In my last post I hinted to how cruel kids can be emotionally. I was never physically bullied but I still have healing wounds from words all those years ago.
When I was very young, I was small for my age; always a late bloomer. I think most kids go through a chubby stage before a growth spurt. The crazy thing is, when I look at those pictures of myself in my "chubby" stage...I really just looked like every other kid. I don't know why but I have been hyper-aware of my appearance from a young age.
I will admit, I did get overweight in 5th grade. I don't think it was anything outrageous. I was still very active. I played basketball in 5th and 6th grade and in 7th grade I tried out for Volleyball, Basketball, and Cheerleading. My very best friend, Rachel, made the squad in 7th grade. She and I would practice together for hours to get ready for my 8th grade audition.
My hard work paid off and I made the squad in 8th grade; even though there was a rumor "I was actually supposed to have made it." I guess that started to fuel my fire. I practiced all.the.time. Let me just say, for a stocky German girl, I can jump. I loved cheering and it helped me to begin to come out of my shell.
I made the Freshman squad and the Varsity Homecoming game in 1995 is today's destination. I was so excited that we got to cheer with the awesome Varsity girls that I worshiped. I remember the butterflies and the feeling of looking up into that big crowd with a huge smile on my face... GO FLIERS!
It seemed like a dream come true. And it was...until 3rd quarter.
The freshman squad was moved to cheer along the 20 yard line where all the kids sit. If I was a coach I would do the same thing. We were doing a cheer when all of a sudden I hear "your fat *clap clap* lose weight *clap clap.* Yes, it was directed at me. The confidence and joy I had up until that moment shattered. After we were done with our cheer, I put on my best smile and did the best damn toe touch you have ever seen. "Wow, the kids said, you're really good." But it was too late all I could hear was their claps like a never-ending drum and their words like the sharpest blade to my heart.
Two of my best qualities are determination and perseverance. Even though their chant damaged me to my core it also gave me great motivation. I practiced harder than before, determined to make the JV squad for Sophomore year. I did in fact make JV and that summer began my journey down the rabbit hole. I began running almost every night. I got a MTV Crunch Hip Hop video and would dance until I dropped. One night my mom made hamburger helper for dinner, one of my favorites. After dinner I decided to go running. I can't remember why I decided this, but I stopped at a park on my route and made myself vomit for the first time. With my stomach feeling flat and empty my heart soared with the thought of walking through the school room doors my Sophomore year and every gasping at how skinny I had become.
I did lose a lot of weight that summer. I remember how proud I was walking into the first day of Sophomore year with a new back-to-school outfit. Not a word was said. All I could think was...it didn't work, I'm still fat.
The running and purging and starving began to consume everything that I was.
I know those kids don't remember me or that cheer. Yet here I sit 18 years later and I can remember that moment like it happened yesterday. Too often we all speak words without thinking how they might affect another person. Our generation is not teaching the next how to embrace differences, only how to use words to break down those different from themselves even further. Why has it been ok for so long to treat people so badly due to their differences? It breaks my heart that so many people cannot live their lives they way the want because of what make them THEM. Everyone has the most basic wants, needs, and desires. We all want safety, a home, love, support, friendship, acceptance. When will our society understand that while being a human brings us all together, it's the unique characteristics that each of us brings to the world that keeps us together and allows us to grow.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Dominoes
Growing up I lived in a neighborhood with a bus stop. Every morning, I would walk to catch the bus; with all the other neighborhood kids; to go to school. If I had to guess, the walk was no more than a quarter mile and I am sure took no more than five-minutes.
The bus stop was it's own animal. I am actually sitting here shaking my head thinking about all the craziness that would happen in a mere 15-20 minutes. It really quite amazing that no one every was seriously hurt --at least not physically.
Today I am on a time machine going back to a very cold and snowy day walking to the bus stop. My mom had done her best trying to wrap me up like Randy from a Christmas Story. How cold was it? I really cannot remember but if I had to guess, 20 degrees and lots of snow everywhere.
