Following is the continuation of last week’s post, From Hating to Appreciating: Attempting To Love Your Body.

I’ve written before about how much I love the start of a new year. I imagine it was the high energy and positivity a new year brings that contributed to my second attempt at appreciating my body. January 17 was a bitter cold, dreary Sunday more than two months after my first attempt at completing A Course in Weight Loss‘ Lesson 7. The promise of snow lingered in the air and calm permeated my home like the scent of simmering soup. The weekend had been healthy and productive, my favorite kind. I had no further obligations and the clean sanctuary of my home office beckoned. The timing was perfect for ending an abusive relationship with my body and beginning an honorable one.

Preparation

I started with a long, steamy shower and concentrated on becoming more aware of my body as I prepared for the ritual before me. I sloughed my body of the dry skin that seemed to cover every inch of me, then slowly shaved my legs. This wasn’t my usual five minute shower, but more like the kind I take when I anticipate intimacy; giving of my body to someone else to enjoy. This time I prepared my body for intimacy with myself.

I concentrated as I slowly dried my skin, paying attention to each limb and joint. The silky material of my favorite robe felt pleasant against my skin. My awareness of my body increased as I sought to repair my relationship with the container of my soul.

Inside my office, I lit candles and incense upon my altar and played meditative music. I laid a towel on the floor directly before my altar and bowed to the Buddha before slipping off my robe. Standing naked and exposed, I battled embarrassment, shame and the urge to reach for cover. I stood tall, my hands in a prayer position at my heart. Snow started its slow and sporadic fall just outside the windows directly in front of me. I strived to summon the grace, strength, power and beauty of ancient kings and queens who regularly performed similar rituals.

Acknowledgement of Abuse

I reached for the oil. As the book instructed, I started with my feet. My cracked and calloused heels felt rough in my hands and guzzled the oil like desert dirt gulps rainwater. I apologized to my heels for giving them so much weight to bear.

Next, I lovingly smoothed the oil into the skin of my ankles and legs. I examined the scars and beginnings of varicose veins bright against the paleness of my flesh. So many scars… from accidents, bug bites, a tomboyish youth, all coupled with a horrible habit of scab picking. And then the pencil thin scars on the insides of my thighs. Not the stretch marks that are plentiful I assure you, but the marks I made myself many years ago. My eyes filled as the sight of those scars brought me back to my teenage bedroom. The sadness, loneliness and anger I felt then coursed through me. I cried for that teenage girl who felt so scared, so hurt, so lonely that she dragged razor blades across her flesh in order to feel something, anything other than what she was feeling.

I rubbed my thumbs gently over those scars lovingly as a parent might rub a smudge of dirt off a toddlers pudgy cheek. “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed over and over as I allowed myself to grieve, not just for my body, but for myself and the young girl I used to be. “I’m trying. I swear to you I’m trying so hard.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and hung naked in a sort of forward fold as my body wracked with sobs. My skin absorbed oil mixed with tears. When I was ready, I once again summoned the power of those ancient queens and stood tall once more.

Coincidence is indeed God’s way of remaining anonymous. Just yesterday I read these words spoken by Chris Cleave’s character, Little Bee in the book Little Bee:

“I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”

I ask you all now to join with me in Little Bee’s pact. Let us all see scars as beauty. Okay?

Gratitude

I continued my upward journey as I thanked my skin for its ability to expand and apologized for making it have to. My belly. My belly is something I hardly ever look at in a mirror except to ensure it’s properly covered. It’s the palest part of my body, as white as the snow that fell just outside my window. I rubbed oil into it with both hands in a circular motion and apologized for hating it so much. I had rejected and detested my stomach, my core, the very center of me. In order to heal myself I now understand that I must make peace with my core and allow love to permeate the center of me.

Emotions continued their flash flood as I massaged my breasts with oil. Each was heavy in my hand. I have always disliked my breasts. They don’t make me feel sexy; they make me feel fat. More often than not, they are a nuisance. I have resented being told I should be grateful for them because men love large breasts. Excuse me if I don’t think that is a valid enough reason to graciously accept the many drawbacks of having large breasts.

But as I cupped my breasts in my hands I thought of my mother as she laid in her hospital bed post-mastectomy and placed her hand where her breast used to be and grieved the loss of her womanhood. And so I apologized to my breasts for disliking them. I apologized for not keeping them sacred and sharing them with far too many people who didn’t deserve access to my body so freely. I thanked them for not being cancerous.

The oil felt good against my skin and my body relaxed, responding to my touch, opening up to me, welcoming me. I began to feel more comfortable in my own skin and no longer felt the urge to cover up.

As I rubbed the oil into my back as best as I could, I apologized to my back for not being able to scratch and lotion it properly because I’m so wide. I apologized for the weakness of my core and shoulders that result in my poor posture, straining my back. I apologized that I’m so insecure at times I tend to huddle into myself, adding further stress to my back. Despite all this, my back truly has “my back,” so I thanked it for doing its job so amazingly well and praised it for its strength.

New Beginning

I covered the remainder of my body – my face, my ears, my neck. The sheen on my skin glistened in the flickering candlelight. I ran my hands slowly over my slippery surface, satisfied I hadn’t missed a spot. I sat on my towel in order to meditate on what I was feeling. Sitting cross-legged naked was so unfamiliar that I laughed out loud. “Here I am,” I thought. This was me in my purest state, nothing to hide behind. I looked down at my thighs, breast and belly and the way they all rested on one another unsupported by clothing. I sat up straight and lowered my eyes.

