: 3 Powerful Steps to Squashing Fear and Stopping Worrying here: 

Website: www.laurennoreen.com
http://www.laurennoreen.com/squashfear

And So It Begins: Part One

It all started about three and a half years ago. We were living in Mesa at the time and I began noticing a certain area of my stomach that didn't feel right.  At first, I tried to ignore it.  Sometimes, when I felt it with my hand, it scared me, especially the numbing sensation that occurred every time it was touched.  It was a large mass, as hard as a rock, that eventually began to protrude out making it look like I was pregnant.  Being that I had an extensive medical background (thank you WebMD) I decided to play doctor and diagnose myself with a gluten intolerance. My findings were confirmed when the mass didn't seem to bother me as much after cutting out wheat, at least that's what I told myself.  I felt better having found an answer that seemed to pacify the worrier in me and continued on with my life, being quite pleased with my bad-doctor-self.

Fast forward about six months.  We were now living in Utah. After settling into our house and finally getting back into a routine I started noticing lumps where there shouldn't be lumps.  Again, I began to worry.   I made an appointment to see a (REAL) doctor.  She did an exam and informed me that the lumps I felt weren't anything to be worried about. Phewww, crisis averted.  I was relieved and very grateful.

As she continued the exam she got very quiet. I had briefly mentioned my "gluten intolerance" issue and how my stomach felt very hard in that one place.  Upon further inspection she commented, "Wow, I don't like the feel of that".  Oh. Crap. She ended the exam and told me I needed to get an ultrasound done on my uterus, and that it had nothing to do with what I was or wasn't eating. An ultrasound on my uterus AND you mean to tell me I gave up gluten for no reason? Double crap. I started kicking my doctor self.

I made the appointment and went in for my ultrasound.  The lovely tech, who was performing said ultrasound, was very animated in her discoveries.  Halfway through, she started giving commentary about how this was the largest tumor she'd ever seen.  Every measurement she took she declared things like "Wow, I've never seen one this big" or, "You're going to have to have surgery".  I walked out of the ultrasound bawling my eyes out.  Crap.  I have a HUGE tumor and I am going to need surgery.  Damn you WebMD, you failed me......you failed me big time.

My doctor finally got back to me after what seemed like forever. She confirmed that it was in fact, a tumor, and that there were two options.  I could either leave it alone and wait and see what happens with it in three months (which looking back, now seems like the better option) OR I could see about having surgery to remove it and have it biopsied.

Fast forward a couple months, and two more opinions.  I decided to have surgery to take the beast out.  It was a pretty major procedure.  They cut me hip to hip, much like a C-section. Except with a C-section the stomach tissue and skin has had time to stretch and grow making it much thinner and easier to cut through, sew up, and heal. Mine was just all unstretched stomach and skin fat.  I stayed in the hospital for three days to recover, and boy did I milk it.   My little sister (the bodyguard/nurse) came and stayed with me attending to my every need.

Upon arriving home, I had strict instructions to not go up and down stairs. Crap. Bedroom and bathroom are upstairs, kitchen and food are downstairs.  And not to lift anything over 10 pounds for six weeks.  The doctor informed me that the tumor weighed one and a half pounds.  For even more dramatic effect she told me it was the size of a four month old fetus. (Oh, did I mention that I looked like I was four months pregnant?)  It was not cancerous, thank the heavens above, but she did say it was hairy. Um.....gross.

About a month into my recovery it happened.....the "incident" that caused the unrelenting pain that I have been feeling now for two years.  It happened when I bent down to pick up an empty laundry basket and felt the slightest twinge in my back. CRAP. CRAP. CRAP.  I was on the floor unable to move.  CRAP.

That was the day my back went "OUT".......and to this day, my back has not found it's way back IN.  

To be continued....

Lessons Learned as a Teacher in the Hood

I am very grateful to say that I have lived in some pretty cool places.  When I graduated from high school  I moved from Boise to Salt Lake to attend Westminster College.  While there, I got my teaching degree AND met my husband, Mr. X, through a mutual friend.  Mr. X and I got married and he finished his undergrad at BYU and applied for Law School.  After applying all over the country we narrowed down our options and finally ended up packing up what little stuff we had and moving to Upstate New York.