My mom thought I needed extra time to walk to the bus stop in my 20lbs of clothing that morning, so off I set in the winter wonderland. (Snow fall is pretty magical if you take a moment to appreciate the beauty.)
I have no idea how much earlier I arrived but apparently all of our parents had a phone conference on bundling up and shipping us out that day because I was not the only kid to arrive earlier than normal.
Our bus stop was on a corner, just on a sidewalk, in a neighborhood, close to a white house. One of my schoolmates lived at that house. I'll never forget because on this morning his mom opened the door and had all of us kids at the bus stop come in their home to stay warm. She made us all a cup of hot cocoa and we sat there in their living room watching Scooby Doo.
I'll never forget that day and the kindness that was shown not only by the homeowners but all of the kids showed kindness and gratitude towards one and other. If there is one thing I know, is that I'm not sure this story could ever repeat itself in today's society.
First, it seems like this type of weather we went to school on this day, like any other winter day, would have school canceled today. Also I highly doubt anyone would just invite kids into their home for hot chocolate. Or, if they were invited in ,there would be one kid that would make up a crazy story about being mistreated; because that's why they see and hear on TV...kids are still kids, they all want attention.
There has been a very weird shift in society with the power that is often given to children. Want to know why all these kids have crazy allergies? They do not go outside and eat dirt anymore. I can't tell you how many mud pies I sampled as a young child. What to know what young kids are so whiny and complain? Because their every want is coddled to. They can go to school when it's cold (the school has heat). They don't need to have hand sanitizer every five seconds. Bad grades are deserved.
I really do not understand the mentality of most people today. They complain over things I would never think complaining about in a million years. They write comment cards and post on social media things they could never tell someone face-to-face. Passive-Aggressiveness rules our society and it's time for it to stop.
Our world would be a much better place if my snowy day at the bus stop could happen again in our society. But it won't. Because we are all too selfish to open our hearts and our homes. We are all to worried about making face. We are too preoccupied with what is in our walls. We are unable to have empathy to our fellow man. It's all about what's in it for me, not for us. I challenge you to stop today ,because I know you will find yourself doing this, and ask yourself why. Then ask yourself how can you be a better person? If you give a compliment to the fast food worker, they go home happy. If they go home happy, maybe they don't hit their child. If they do not hit their child tonight maybe they will not bully yours tomorrow. Everything has a domino effect. What kind of dominoes are you putting out into our world?
The bus stop was it's own animal. I am actually sitting here shaking my head thinking about all the craziness that would happen in a mere 15-20 minutes. It really quite amazing that no one every was seriously hurt --at least not physically.
Today I am on a time machine going back to a very cold and snowy day walking to the bus stop. My mom had done her best trying to wrap me up like Randy from a Christmas Story. How cold was it? I really cannot remember but if I had to guess, 20 degrees and lots of snow everywhere.
My mom thought I needed extra time to walk to the bus stop in my 20lbs of clothing that morning, so off I set in the winter wonderland. (Snow fall is pretty magical if you take a moment to appreciate the beauty.)
I have no idea how much earlier I arrived but apparently all of our parents had a phone conference on bundling up and shipping us out that day because I was not the only kid to arrive earlier than normal.
Our bus stop was on a corner, just on a sidewalk, in a neighborhood, close to a white house. One of my schoolmates lived at that house. I'll never forget because on this morning his mom opened the door and had all of us kids at the bus stop come in their home to stay warm. She made us all a cup of hot cocoa and we sat there in their living room watching Scooby Doo.
I'll never forget that day and the kindness that was shown not only by the homeowners but all of the kids showed kindness and gratitude towards one and other. If there is one thing I know, is that I'm not sure this story could ever repeat itself in today's society.
First, it seems like this type of weather we went to school on this day, like any other winter day, would have school canceled today. Also I highly doubt anyone would just invite kids into their home for hot chocolate. Or, if they were invited in ,there would be one kid that would make up a crazy story about being mistreated; because that's why they see and hear on TV...kids are still kids, they all want attention.