It’s true. I’ve fed my body excessive food, but too little love and care. It’s time to reunite my inner and outer self. I thanked my body for the way it moves despite everything I’ve done to it; for the miraculous way it heals; for the physical pain it endures and the resilience it demonstrates. I thanked it for the endless ways it supports me and for its power. Our skin is our biggest organ and I apologized for everything I exposed it to, environmentally, chemically, physically, all undeservedly. I thanked my skin for containing every single part of me.

Although I didn’t protect my body, it has protected me. I took advantage of my body and was in an abusive relationship with it. It took performing this ritual to understand all that. I am so grateful to have marked the beginning of an honorable relationship with my body. That was the goal of Lesson 7: to repair and restore the relationship between me and my physical self.

Like the oil, I think it’s safe to say it was absorbed.

P.S. Although I completed this ritual nearly seven months ago, I hadn’t wanted to write about it until now. It took me all these months to integrate the process and formulate my thoughts surrounding it. Now that I have, I feel the full benefits of the Lesson. If you’re working through A Course in Weight Loss, a similar book, a process of your own or simply wondering why I have been working through the same book for well over a year, please remember that change takes time, patience and space. 

My legs are currently covered in scars, bug bites, scabs, and peeling skin. Aside from their size, they look like the legs of a rambunctious 8-year old boy. This sort of thing never really bothered me before. But it does now, so I purchased a high quality vitamin E oil. Every morning I lovingly rub it into my skin in order to help it heal. What changed? Not my sense of vanity. But my sense of appreciation for my body and the skin I’m in. And that’s thanks to Lesson 7 from Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Weight Loss.

It’s been over ten months since I’ve written about one of the lessons in this book. That’s not because I stopped reading it, but because I got stuck. Lesson 7 is titled “Love Your Body.” It took many months and two attempts to complete this lesson… I don’t love my body, but I’m trying to.

Hating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 attempts to get to the root of not just why we hate our bodies, but what we’re hating our bodies for. But the truth is that our bodies have done absolutely nothing to us but endure and adjust, and we’ve done everything to them. We fail to support our bodies and yet our bodies continue to do their very best to support us.

“Your body has not done anything to you; it has merely reflected the raging battlefield in your mind.” – Williamson

Is it our bodies we hate? Or their size or imperfections or scars or other ways in which they don’t live up to our expectations? Do we hate our bodies because we are afraid of something? Sexual trauma victims often gain weight or self mutilate in an attempt to be less desirable. Do we hate our bodies truly or did we learn to hate them as a result of ridicule?

In our lives there is an incredible time when we are young and innocent and know we are wonderful and perfect… and it lasts until someone tells us we aren’t.

Do you remember the first time someone made fun of your moles or freckles, said you were fat or teased you about your height? Do you remember the moment you looked at your body and made a quick decision to cover it up? I remember all of it and more. I was one of the first girls in my class to hit puberty. The boys called me daddy long legs and made jokes about my breasts. I never thought twice about the hair on my legs until my mom called me into the bathroom one day to show me how to shave. Seemingly overnight there was so much shame and confusion about my body.

When I was fourteen or so I went to second base with a boy. After we “broke up,” I found out he called me P.N. behind my back. Finally a friend told me what it stood for. Pepperoni nipple. (I swear I can’t make this shit up.) I was devastated. At home I examined my nipples looking for any resemblance whatsoever to pepperoni. For years I was self conscious about my nipples. My nipples! Like we don’t have enough to be self conscious about. Anyway, after having seen many a topless woman in my life I have deduced that my nipples are no more irregular than any one else’s. Teenage boys can be mean and stupid.

Dumb shit like this combined with how women are portrayed in media combined with rejection, ridicule, and trauma is a recipe for body issues. We don’t start out hating our bodies. We are taught to hate our bodies. Sure my weight is my biggest issue, but I’m also too hairy, have too many scars, a big nose, etc. Everyone seems to hate something about their bodies. A beautiful woman I know recently lamented her sausage fingers. I swear to you her fingers are perfectly normal and pretty.

Appreciating Our Bodies

Lesson 7 called for buying an oil to rub into my skin while examining it, expressing gratitude for it, acknowledging what I’ve done to it, and most of all, forgiving it for what it did not do. The goal of the lesson is to repair and restore the relationship between us and our physical selves.

Naked, I was to begin by making an apology to myself for having mistreated such a magnificent gift as my physical body. From the bottoms of my feet to the tips of my fingers, I was to emotionally lean into my body, not recoil from it. I was to rub the oil into my body with acceptance, with love if I could, with grief if necessary. I was to take my time, paying attention to each limb, each curve, each scar, each joint. “Do not rush,” the book instructed. “Accept, affirm, apologize, and forgive.”

I bought the oil, an organic apricot kernel oil, soon after reading the lesson. But then it sat unopened as I waited for the appropriate time.

Last autumn I slipped off the plush robe provided to me in the spa-like bathroom of the gorgeous four star hotel where I was staying. I had packed the oil, thinking my surroundings would be ideal for such a ritual. Hands wet with oil, I began to massage it into my skin.