I LOVED everything about Upstate New York.  I loved the people. Some of the nicest people I have ever encountered were native Upstate New Yorkers. I loved that I got to teach African refugees how to read, and tutor their kids in their schoolwork.  I loved exploring the outlying towns that were so quaint and beautiful.  I loved looking out over the hill we lived on and seeing luscious shades of green for miles and miles, and then when the colors turned in the Fall, the majesty and beauty of it was indescribable. I honestly don't think I have ever seen anything as beautiful as fall in New York.   I loved the cute little college part of town where we would go to get the best eggplant parmesan known to man.  I craved that little Italian restaurant on a daily  basis.  I can still remember the pizza place, with the wings and the thin crust pizza that made you drool when you dreamt about it.  And there was that one day when  I found the best sandwich shop ever. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time eating out our first year there. Oh, how I loved that little town.

As soon as we got settled I set out to find a job.  I wanted to teach. The only teaching position that was available was for a junior high Spanish teacher.  I don't know what possessed me to think I could teach Spanish to junior high kids, but I set up an interview anyway. I showed up shakin' in my boots and nervous as all get-out but determined to make it a good experience.  I sat down and we went through a series of questions.  Everything flowed smoothly and I felt confident about how it went.  After, I really did expect to hear her say that I was hired. But instead, what I got was, "Look, I think you are cute, and nice, and you will make a great teacher, but these kids will eat you alive! This is a rough school,  and you are just too sweet." Then she ended with, "There is a position for a bilingual teacher at an elementary school. I think you will be perfect for it." She passed on my info and the next day I got the job over the phone-yes, they were THAT desperate.  It was the best teaching job I ever had......it was the only teaching job I ever had.

I started teaching in an inner-city elementary school in Syracuse, New York.  Not only was it my first year, but I was teaching a bilingual class.  BILINGUAL CLASS.  I had learned Spanish in Spain....while on a mission.....for my church.  My Spanish was good, but it wasn't THAT good!  The kids that I taught were from Puerto Rico.  I thanked the heavens above they gave me a full time assistant, who was also from Puerto Rico.  I dove in head first and loved every second of it.

I soon came to learn that life in an inner-city school was far different from any life I had ever known.  Every single day, before turning the kids loose for recess, my assistant and I combed the playground for knives, swords (yes, we found an actual sword one day) guns, and drogas (that means drugs in Español).

One particular day, while outside, everything was flowing beautifully. All the kids were playing merrily, running, laughing, doing what sweet, innocent kids do, when all of the sudden there were sirens, and LOTS of them.  Within minutes of hearing the sirens we watched as eight cop cars pulled up to the house LITERALLY across the street from the playground.  I was in absolute shock as a group of policemen, all in bullet proof vests mind you, jumped out of their cars and proceeded with a drug raid.   TRUTH.  We were right across the street from this horrific scene and the horrible thing was I was the only one watching in horror.  There we played, naked and exposed to any bullet that should come our way (and by naked I mean without bullet proof vests and cars to hide behind, GASP). My assistant (who lived in the neighborhood) and the kids were so used to this scene they causally glanced over now and then to check in with what was happening and then went on playing.  I was in utter disbelief and I feared for, not only my life, but the sixteen lives I had been entrusted with. What if the people inside the house had started shooting? In our direction???  I yelled at my assistant to herd all the kids and get them inside.  She looked at me and said, "Oh Miss Ericka, we are okay, they are used to this."  My response was, "GET THESE KIDS INSIDE!!"  We made it back safely, without harm or gunshot wounds to the head.  Apparently, the house across the street was a well known casa de drogas and they arrested the guy inside, no shots fired.  I went home traumatized that night.

There were funny things that happened in that little classroom I loved so much. One day I was doing a lesson on insectos (bugs, if you will).   I kept using the word that I had learned in Spain for bug (which was not insecto btw). Every time I said the word my little students would giggle profusely.  Some of them even turned red in the face.  After about the fifth time using the word my assistant, pulled me aside and said in Puerto Rico that word was slang for a man's, ahem, you know what. I had repeatedly said "dick" over and over and over again.  "This dick goes from a caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly, and this dick curls into a little ball to protect itself, this little dick bites, and those bites can really sting",  I think you get the picture. I was, of course, mortified and wanted to crawl into a hole.  My kids however, thought I was the funniest person on the planet.  I still laugh about that experience to this day.