There has been a very weird shift in society with the power that is often given to children. Want to know why all these kids have crazy allergies? They do not go outside and eat dirt anymore. I can't tell you how many mud pies I sampled as a young child. What to know what young kids are so whiny and complain? Because their every want is coddled to. They can go to school when it's cold (the school has heat). They don't need to have hand sanitizer every five seconds. Bad grades are deserved.
I really do not understand the mentality of most people today. They complain over things I would never think complaining about in a million years. They write comment cards and post on social media things they could never tell someone face-to-face. Passive-Aggressiveness rules our society and it's time for it to stop.
Our world would be a much better place if my snowy day at the bus stop could happen again in our society. But it won't. Because we are all too selfish to open our hearts and our homes. We are all to worried about making face. We are too preoccupied with what is in our walls. We are unable to have empathy to our fellow man. It's all about what's in it for me, not for us. I challenge you to stop today ,because I know you will find yourself doing this, and ask yourself why. Then ask yourself how can you be a better person? If you give a compliment to the fast food worker, they go home happy. If they go home happy, maybe they don't hit their child. If they do not hit their child tonight maybe they will not bully yours tomorrow. Everything has a domino effect. What kind of dominoes are you putting out into our world?
Friday, November 14, 2014
Maybe it's Yourself
As I have spent a lot of this week drifting in and out of old memories I have also begun translating how past me has become present me. I have been a regular exerciser since the age of 15, 18 years.
I started running the summer after my Freshman year in High School. The reason I started running is another post altogether. Where my story begins today is my Junior year in High School.
1997. Young. Beautiful. Smart. Talented. And 100lbs. I should never weigh 100lbs.
The journey to this weight was a twisted vortex of control. I wore a size 2. It's unfathomable to me how sick I was...and how I still wanted to be thinner. Except...it's not really off my radar. To be thin. It's always there, a faint voice that can still shout doubt and depression into my core.
I shall reveal to you much more of this story that sadly too many other men and women know all too well at another time. Where I'd like to take you today is what happens after you starve yourself and exercise to death for years...to where I am now.
Believe it or not, I sit here today as a Fitness Professional. I have a Bachelor's in Exercise Science and a Master's in Public Health. I have been teaching group fitness since 1999 and have been a personal trainer since 2002. My internal battle of eating and exercise has never stopped; I've just learned to be a better General.
In college, I began to notice that something was wrong. I was eating well and exercising correctly and kept gaining weight. I was exhausted, sluggish...I wasn't me. I kept making appointment after appointment to see the doctor's at the student health center. I knew in my heart something was wrong with my thyroid. Test after test said no. But why was this happening to me?
Finally after graduate school as I landed my first "big-girl" job, I found a new family physician. I actually went in due to a knee injury but ended up saying something about my troubles nonchalantly. He said he wanted to do some tests, to which I replied, I've already had all the tests. Not this one, he told me.
About a week later, after a long five years, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. Basically I have antibodies in my thyroid that have decided my thyroid is a foreign object and has been slowly trying to kill my thyroid over the years. Hashi patients suffer because sometimes our thyroids spit out thyroid hormones and sometimes it does not. Many of us suffer severe hypothyroidism symptoms; such as myself. I now take a thyroid replacement every morning. I have my levels tested ever 4 months. And my roller coaster ride is never ending.
When I was at my lowest weight I felt powerful. Yes I was very sick. I was angry all the time. Hangry really. I was depressed. I thought everyone was out to get me. But I had control and it felt amazing. I've never forgotten how that feels. I crave it but my body works every second of every day against me.
The thing about Hashi's is you are on hell of a ride of the rest of your life. Even though I take thyroid hormone, my levels fluctuate most likely on a daily basis. Lots of the time, I feel great. I have energy, I'm happy, I'm healthy. Other times...not so great. Fatigue that I can't even begin to explain. Unmotivated. Depressed. The hardest part, for me, of having Hashi's is the weight fluctuation. It seriously does.not.matter. what I do, my body will gain and lose weight at it's will. I exercise most days of the week and my husband will tell you I'm a Ninja. I can eat like a rabbit or like a bear...it doesn't matter. I have no control.