I felt nothing – no appreciation, no forgiveness, no love, no patience. My legs were pasty and purply and my skin was puckered and scarred. I poured more and more oil into my hands impatiently as my dry skin quickly absorbed it. “For fucks sake, you’re so fat you should have gotten two bottles,” I thought.  The lighting was wrong and it was too quiet. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted to hide inside my luxurious and bulky robe, eat cheese, drink wine and watch movies.

“Fuck this,” I said aloud as I wiped my hands on a dry washcloth. I slipped my robe back on, cinched it tight and turned my back on appreciating my body.

I wouldn’t try to do so again until a snowy day a few months later.

Please click here to read Part 2, Ending An Abusive Relationship With My Body

This summer got off to a late start. In retrospect I think that also contributed to my depression the past several weeks. I love the beach and usually get down there starting in May. But this year my first beach day wasn’t until June 25. Very late, indeed. But better late than never. The day proved to be precisely what I needed and rejuvenated my spirit, like chocolate for my soul after a good cry. I am once again feeling like myself after a day of sun, water, laughter… and a bit of an adventure, too.

My husband, Mike and I left early Saturday morning to meet up with our good friend, Rudy. After an early lunch and a stop by the Cape May Hops Festival for a beer and look around, we headed over to “The Spot,” our favorite secret location to fish, drink, paddleboard and spend the day. We’ve been going there for years and it feels like home. The guys fished and I paddled and read in my beach chair submerged in a few inches of water. We told stories and caught up after not hanging out for a couple months.

We were having a good laugh when I noticed something floating out in the water quite a ways.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the object.

“Some sort of raft, maybe?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You should go get it,” Rudy suggested.

“I should! A rescue mission!” I jumped out of my beach chair without hesitation and reached for my paddle. “I’m off!”

“Oh no, this can’t be good,” Mike said as I dragged my paddleboard toward the water. The object was pretty far out and moving quickly in the wind and current so I paddled hard to catch up with it.

As I approached the object I realized it was indeed a raft. I had wanted a raft to float on and was entertained at the notion of garbage picking the ocean. Some kid must have let it blow away. I slowed once I was within a few feet and drifted the rest of the way. As I came upon it, I got my first glimpse of the design and instantly recognized the brand blazon across the brown and orange square raft. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off my board. “But, of course,” I said, smiling as I plucked the raft from the water and placed it on my board in front of me. The raft was much wider than the board and kept lifting slightly in the wind. I realized very quickly this was going to be a tad difficult to negotiate.

As soon as I turned, the wind caught the side of the raft and I quickly pinned it down with my paddle, struggling to keep my balance on the board. Every time I stopped paddling to secure the raft, the current turned me back toward the horizon. After several more failed attempts to turn toward shore, I carefully sat down on my board and draped a leg over the raft to prevent it from blowing away. This made me incredibly unsteady, and paddling very difficult, but abandoning my booty was out of the question.

I finally managed to get myself turned around and was quite stunned at how far I had drifted from shore. I studied the divided sections of sand between the jetties looking for our camp, but couldn’t pick it out among the other umbrellas and beach goers. I lifted my gaze toward the roofs dotting the road behind the dunes and sought out the red one of the house near where we parked our cars. My eyes lowered from the roof back to the beach and I recognized a pin prick of orange, the color of the shirts Mike and Rudy were fortunately wearing.

They were three jetties to my left and hundreds of yards of water to the shore. The current had carried me very far and very quickly…

Relieved to at least have identified my target, I paddled hard against the current. A boat approached in the distance, full speed, its wake trailing. When the boat passed full speed between me and the shore, it dawned on me just how far out in open water I was. I braced myself for the wake, which had diminished by the time it even reached me.

I was getting nowhere and losing steam. I could barely make out a figure in orange waving at me, so I waved back, unsure if it was Mike or Rudy. “I see you,” I said. Then they waved me toward shore. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “Geez, I’m not sitting out here for my health,” I said to the raft. I was Tom Hanks in my personal Castaway story, my raft my Wilson, and I was not letting it go. I kept paddling, my arms burning.

I finally got close enough to make out that Mike had waded into the water a few jetties closer than where I was headed. Rudy was carefully stepping his way out along the jetty. Rudy pointed toward Mike and Mike waved me in. I realized they were signaling me to stop fighting against the current and just make straight for shore. That hadn’t occurred to me, I confess. And if you’re asking yourself why I didn’t deflate my raft, well… I didn’t think of that, either. I can tell you, though that this story wouldn’t be as good if I had.

So I worked my way straight toward shore. By now I had carefully gotten back on my knees, slamming a hand down on to the raft every few strokes to keep it from flying away. Once I was out of the current, and heading perpendicular to the shore things were much easier and I finally made some headway. I saw Rudy begin to make his way back to the sand from the jetty, satisfied I had gotten the message. Mike continued to wave me in. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “I’m tired!”

Once I was within 50 yards or so, I clutched the raft to my chest, displaying it for him to see. “Totally worth it!” I shouted. And everyone could see that I had risked life and limb for an inflatable Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

Mike lowered and shook his head, but I could see his smile. Of course his wife would find a giant peanut butter cup at sea and worry him sick in order to bring it back. I finally floated aground, exhausted but laughing hysterically.

“I figured you were okay once I heard you laughing,” Rudy commented as he approached.