There is yet another experience that I will never forget.  It was when I was teaching the unit on Community Helpers. We were on a walk around the school and we came across a cop car.  I felt this was a good opportunity to talk about policemen and how they serve the people. We stopped and I started an impromptu question and answer session, that didn't get very far.

Me: "What do policemen do?"
Josef: "Take away our mami's and papi's".
Me:"...................uh......"

That. Broke. My. Heart. These kids were growing up in a place where their visions of the world were so completely skewed because of the choices their parents made....because of the choices their parents made...and their parents before them.   They grew up in a world where all they were taught was how to SURVIVE living in that part of the "hood".  A lot of those kids looked at Police as the enemy: men and women who came to their house in the middle of the night, banging on their doors, hastily barging in and taking over their household. All while watching their parents scramble to hide whatever substance/weapon they had that was illegal.  I actually watched this scenario play out when the kids interacted in the "house" center. These kids didn't act out "mom cooking breakfast with baby in the crib, and dad getting ready to go to work" like I did when I was their age.  They acted out the scenarios that took place in their homes when their parents were taken away to jail.  They wouldn't run to a cop if they were in trouble, they would run from them because in their world, cops were on the side of the enemy.

 I had a mom who was in jail for murder, a dad who was a known drug dealer, and who knows what else, I would hear stories of how moms (some of them still teenagers themselves) would take their kids to parties till three a.m the night before and drag them from house to house.  I had kids who wore shoes that were two sizes too big and didn't have coats, in negative degree weather. There were some who had never been to a farm, or gone far enough from their community to see a cow in real life. While others who had never read a book, and didn't know what a horse said, or a lamb. Sometimes the only meal those sweet babies got was lunch in my classroom, and you can bet that we loaded them up.  If they wanted thirds, they got thirds.

I also had moms and dads who were good hard-working people.  Who tried to instill in their kids honesty, loyalty, hard work, and how to rise above the violence and crime that plagued those streets. I had single parents who worked 3 jobs and were still on government assistance to provide for their families. I saw and heard things that made my head spin. I learned to love and accept every single one of them.  The parents who dragged their children all over town till three in the morning, the parent who worked a night shift, only to turn around and go work a day shift to be able to put food on the table, the druggie, the partier, the teenage mother, I loved every. single. one. of them.   After all, that was the only world they had ever known themselves.

One incident in particular, happened when two of my students got in a fight. The fight resulted in punching and physical violence.  After breaking it up I sat down with each chico and we talked about other ways to resolve issues that didn't include hitting or violence.  Later that day, when the kids were being picked up I explained to one of the dads what had happened and the conversation I had with his son.  He pulled me aside and told me to never tell his son NOT to physically fight again! And that in that neighborhood it's either fight for your life or die.  I was speechless. I was so naive to all of that I just sat there dumbfounded not knowing what to say. A lot of those kids were taught from the time they could walk those exact sentiments.  They saw the kind of violence and activity that I only saw on tv, in their own streets....in their own homes.  It was a whole new world.

I ended up only teaching for a year and a half.  I got pregnant, had #1, and never went back.  The time that I taught in Syracuse will forever be one of my favorite experiences.  I learned so much. And I loved those kids beyond words. I find myself wondering where they are at in life.  It's a cliche, I know, but I ended up learning more from them than I could have ever possibly taught.

Ten Things......

I have this sweet friend who I met on Instagram.  Funny huh? She sucked me in with her amazing, sassy, easy, fashion sense, but kept me coming back for more with her open and honest posts about her life and the experiences she's had.  One day, after I posted something, she emailed me and shared with me even more of her story. A story that was so different from mine, yet so similar in many ways.   She is an incredible example of strength, perseverance, and vulnerability.  I have learned from her that we learn from others, and why it's important to share our stories, weaknesses, faults, and be honest about them. I hope one day to be able to be as honest with you as she is with me and the people who follow her page.  