I live in a world of getting ready to step on the scale, feeling good, and once I step on, my entire day shatters. I preach it's just a number...but after my complicated history...I can't stop. My happiness will often lie in if I am having a "fat day" or "skinny day." I am perpetually trying to lose weight. I want people to notice and comment if I look thinner and pray they do not notice if the scale has gone up. I feel that people judge me when I tell them my profession. Even though I have worked so hard to be where I am, I feel ashamed to tell them what I do; that I'm not good enough, that I don't look the part.
When will our society stop with the insanity that thinness is beauty? When can the insurance companies, drug companies, and doctors stop being money mongers and let diseases be cured. When will people stop being so cruel? I have a feeling the answer to the last question is never. How else can you feel good about yourself unless you are making someone else's day hell?
"Be Kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about."
-Cashier's do not make the rules at the store
-Fast Foot workers have feelings too
-The Bank Teller did not steal your money
Who can you be kinder to today to make our world a better place? Maybe it's yourself.
I started running the summer after my Freshman year in High School. The reason I started running is another post altogether. Where my story begins today is my Junior year in High School.
1997. Young. Beautiful. Smart. Talented. And 100lbs. I should never weigh 100lbs.
The journey to this weight was a twisted vortex of control. I wore a size 2. It's unfathomable to me how sick I was...and how I still wanted to be thinner. Except...it's not really off my radar. To be thin. It's always there, a faint voice that can still shout doubt and depression into my core.
I shall reveal to you much more of this story that sadly too many other men and women know all too well at another time. Where I'd like to take you today is what happens after you starve yourself and exercise to death for years...to where I am now.
Believe it or not, I sit here today as a Fitness Professional. I have a Bachelor's in Exercise Science and a Master's in Public Health. I have been teaching group fitness since 1999 and have been a personal trainer since 2002. My internal battle of eating and exercise has never stopped; I've just learned to be a better General.
In college, I began to notice that something was wrong. I was eating well and exercising correctly and kept gaining weight. I was exhausted, sluggish...I wasn't me. I kept making appointment after appointment to see the doctor's at the student health center. I knew in my heart something was wrong with my thyroid. Test after test said no. But why was this happening to me?
Finally after graduate school as I landed my first "big-girl" job, I found a new family physician. I actually went in due to a knee injury but ended up saying something about my troubles nonchalantly. He said he wanted to do some tests, to which I replied, I've already had all the tests. Not this one, he told me.
About a week later, after a long five years, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. Basically I have antibodies in my thyroid that have decided my thyroid is a foreign object and has been slowly trying to kill my thyroid over the years. Hashi patients suffer because sometimes our thyroids spit out thyroid hormones and sometimes it does not. Many of us suffer severe hypothyroidism symptoms; such as myself. I now take a thyroid replacement every morning. I have my levels tested ever 4 months. And my roller coaster ride is never ending.
When I was at my lowest weight I felt powerful. Yes I was very sick. I was angry all the time. Hangry really. I was depressed. I thought everyone was out to get me. But I had control and it felt amazing. I've never forgotten how that feels. I crave it but my body works every second of every day against me.
The thing about Hashi's is you are on hell of a ride of the rest of your life. Even though I take thyroid hormone, my levels fluctuate most likely on a daily basis. Lots of the time, I feel great. I have energy, I'm happy, I'm healthy. Other times...not so great. Fatigue that I can't even begin to explain. Unmotivated. Depressed. The hardest part, for me, of having Hashi's is the weight fluctuation. It seriously does.not.matter. what I do, my body will gain and lose weight at it's will. I exercise most days of the week and my husband will tell you I'm a Ninja. I can eat like a rabbit or like a bear...it doesn't matter. I have no control.