“I was pretty far out there!”

“Yeah you were! You were caught in the current.”

The guys grabbed my board and paddle. I clutched my prize to my side as we walked back toward our things. “Nice job!” someone shouted. Apparently the whole ordeal had gotten the attention of some of the beach goers who witnessed me retrieve the raft and then struggle back to shore. A few women cheered softly.

“Totally worth it!” I replied. They agreed, understanding the special relationship between a woman and her chocolate.

Once we got back to our spot, I collapsed into my beach chair, exhausted and laughing, and heard things from Mike’s and Rudy’s point of view and just how worried they had become, especially when I stopped making any progress and the boat sped by closer to the shore than I was.

“You were a speck out in the water. I’m pretty sure you were closer to Delaware than New Jersey,” Rudy joked.

“Thanks for your help, guys!”

“I was worried you might be giving up,” Rudy said. “Why the hell didn’t you deflate the raft?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

Mike was quiet – I had worried him – but smiling at the absurdity of it all.

“I nearly busted my ass on that jetty. It was slippery as hell,” Rudy said.

“Something bit my toe and there was blood everywhere,” Mike added.

“I almost got lost at sea!”

“So we all could have gotten seriously injured all because of a peanut butter cup,” Rudy said.

“Technically, Rudy, it was your idea,” I said.

We would laugh about this for the rest of the day. Mike poured beer into our cups and we toasted to an awesome beach day, not being lost at sea, to a good story, to chocolate, to everything…

My heart filled with gratitude for such a rejuvenating day.

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I’ve come a really long way on this journey to living a happier and more peaceful life. If there was a sign in my house that noted how long it’s been since my last meltdown, two years ago we would have worn down chalk resetting it to zero. But a year ago the number for days without a meltdown was respectable. Recently, every day was record breaking! Until last Friday, when the sign would have been reset to zero. All because a seat belt tried to murder me.

Seriously.

During my thirteen minute commute home, no matter how many times I adjusted the goddamn belt across my shoulder and chest, it shifted up to my throat. With each adjustment and inevitable slip, my body tensed, teeth gritted, and knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. The sensation of edged polyester pressed into the side of my neck from jaw to clavicle felt like the filthy callused hands of a demented stranger wrapped around my throat. My heart rate increased, face flushed and eyes narrowed. I hated my new car with its ill fitting seat belt, blamed and despised my large breasts for existing, and was most likely the angriest a person has ever been throughout history at a SEAT BELT.

Blocks from home, I unbuckled the belt and threw it behind me. Within seconds the obnoxious ding of the seat belt alarm pierced my ears like a screeching child. I hunched forward like a madman as my hands clenched the wheel while steamy breath escaped my flared nostrils. The thought of speeding into a brick wall may have crossed my mind.

Finally, I raced up my driveway, threw the car into park and killed the engine. The only sound that remained was that of my rapid breathing.

My husband, Mike witnessed my arrival from the garage and approached cautiously. He stood beside the window for a moment. “Are you okay?” I heard muffled through the glass.

I opened the door. “No,” I grunted through gritted teeth.

“What happened?”

Too angry to speak, I sat there as Mike waited apprehensively.

“My seat belt strangled me!” I finally blurted. I demonstrated the violence by pulling the belt across my throat and pantomiming my strangulation. “See? I can’t stand it!”

Without a word, Mike reached inside the car and adjusted the seat belt height with a gentle push downward.

“Better?” he asked.

I burst into tears, flooded by relief and gratitude.

As surprising as this may sound, my meltdown wasn’t about attempted murder in the car by seat belt. I know, right – you’re SHOCKED! My little incident in the car was simply the straw attempting to break the camel’s back. The truth is I was tired, hungry, and it was my fifth day without a cigarette so I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms AGAIN. I had been driving the car for just shy of two months, and although the belt needed adjusting occasionally, it never agitated me to the point of contemplating expediting my own death.

My point is: no matter how mindful, zen, self-aware, or peaceful we become, we’re still going to have moments when we lose our shit. We’re human! We experience fluctuations in hormones and chemicals, hunger, exhaustion, annoying relatives, bosses, spouses, etc. and there will be times when all these things collide and we JUST.CAN’T.TAKE.IT.ANYMORE. We’re not perfect!

The skill comes in acknowledging what’s really at work. Remember my post Learning to H.A.L.T. about checking in to see if you’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired? If not, give it a read. The other skill is not allowing inconsequential annoyances to snowball into a careening mass of destruction.

In the past, I may have refused to even tell Mike what was bothering me, then found a reason to be upset with him. Soon we’d be in a horrible fight that would become about EVERY infraction ever committed, which would turn into a fight about fighting. Once that fizzled out in sheer exhaustion I may attempt to get changed and then decide I hate every article of clothing I own, which would inevitably turn into me hating my body and then myself.

Good times!

All could have been avoided had someone (or me) just given me a snack and a blanket. There’s a reason it works for kids. We’re not that different, folks… If you find yourself behaving like a toddler with a temper tantrum or a crazed madwoman, take a time-out. Check in with yourself. Ask yourself: am I hungry, angry, lonely, tired? Where am I in my menstrual cycle – could my hormones be off? Did I forget to take my medication today? There are reasons why we behave irrationally and I guarantee you they don’t have to do with what you’re blaming.