Anywhoooo.....she asked me to share ten things that make me happy.  So, here goes.  

• My babies.  I have two. They are my everything. That is all. Oh, and can I add, the relationship that I have with my husband who often times has to suffer pre-reading these posts, although I spared him this one.  
• A good book.  My favorites from the past year are: (Don't laugh)
• "Excuses Be Gone- Wayne Dyer, the first time I read this book I didn't get it. The second time I read it, it knocked my socks off and changed my life.
• "The Placebo Effect"-Dr. Joe Dispenza, if you are trying to change or heal any aspect of your life this is your book.
• "Untethered Soul"-Michael Singer, speaking of souls, this one spoke to mine.
• "Daring Greatly and "The Gifts of Imperfection"-Brené Brown,  I mean.....just read them. 
• "Awaken The Giant Within"-Anthony Robbins, it has taken me over a month to get through a couple chapters in this book because it is so filled with amazing, life changing, holy awesome tidbits of information on how to live your dreams.  And people, I'm living the dream.......well, I am starting to anyway. 
• "The Giver"-Lois Lowry, such a good, easy read.  
• Thunderstorms in the middle of the night. We've had a lot of those lately.  And let's add the sounds of rain, rivers, and waterfalls. 
• My siblings.  I have three.  
• My oldest sister has been going through almost the exact same  pain as me except 100 times worse.  I have depended on her throughout the last year. We have cried together, laughed together, gotten angry together, given up together, and pushed each other to "keep on truckin" as my Grampa used to say.  And in the process we have grown more than we have ever expected.  Most people have to go through things alone in their lives, I have been blessed (is that the right word?) to have been able to experience my struggles with someone who understands exactly what I am going through. We have a goal of walking down our favorite path to get to the beach in our favorite spot in Maui.  And by walk I mean run, skip, jump, and cartwheel.  We will get through this, just FYI, and we will bask in the sun and shout our gratitude from the wave tops.  
• My younger sister has always been my protector, well, when she wasn't beating me with barbie dolls and hairbrushes-let's just say I knew how to push her buttons.  Being the shortest of the family, I stand at a whopping 5'2''. Whereas,  all my siblings stand well over 5'11''.  My tough, sweet sister would threaten to beat up anyone who messed with me. Never you fear, she was always there to attack or stare down anyone who dare come after her little runt of a sister.  To this day, she is my protector.  She sticks up for me, gets mad for me, and encourages me to be tough when I gotta be tough.  I'm pretty lucky to have such an amazing bodyguard. Oh, and did I mention we are 13 months apart? Practically twins and always mistaken as such (except for the whole height issue....oh and the major difference in our athletic ability. I will let you guess which of us is more athletic.....and remember she will beat you up if you choose wrong.)    
• My little 6'3'' brother.  What can I say about my brother? He's smart (like graduated from Yale smart), funny, sarcastic (I love me some good sarcasm), easy to annoy (the funnest part about being his sister), and  honest.  If I need an opinion about anything, he's my man.  
• Conversations with my Gramma, who also happens to be one of my heroes. 
• Friends. New friends, old friends, Instagram friends, friends who live close, friends who live far.  Friends who laugh with me, cry with me, laugh AT me, point out when I am being a hypochondriac or over dramatic (wait, whaaaaa?), and just plain know me, sometimes, better than I know myself.  I have AMAZING friends. And I thank my lucky stars for them every single day.  
• Mis padres (that means "my parents" in español) What can I say? I have the best.  
• Cats. Cats make me so happy. Just kidding, that's a lie.  I hate cats. HATE them.  And yes, hate is a very strong word....but I mean it.  I had a cat growing up. I think we doomed her to be a miserable beast when we named her Misery.  She would sit on top of the couch that backed up to the banister and as you walked down the stairs she would swat at you.  Nothing like a kitty claw to the eye to wake you up in the morning.  She was a brat.   (And I may have loved her a little, but all other cats be damned). 
• Chocolate, sugar, donuts, cookies, cakes, lasagna, bread, ice cream, did I mention chocolate?    
• Meditation. Meditation makes my grey skies blue and my blue skies even bluer. I don't go a day without meditating, even if it is just closing my eyes and envisioning my goals becoming reality or just opening up my heart and focusing on the inside.  Sounds silly, I know, but I can't deny the clarity that comes from becoming one with my soul.  (Don't you roll your eyes at me.)

And there ya have it.  Just nine of the millions of things that make me happy (and one thing I hate just for good measure).  I would like to hear what ten things make my blogger friends happy.  If you are my friend, and you have a blog (you know who you are....and don't you dare ignore me, or I will send my sister after you) I challenge you to write ten things that make you happy. Now go! 

The Ugly Truth About Perfection

Why is it so hard to be who we are? Who we truly are deep down inside.  And even more, why is it so hard to actually know who we are underneath all the labels. For instance, I spend so much time trying to cover up what I think are the flaws about myself, so that you don't see them. And probably, even more, so that I don't see them. I seriously put so much energy into trying to be "perfect" on the outside, that I don't even know who I am on the inside anymore.

When I was little I always wanted to be a writer.  I would write stories and poems all the time.  Somewhere along the way I lost that passion and desire.  It wasn't until recently that I started having this nagging feeling to write and I remembered just how much I love doing it.

However, as I expose myself to you through my writing, I worry about offending or saying the wrong thing. Or coming across like I am an idiot.  I edit so many freaking times (crap should I change the word "freaking"?) for grammatical errors and sentence structure that it starts to drive me crazy and I start to lose meaning in the words.  I worry about my word choice and how I phrase things and change it so many times that I start to lose the authenticity that makes it me. All because I want it to be perfect. I want ME to be perfect in YOUR eyes.

Perfect...perfection, they can be such ugly words.  Why does being perfect seem so appealing (to me anyway)?   I have always been obsessed with perfection.  Perfection in so many things that didn't even matter.  My house always had to be spotless. We are talking, SPOTLESS, with a capital everything  (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, unless it consumes you and yeah, it consumed me). My kids always had to be perfectly behaved, because, after all, I am the perfect parent. Well, in case you missed the memo, it's impossible for a five and eight year old to behave perfectly all the time. Oh and I am so far from being a perfect parent it's scary (Crap, should I have said that? Someone is probably going to call CPS on me... just sitting here waiting for the doorbell to ring....trembling.)

The scary thing about perfection is that is actually prevents us from being who we truly are.  It causes us to change, depending on who we are with. It prevents us from sharing our struggles and  challenges with those who may just need to hear them (and believe me, I would love to hear about your struggle with perfectionism so that I don't feel like I am a crazy lady.) And for me, it prevents me from knowing who I am, deep down inside.  It makes me feel confused about how I should be feeling about certain things.  Because a perfect person doesn't get angry and a perfect person is always confident (ha, what the heck does confident even mean?). It makes it hard to actually feel the emotion that I have in the moment that I have it (which could be beneficial if my anger is directed at you), and I have learned that suppressed, unfelt emotions always come back to haunt you.  

So, what if those flaws that I see are really what make me who I am?  Wouldn't you rather know and love a person who isn't perfect? Isn't it easier to relate to someone who makes mistakes, who has a messy house,  who sometimes puts a comma where it shouldn't be or has an over abundant amount of run-on sentences (damn commas and run-ons are the bane of my writing existence). Or someone who says "damn" every once in a while? That may be taking it too far for some people. And I guess if it is, then that's ok. My intention here is not to offend or to push away, but to say what I think in the way that I think it, not the way that I feel you should read it.

So, I guess what I am saying is this is me.  I'm just a girl trying to figure things out and in the process heal my body, my mind, and my spirit. Nice to meet you. You can take me, or leave me. But just know one thing,  I'm not..... I'm not per......I'm not perfec.........I'm. Not. Perfect. Eeesh, that was painful.

The Four Letter Word

The view from where I stand. Stand. Standing....sometimes, all I feel like I can do is stand. I am not speaking physically, although there have been plenty of times in the past year where I felt like literally, all I could do was stand, and even then I couldn’t do it for very long.  No,  I am talking about feeling stagnant, stuck, not able to move forward with my life. Feeling like I am just standing here letting everything pass me by.  