I suppose I owe my seat belt an apology…

Today is my 34th birthday! So many people say their birthday is “just another day,” but I wholeheartedly disagree. Today is my day, a day to bask in a little special treatment and celebrate the blank page between the end of one chapter and the start of another. I don’t want to write the same chapter year after year and call it a novel. Today is my day to reflect back on what I’ve written all year in the book of my life and get excited for what’s to come! Here’s some highlights:

1. I was nominated, then elected Vice President of the South Jersey Writers’ Group
2. My story, “One For the Road” was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog
3. I moved The Cracking Nut to its new home here and re-branded it (learning WordPress in the process).
4. I got a new car! My very first new car!
5. I identified a novel concept and “won” NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) by writing 50,000 words of said novel.
6. I started stand up paddle boarding and fell in love with the activity.

Aside from the car (which is not an indicator of recent success, by the way, but a sign that my 2002 was getting to a point of beyond repair) and the paddle boarding, seeing those highlights spelled out like this helps me realize that I have been doing a decent job working toward my goal of becoming a professional writer.  I definitely haven’t spent the year sitting on my ass. In fact, despite my lack of meaningful weight loss, I am happy to say I haven’t been sitting on my ass much at all.

Weaved throughout those highlights has been the continuation of this blog, continued efforts to minimize, and greatest of all, persistent work towards healing and living a gentler, happier, more compassionate life. Thirty-three was probably my very best year in terms of mental wellness, and I am so grateful for the amazing progress I have made in order to live more mindfully. Life was not good for a very, very long time. I was living the same angry, disappointed existence year after year and calling it my life. But there was no life… not by definition.

Now there is so much life… the capacity for growth and functional activity. Now there is light where there was only darkness.

Thirty-four… I think it’s going to be a good year. I’m old enough to know better, young enough to still have the world in front of me, as much as any of us can hope, at least. My goals remain the same: lose weight, write, learn, have fun, and be a good person.

I’ve done a bit of all those things in my 33rd year. In fact, I feel as if the past several days was a wonderful final exam for my 33rd year, testing much of what I have learned. It’s been an intense few days full of visits and family, many of whom I have not seen in a long time. I feel that I passed with flying colors, showing patience and compassion, self-care, understanding, forgiveness and love. I feel proud of myself.

But I’m tired. So my gift to myself today is self-love, in the form of nutritious food and a peaceful and happy low-key birthday.

I’m not only excited for the rest of my day, but the rest of my year, and the rest of my life. I am grateful for the opportunity to turn a year older – so many people don’t get the chance. This is another reason why today can’t possibly be “just another day.” Today is a beautiful birthday gift.

Guilty pleasure – what an asinine expression. I’ve used it, of course. But I’m going to stop because I’ve realized how awesome it is to be able to recognize what makes us happy. Many people can’t. We should be celebrating those things, not keeping them to ourselves or sheepishly admitting them in a whisper. We judge ourselves enough – do we really need to judge the things that give us and others pleasure, too? Do we really need more to be self-conscious and judgemental about?

I say hell no!

Dear Readers, I PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS EVERY OTHER THURSDAY NIGHT! (That’s me screaming from the mountaintop.) I have been embarrassed about this, admitting it with a laugh and making fun of myself before anyone else has a chance, but guess what? I love it! I get to play make pretend, be someone else and visit a fantasy world twice a month. Instead of judging me, you should be jealous! If it wasn’t fun, people wouldn’t play it. And guess what? Lots of people play it, and not just in their parents’ basements.

If we should be hiding anything, it should be our poor attitudes, sarcasm, judgements, and other crappy characteristics. But for some reason, that’s all completely acceptable. Instead we hide that which makes us happy if it’s not generally held in high regard.

Lame.

Last year I read Jenny Lawson’s Furiously Happy and the following stayed with me:

“It is an amazing gift to be able to recognize that the things that make you the happiest are so much easier to grasp than you thought. There is such freedom in being able to celebrate and appreciate the unique moments that recharge you and give you peace and joy. Sure, some people want red carpets and paparazzi. Turns out I just want banana popsicles dipped in Malibu rum.”

Jenny doesn’t fail to appreciate the good things in life. She is successful in recognizing what the good things in life are for her. Let the noise fall away and ask yourself: what are the good things in life for me? Who cares if it’s dipping saltines in grape jelly while reading People magazine. A lot of people like People, and the wonderful combo of salty and sweet. (I took that example from Sex and the City when the ladies are talking about the stuff they love to do but would never let their boyfriends see. Speaking of Sex and the City, I have seen every single episode of that brilliant show at least three times but when I’m scrolling through the guide on tv and I see it’s on, I still stop everything and turn up the volume. Day over! But I digress…)

I asked my Facebook friends what their guilty pleasures are. For my friend, the beer snob, it’s cheap and sweet Bud Light Lime-a-Ritas. For two of my old co-workers, it’s reality television. And I don’t mean the decent reality television like Top Chef (pleasure!), we’re talking about the BAD reality tv of hair pulling and spit hurling. I’ve listened to these women whom I adore and respect dissect the previous night’s episode of whichever horrendous show was on last with intense passion, as I sat laughing and wide-eyed. I love that they love bad tv!