And this, my dear friends, brings me to that ugly, nasty, horrible, word.  The word that makes you cringe, makes you recoil in shock when heard.......that mean little "f" word that is used all too often. Fear, people, I am talking about fear.  F-E-A-R, it should be a four-letter word……well, you know what I mean. 

A couple days ago, a girl I follow on Instagram posted the question:

I sat there staring at the screen trying to think of what I would do, then I made a list of things I would NEVER do.  I wouldn't sky dive (because I actually like being alive and the thought of falling to the earth at the same mph of a speeding car just doesn't float my boat).  I wouldn’t swim with sharks (did that with dolphins in the wild and that FREAKED me out and they aren't nearly as scary as sharks). But still, I couldn’t come up with what I REALLY wanted to do if I WASN'T ruled by fear.  Then, one day it hit me. I knew what I would do. It's something I have thought about at least a dozen times in the past couple months.   I would learn to…..wait for it………SURF!  Yes, I just said surf.  (I’ll go ahead and give you a second to stop laughing and to get the image of me attempting to surf outta your head………said image had better be me with a bikini body btw).

A long time ago, about 15 years, my sister moved to Hawaii, Kona, to be exact. I needed a vacation so I packed up my up my bags and got the heck outta dodge and landed in paradise.  

That’s when my love affair with Hawaii started.  I stayed for about 3 weeks.  One of the first things we did when I got there was go to the beach.  The beach we went to (thank you dear sister) had been known for having record high waves (a man had broken his neck at that same beach later that same day).  Now, a little preface here about me. I didn’t grow up at the beach beach. I grew up with a cabin, on the lake, in the woods. Our cabin had a beach but lakes don't have waves, unless you make them yourself by going around in circles in the boat.  I had very rarely ever been to the real beach and I knew nothing of the strength of the waves.  I did not know the cardinal rule about the ocean, which is, NEVER EVER TURN YOUR BACK ON IT.  

So, imagine, little ole’ me walking out into the surf, enjoying the sand beneath my toes (and that’s a lie because I cant stand sand beneath my toes), breathing in the salty sea air, bending over to look at seashells that had washed up and just being happy, curious, and at peace….when all of the sudden, BOOM! I was hit!!! Hit so hard by the biggest wave I had ever seen (that I never really even saw)  It. Took. Me. Down. I remember my face being scraped along the dirty, wet, stupid sand. It grabbed on to me and pulled me out a little. I was so freaked out I could barely stand up, let alone catch my breath once it washed away. Then, BOOM! I was hit AGAIN! This time it pulled me under and I felt like I was being swirled around and then I slammed into the ground one more time. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, days even (it was like 20 seconds), I was able to frantically get up and clumsily make my way to dry sand. I laid down and just hugged the earth, very quickly forgetting the hatred I had for sand, all while thanking my lucky stars that I made it out alive. Meanwhile, my sister, who was standing over me said, “Hey, you’re not supposed to turn your back on the waves……”  Gee, thanks Sis, that info would have been more useful to me BEFORE I had been pummeled and almost dragged to my death!  (I have often been told I am quite dramatic….huh, I don’t see it.)

      

At any rate I was so terrified of the ocean after that for the rest of my time (life) in beautiful Hawaii I sat on the beach.  SAT ON THE BEACH. We went to a lot of different beaches, some with green sand. (Let's not go into the story about how I was carrying a very LARGE umbrella to get to that beach and the wind was so strong it nearly swept me off a cliff. Not kidding. My brother-in-law had to help me. Heaven forbid I let go of the gigantic umbrella and let if fly off into oblivion....cause that would have been tragic.) We went to black sand beaches and white sand beaches. And what did I do? I just sat there and watched my sister frolic in the waves thinking there has to be more to do here than just going to the beach. All the while, I just cooked in the sand, like literally, I walked away with horrible sunburns (hence the umbrella). I have been back a couple times  since and I let my fear take over again and I just sat on the beach while my whole family (kids included) played in the waves.  It's actually quite ironic that Hawaii is my favorite place on Earth, despite the fact I almost died there....twice (oh, and the fact that I hate sand and being in the ocean and all.) 