For my writer friends, it’s comics, World of Warcraft and heaven forbid, Twilight fan fiction. Awesome! I love the idea of my friends putting their kids to bed at night and escaping to their bedrooms to anxiously indulge in these things! What would life be like without these simple pleasures that are always within our grasp?

For more than a decade my personal philosophy has been that life is made up of the little, wonderful things that are too often overlooked in search of something bigger. These “guilty” pleasures are some of those little, wonderful things!

Please, don’t overlook or look down upon those things that give you pleasure because you think they’re too little or held in low regard or worried what people will think. Pick those things up, embrace them, and shout them from the mountaintops. I have learned that people everywhere are looking for permission to do the things they enjoy. Look how popular adult coloring books have become! Someone was smart enough to say, “Hey, adults like to color!” And now they’re rich. But we needed the person who came up with the idea to give us permission to color again.

Middle-aged moms who dream of taking ballet class don’t because they talk themselves out of it even though there’s a dance studio two miles away. Men who love comics haven’t set foot in a comic book store because they feel they’ve outgrown them. If every time you’re in the checkout line you look longingly at gossip mags but you never buy them for whatever reason, I say buy them! Put away the groceries, make a beverage and settle in and see if Bennifer is really getting back together. (And let me know, okay? I heard they’re not – Ben wants to, but Jennifer is too smart for that.)

Enjoy the stuff that makes you happy, loud and proud! Let’s start a revolution!

Shout it from the mountaintops – or in the comments section – what’s your formerly-known-as-guilty pleasure?

Ask me what I’d like to change about myself and so many things would rush to the foreground of my mind I’d have trouble honing in on what to say first. Ask me what I don’t want to change about myself and I’d blink, blank and speechless as I searched my mind for an answer. This question shouldn’t be so foreign and difficult to answer. So I felt determined to identify ten things I like about me.

The Social Being 721 recently posted an article titled “Why Everyone Needs a Non-Resolution List in Their Life.” According to them, a non-resolution is something we like and don’t want to change. We have a tendency to focus so much on the negative that we fail to see those things about ourselves we actually like. It’s a cultural norm to bash ourselves and apologize for what we think makes us less than perfect. We tend to find people who praise themselves as annoying and conceited. Even if we think someone is beautiful, we’re often relieved to learn they don’t think so. It’s such a terrible shame, which is why I think we should all write down at least ten things we love about ourselves.

Here’s my list:

1. I love my voice.

I have a very soft voice that I never thought really fit me. It’s the voice of a child or petite women. I was mimicked and teased for it often as a child. But as I got older, people complimented my voice. Men have fallen in love with it, women have told me I sound like an angel. Not a day goes by that a stranger on the phone or a cashier at a store doesn’t tell me what a beautiful voice I have. A few days ago a cab driver told me he could listen to me talk all day. My voice is unique, it’s pretty, it’s mine… and I love it.

2. I’m a good cook and hostess, and love entertaining.

I feel like this part of me represents the best of my mom and dad. I am grateful to my dad for his love of food and my mom for her love of decorating.

My dad has a passion for food that I have not witnessed in anyone except on television. As a child I watched him pluck oysters out of the salty water and bring them to his lips with an anticipation that made his eyes glisten. He took me to fancy restaurants where he’d order half the menu, dishes spread out before us as if he were King. I grew up loving football, not for the sport, but because football at his house meant course after course of satisfying snacks. Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more is when he’d order mussels marinara and pizza for dessert. He is a passionate, adventurous and enthusiastic eater and he passed that down to me. I love those things about me and sharing food and exposing people to new dishes and ingredients.

My mom had a knack for decorating that would rival Martha Stewart. Decorations were unpacked and greeted like old friends and meticulously placed in their rightful spot. When my Mom finished decorating the living room each major holiday, I’d run up and down the steps from my bedroom, the equivalent of shutting and opening a door over and over to reveal her latest masterpiece. Lights twinkled, candles flickered, the aroma of seasonal scents flooded my senses. It was heavenly. I greet my collection of treasured items with the same warmth and decorate with the same attention to detail. Just like my mom, I finish by turning on all the twinkling lights, lighting the seasonal candles, and then walking in and out of the room, taking pride and pleasure in my creativity. I love to share this with others and enjoy opening my home.

3. I love that I’m low maintenance.

I don’t dye my hair (yet), hell, I rarely even blow dry it. I don’t get my nails done except for special occasions. I’m not a slob, it’s just not that important to me. I can go from shower to ready to go in under thirty minutes and I love this about me. I believe in maximizing my time doing what’s important to me or what brings me pleasure (and bonus when those things are the same). Spending time preening just doesn’t do it for me and I’m grateful I don’t care too much about these things.

4. I love my passion, enthusiasm and excitability.

I feel emotions intensely — I always have. I used to think this was a curse of some sort, but I have grown to love my passion. It keeps me feeling young and alive to feel so much so intensely. I always feel privileged when I get to witness the contagion of my passion on others. It is a gift I am more than happy to give and then sit back and revel in the excitement of others.

5. I love that I’m optimistic.

I have a generally positive outlook and do not dwell on negativity or the past. I know that I am in control of my life and have the power to be happy and live the life I want as long as I put the work in. I do believe I have the power to make my dreams come true. It certainly makes getting up in the morning easier…

6. I love being independent.

I am so incredibly grateful for my independence. I grew up pretty fast and it made me an independent young woman who grew into an even more independent woman. I had several surrogate moms who instilled the importance of being able to rely on myself and I listened carefully. In fact, I was always listening, curious by nature. I picked up a lot from the people around me, my older brothers, as well as my group of older friends. There were also lengthy periods of time when I was alone… A LOT. If I didn’t do things on my own, I didn’t do things. I recall many courageous moments when I said, “fuck it” and did what I wanted. This increased my courage which increased my independence.