So this year, as I have been dealing with this physical pain that has made it hard to do much of anything I have thought about Hawaii many times. I have thought about how I just sat there and watched everyone else have the time of their lives all because of a fear I had that started more than 12 years before. And I decided that I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want be to be afraid of the ocean, or the waves. I don’t want to be afraid of  my life and how its going to turn out. I don't want to be afraid of doing things that are uncomfortable.   For instance, like starting a blog and revealing my inner most self that I have tried to hide my whole existence. 

I don’t want to be afraid  of healing from my back pain. I know it sounds dumb but for a long time there was a fear of healing because that would mean I would have to take action in my life, and do things that I wasn’t sure I could do, (still not sure I can do them, but dang, I want to try). Afraid of being vulnerable, of letting go, of hanging on. I am done. Done, done, done.   And maybe it isn’t so much that I am done being afraid, but it is more that  I am done letting the fear I have prevent me from playing in the ocean and riding the waves. (Pun intended)  A funny thing happens when the circumstances in your life prevent you from living. It makes you reevaluate the kind of living you want to do.  And I want to be a gnarly surfer chick. (Again, go ahead and laugh it out, I'll wait....)                                                                                                                                                          

So this is it folks. This is the declaration: I WILL learn to surf within one years time …..uh, maybe three years time, yes, give me three years.  BLAST. Out with you fear. OK, OK one year...and a half. (Do you see what goes on in my head?) 

Whether it be in Hawaii.

Or  Bora Bora, although doesn't look like there are too many waves goin' on there.  I'll just have them get in a boat and go around in circles till I can catch one.

OR Provo Beach Resort. Yep, thats gonna be me, fancy footwork and everything. (Seriously, stop laughing) 

One more thing. Fear is not an easy thing to let go of. If anything, I have learned that every single day I have to let go. Sometimes, of the same fears that I let go of yesterday, and the day before, and the ones I let go of ten times the day before that.  I have to condition my mind and my thinking to not give into those fearful/depressing/take you down kind of thoughts. I have felt like I failed so often because I would let go of something and it would pop up again if I was feeling vulnerable, tired, or defeated. That's the AMAZING part of this process. With each "failure", I learn.  I learn what triggers me, what steps I need to take to get me out of the line of fire, and most importantly that even if I give in to those thoughts just one more time, I can pull myself out of them, just one more time.

One day, maybe I will be fearless, and when that happens, by George, look out!!

This is Me.......

Have you ever wondered who you are? Like, who you REALLY REALLY are? Who you are deep deep down, underneath all the "I am a daughter, sister, mother, friend, crazy person" stuff.  I have wondered that a lot in the past little bit.  And I am not sure I liked what I came up with.  I had a very hard realization when I realized that... 

 This is me. This is who I am……wait….I am 35 years old and STILL trying to figure out who the hell I am.  Who am I? Who do I want to be? And how am I going to get there?  All questions I ask myself probably 10 times a day.  There have been a series of events that have lead me to ask these questions on a daily basis.  All of them PERSONAL to me.  Events that have forever changed my life and helped me to recognize the things inside me that I want to change, that I NEED to change.  I look back at who I was for so long and I LITERALLY cringe.  Not that I was a bad person by any means. I never broke the law, I tried to be kind and nice to everyone, I always did what I thought to be right and good.  In fact, just the other day my dad said to me, "Ericka, you were always a goodie-two-shoes", which, for the most part, is true.  We won't tell mom and dad about the rebellious, well, I can't even say years but minutes? Hours?? Definitely. But there are so many things I wish I could go back and change about who I was, because those things have  lead me down a path that I NEVER thought I would go down. 

 A path that I can honestly say has taken me to HELL and back.  Have you ever been to hell?  I am sure most of you, if not all of you have.  I have been many many times.  In the past year and a half I have experienced the kind of physical pain (HELL) that makes you wish you were dead, almost EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  Dead dead dead. Constant, unending, when will this EVER stop (IT WILL NEVER STOP) nerve pain, muscle pain, bone pain, back pain, hip pain, leg pain.  Pain that made it hard to walk, hard to take care of my kids,  hard to cheer them on at soccer games. And the worst part, hard to take them to do the fun things I want them to experience and that I want to experience WITH them.   Life really really really REALLY SUCKS when you physically can’t be the mom you want to be.  (Can I get an amen?!) 

 Along this path of pain (physical and emotional, but we’ll talk about the emotional causes another day) I have learned things about myself. Things that I really didn't like, things that made me feel like I wasn’t living up to my potential all the time. I lived with the feeling that I was letting myself (and others) down for so so long. SO LONG. Things that made me feel ashamed about how I had acted or behaved in a certain situation.  If only I could go back….if I could go back and realize THEN  that I CAN change. That I CAN fix those things about myself that I knew I didn’t like but didn’t think I could do anything about, my life would be very different right now.  After all, “This is me, this is who I am” was my thinking, my belief. My BELIEF.  

However, I am where I am today.  Everything that has happened has, well, happened.  I can’t go back.  The only thing I can do is to take those things that I know I don’t like about myself and change them NOW.  I don’t have to be that person who lets people down, who doesn’t live up to my potential, who feels badly all the time.  I have learned a funny thing about beliefs over the past little bit. They can change.  YOU can change them. I CAN change them. I no longer have to believe that I am who I am and YOU all  have to live with it. (I know, I am a little late to the party.)  I can CHANGE who I am, to be who I WANT to be. I can be someone who makes others happy. Who loves with an open heart and doesn't hold back. (Sounds cheesy, right? I know, I think so too. Just wait for my post about loving and living with an open heart...man, have I learned a ton about that.)   Who lives up to my potential, who puts myself out there to meet new people, starts a new business, has happy, loving relationships with everyone around me. I can be successful, independent, and HEALTHY. (I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!)

 I have read so many books on how to change my thinking (if you want a list I will send you a list). I have started meditating along with prayer, that alone has changed my life and helped me to connect with who I want to be on a deeper level. It has brought me closer to God and has helped me to stay grounded in a turbulent time.   

I have sought out advice and counsel from those who have learned how to do this before me (by "this" I mean changing one's thoughts, mindset and limiting beliefs). And I have tried over and over again to change those beliefs that have held me back.  It has not been an easy process….for me or those who have to listen  when I am frustrated, or confused, or feel like giving up (which kind of happens a lot…. A LOT. Belief changing is not for the faint of heart, let me tell you).

 I will never be perfect. There will always be something I can strive harder for, be better at, and learn more of. It's a never ending (and can we just  say exhausting at times) process, but for the first time in a very long time I am excited about who I CAN be. Hell, who I ALREADY am. (Did I just say that out loud?)

 I still have physical pain, but that is getting better, and my belief that it will last forever is NO MORE!!!!  I am healthy….let me say that one more time, I AM HEALTHY!  And I am grateful. So so grateful. For everything that has led me to this point, as painful as it has been, both physically and emotionally. I am proud for as many times as I looked the Devil in his eyes and told him to “get the bleepity bleep bleep bleep outta my head” and didn't give in to the negative, self defeating thoughts (and let's just be honest here, there have been plenty of times that I gave into those bad, bad thoughts).  

I have learned a great deal about gratitude and how important it is to be grateful for EVERYTHING. Not JUST the good, but the bad. Not just the peace, but the pain. Not just the pretty, but the UGLY (and you haven't seen ugly till you've seen me wallowing in my own self-pity for days at a time). Not just the lesson learned, but the path I've had to take to learn that lesson.  I am grateful for the strength I realized that I have.  And for ALL the opportunities I have been given to grow and change.

 And ESPECIALLY grateful for all the people who have helped me along this journey, who have listened to me, who have supported me, who have told me what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it (even though I didn't WANT to hear it). For those  who have held my hand, wiped my tears, and hugged me tight (and when I say wipe my tears I mean that metaphorically speaking because that…. would just be awkward).   Having an amazing support group makes all the difference in the world.  And I just happen to have the best!! 

I have no idea what this blog will be about in the future.  Mostly, it's probably just for me. I have to write/talk about what I learn in order to process it.  You are welcome to follow  as I try to make sense of, and figure out where I am headed.  It's bound to be an interesting ride.