7. I love being a writer.

Writing is my creative outlet. It makes me happy, brings me peace, gives me a sense of purpose, and generally keeps me out of trouble.

8. I am open-minded and eager and willing to learn.

As I mentioned earlier, I am curious by nature. Therefore, I am eager to learn anything and everything. I find most things fascinating and soak up knowledge like a sponge.

9. I’m punctual and dependable. 

I pride myself by being on time and doing what I say I will when I say I will. I love that people feel they can depend on me.

10. I’m perseverant.

I don’t quit if I want something badly enough, no matter how long it takes or how many times I fail. I finally graduated with my bachelor’s degree when I was 31. I’m still not 100% smoke-free, but the cigarettes keep getting fewer and farther between. (Update: I did finally quit!) There are other things I work toward nearly every single day and I will not give up… I love having goals to work toward with perseverance.

There you have it. In the time I came up with ten things I like about me I could have come up with thirty I don’t, but that’s why this is such a good exercise. What a nice change for once to focus on those things I like about myself, rather than those I don’t. Maybe I’m not so bad after all…

Now it’s your turn – what are the things you love about yourself? What are the wonderful things that make you YOU? Share them loud, and share them proud!

My power recently went away on a week long vacation and left me to fend for myself. I didn’t manage well on my own and later wrote in this post about the harsh reality of weakness. Thankfully, my power returned just in time for the first day of spring. It helped me pull myself together and create space to be inspired by the changing season. Now, at this distance, I am able to reflect even more on what happened and what I may do different next time.

When I feel empowered I take care of myself mentally, physically and spiritually. After a week of not caring for myself, I craved nutritious food and exercise, so I hit the gym. For breakfast, I took inspiration from Instagram and made the breakfast/smoothie bowl you see below.

How can you not feel good when eating something so healthy, not to mention pretty!? To me, preparing and eating food like this is one of the most powerful ways to show self-love. It says: YOU’RE WORTH IT. Worth the money for fresh produce, worth the time to prepare a meal, and worth the effort to make it pretty.

I decided I was worth it not only on weekends, but weekdays, too and I enjoyed these breakfast bowls every morning before work. Here are some others I came up with:

I shared some of my bowls on Instagram and my friend Mieke later commented that my “power bowls” inspired her. How fitting!?

To make your own Power Bowl, start with a smoothie base of whatever combination you like, then top it decoratively with additional fresh fruit, seeds, chipped coconut, nuts, etc. The sky’s the limit!

It never ceases to amaze me how resilient the body is! It wants to feel good. Give it the proper fuel and take it out for a good drive every day and it will run at maximum efficiency. I ate beautifully and fresh for the remainder of the week and felt so energized. I practiced yoga, took long walks, meditated. I felt wonderful, and most of all, grateful. Grateful to have my power back and to be inspired and motivated once more.

But now I wonder if I was only able to have such a lovely week because I had inadvertently taken a lengthy break the week before…?

In response to my last post about my power going away, my friend Marie Gilbert, author and blogger, wrote about our need to “cocoon” in her post “When Absence is Necessary.” Her message to me was simple: Life is hard and the world is loud; time outs are essential to our well-being and there is absolutely no reason to feel guilty about taking a step back.

I struggle with guilt and regret, two intensely negative emotions responsible for trapping me in vicious destructive cycles. I’ve been thinking about what she said, though, and I realized something. I blamed the upsetting event in my life recently for taking my power away and resulting in my having an unproductive, unhealthy week. Had I been strong, mindful and loving enough, I may have said to myself:

“Ya know what, that thing that happened SUCKED. It’s going to take us a little while to get over it, so let’s cocoon for a few days and be really gentle to ourselves. Let’s get some soup and healthy junk food, call out of work one day and read and nap all day. I won’t force you to go to the gym, but I think a few walks with Kathy will do you good, so at least shoot for that. I know you’re feeling too drained and indifferent to shop and meal plan but we both know you’ll feel much worse if you eat crap, so how about making at least one big comforting thing to eat all week? Deal?”

THAT is self-love and compassion. THAT is what I was unable to say and therefore why I was unable to take good care of myself, and why I experienced guilt over what ended up being something I really needed. I felt badly that I had given in to such negative emotions. I could have still taken a rest and given myself space without succumbing to the negativity. I could have come at it from a place of retreat… from a place of love.

One evening later that empowering week I practiced restorative yoga at home. Afterward, I was torn between meditating and laying on the floor in shavasana (rest pose). I decided I could do both. I lit some lavender incense and candles, played soft music, lowered the lights and laid down, covering myself with a blanket.  It was a random weeknight and as always, there were things to be done. But in an act of love and cocooning, I laid on my office floor, breathing, while Marie’s words echoed in my mind, fading away as I allowed it to clear, but not before a memory occurred to me. It was something a yoga teacher once said years ago. She said that going into child’s pose (a rest pose) when needed takes great strength because it requires you to admit you need a break.

That always stayed with me and it resonates even more today. So many people continue to carry on with life no matter how much it hurts or how tired they become because they lack the strength to admit they need a rest. Because of what my yoga teacher said, I’ve always felt empowered to go into child’s pose while practicing yoga if needed, but I never applied it to life, instead thinking those breaks were the result of weakness.

I’m going to be stronger for now on. Strong enough to take a rest when I need one, and gentle enough to not beat myself up over it.

A couple weeks ago something really upsetting occurred. Without going into details I will say that it was unsettling and stressful and caused me a great deal of anxiety and anger. Surely you can retrieve something from your memory that made you feel this way, or perhaps you’re feeling that way right now. If so, you have my sympathy and empathy. It sucks plain and simple.

What sucks even more is when we don’t use our tools to help us deal with upsetting incidents. In the wake of this drama, I gave all my power away to negative emotions. Losing my power affected every single area of my life: home, work, socially… it affected me mentally, financially, and physically.

This is what happened:

I took a personal day from work.

I was so upset I couldn’t bear to get out of bed. I allowed my emotions to overpower my sense of responsibility.

I didn’t meal plan or cook.

I allowed my emotions to overpower my desire to stay on track with my diet and eat healthily. This had a tremendous ripple effect. Because I didn’t meal plan, I didn’t shop. Because I didn’t shop, I didn’t eat breakfast most of the week. I always eat breakfast. I had to buy several lunches and dinners I hadn’t budgeted for, which left me over-budget. Many of those meals weren’t as healthy as they would have been had I made them myself, so I consumed many more calories and ended the week having gained weight.

I slacked off on personal hygiene.

Gross, right? I didn’t wash my face or brush my teeth some nights before bed. I didn’t shower two (nonconsecutive) mornings.

Practicing good personal hygiene is one of the most basic ways we care for ourselves. When we’re depressed or upset, it’s one of the first things to go out the window because we simply don’t care enough.

I didn’t exercise.

This required way too much energy; energy my emotions and tears ate for breakfast since I didn’t give them any most mornings. This also cost me an unbudgeted $15 since I use GymPact and put money on the line every week to motivate me to get all my workouts in.

I was unproductive.

I accomplished only the most essential tasks and allowed a side project to get a week behind. My house turned messy and I felt disorganized and my mind cluttered.

My power went away on a full 6-night, 7-day vacation and left no contact information. Upon its arrival back home, she opened the door, rested and tan, and surveyed the damage, stunned at the mess she found me in. “Where were you!” I shouted, tripping over pizza boxes in my rush to greet her.

For a brief moment, I blamed the upsetting incident for taking my power away in some sort of kidnapping incident. But the truth is, I gave it away and I take full responsibility for that. Everything turned around once I had my power back. Now I sit, reflecting on an empowering, healthy, and productive week, my power at my side, and I am amazed at how easily I let her leave and all that I allowed to happen (or not happen) in her absence.

Next time, and I’m sure there will be a next time because ya know… life, I won’t give my power away so easily. I need her to keep me focused and strong, and she’s more important than any bout of drama I may face, regardless how upsetting. Because my power is permanent and lives within me, no one can take her away from me.

What sort of trouble do you find yourself in when you allow your power to run off? How do keep it from leaving in the first place? I’d love to hear from you.

I don’t believe people change, but like trees, we GROW. A sapling doesn’t change into a magnificent oak, it matures into one, fulfilling its destiny, becoming what it’s meant to be, growing stronger and healthier, but only if well-nourished. When I cracked the nut on my suffering and began this journey, I visualized a seedling emerging from a split nut, stretching toward the sun, seeking sustenance. This is often how I think of myself, although I am no longer a vulnerable seedling. That’s because I actively seek growth opportunities. I’m not content to stop learning and experiencing, and therefore improving. I recognize that it’s okay to be under constant construction, to be a work in progress. 

A beautiful dogwood stood in full bloom on our property when my husband and I bought our home. Over the following years it bloomed less and less. It never occurred to me that it needed nurturing until the willow in my front yard died entirely. I fed the dogwood last spring and it bloomed magnificently once more, eager to reach its full potential.

With even the most minimal effort, we are guaranteed stagnant growth, just as a simple result of living, until we eventually deteriorate and die, like my dogwood surely would have. But we have the power to cultivate our maturation with proper food: books, travel, conversation, interests… opening our hearts and minds to new experiences.

We need the pursuit of self-actualization. It is what drives us once our physiological, safety, and belonging needs are met. This is why so many people experience what is often referred to as a “mid-life crisis.” But I don’t think it’s a crisis at all! It is the profound realization that life is pretty good and you’re ready for something more! So people think of things they always wanted to try or see or learn and they seek those things out. This troubles those who are stuck or unwilling to expand, but I think it’s all part of a healthy growing process. When we’re ready, we begin to branch-out like trees.

Just because I am eager to continue growing does not suggest I am unhappy or overly critical of myself. Like my dogwood, I experience rest and rejuvenation phases, preparation phases, growth spurts… sometimes I’m gorgeous and vibrant and sometimes barren and shivering in the cold. But I do not stop growing. I shed and grow a thicker skin like bark, and continue to absorb that which is best for me.

As I watch nature awaken from its wintry slumber this early spring, I am reminded I am a magnificent work in progress. So are you.

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