I live in a world of getting ready to step on the scale, feeling good, and once I step on, my entire day shatters. I preach it's just a number...but after my complicated history...I can't stop. My happiness will often lie in if I am having a "fat day" or "skinny day." I am perpetually trying to lose weight. I want people to notice and comment if I look thinner and pray they do not notice if the scale has gone up. I feel that people judge me when I tell them my profession. Even though I have worked so hard to be where I am, I feel ashamed to tell them what I do; that I'm not good enough, that I don't look the part.
When will our society stop with the insanity that thinness is beauty? When can the insurance companies, drug companies, and doctors stop being money mongers and let diseases be cured. When will people stop being so cruel? I have a feeling the answer to the last question is never. How else can you feel good about yourself unless you are making someone else's day hell?
"Be Kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about."
-Cashier's do not make the rules at the store
-Fast Foot workers have feelings too
-The Bank Teller did not steal your money
Who can you be kinder to today to make our world a better place? Maybe it's yourself.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Throwback Thursday
It's been quite some time since I have written a post. I have been thinking about getting back to it...and just had not found my door until this week.
I have a heavy heart and mind. Early this week I found out my Dad has cancer. Again. This will be his fourth bout. His first cancer was bladder. Then came thyroid. Then came kidney. I think that's the order. My father has no thyroid and only one kidney. The doctors have pinpointed this cancer to either be bladder or kidney. If it's kidney...well, Dad will most likely get one of my kidneys. We are all hoping for bladder, if you can hope for a type of cancer.
Obviously this has me thinking quite a bit about lots of things. The one thing I know is that I am not ready for my Dad to be gone. While it might be scary to donate a kidney, if that is what it comes to, I will gladly do so. This is what families and loved-ones do for each other.
So why the title Throwback Thursday? Because I find myself swimming in old family memories. I remember changing my nephews' diapers. I remember liking the brownie batter off the beaters. I remember Crabs the dog. I remember my first bike.
Before I dissolve into a puddle of tears, this post is taking a left turn.
I remember my brothers Matt and Mark playing WWF with me as the stunt-woman.
I was young...maybe five? Matt, Mark, and I visited Dad every other weekend. (Not to detour, but Matt and Mark are my half-brothers and we only saw each other during Dad weekends.) It was a Dad weekend in the 80s. WWF was IT. I don't know if really knew what in the world WWF was but I wanted to play with Matt and Mark and I wanted them to love me. So...I volunteered as tribute.
Being a WWF tribute consisted of Matt placing me over his shoulders and spinning in a circle as fast as he could, for what seemed like forever. (For the record, super fun.) THEN I would get thrown on the floor or water bed and Mark would drop a 'bow on me. (That part? Not super fun.) I would always end up crying and then Matt and Mark would get in trouble. We would all get mad at each...and then in about 20-minutes I would ask for a helicopter ride...rinse and repeat...
While my family and upbringing is anything far from traditional I love all my memories and lessons learned. I would give my kidney to any one of them. I miss those younger days, I miss my family being closer. But just because we are far apart in distance doesn't mean they are not as close in my heart.
I've never been super close with any of my family, in the terms I think many families are. But I hope they all know they are held closer in my heart than they think. Even if there has been blood and tears in the past.
I have a heavy heart and mind. Early this week I found out my Dad has cancer. Again. This will be his fourth bout. His first cancer was bladder. Then came thyroid. Then came kidney. I think that's the order. My father has no thyroid and only one kidney. The doctors have pinpointed this cancer to either be bladder or kidney. If it's kidney...well, Dad will most likely get one of my kidneys. We are all hoping for bladder, if you can hope for a type of cancer.
Obviously this has me thinking quite a bit about lots of things. The one thing I know is that I am not ready for my Dad to be gone. While it might be scary to donate a kidney, if that is what it comes to, I will gladly do so. This is what families and loved-ones do for each other.
So why the title Throwback Thursday? Because I find myself swimming in old family memories. I remember changing my nephews' diapers. I remember liking the brownie batter off the beaters. I remember Crabs the dog. I remember my first bike.
Before I dissolve into a puddle of tears, this post is taking a left turn.
I remember my brothers Matt and Mark playing WWF with me as the stunt-woman.
I was young...maybe five? Matt, Mark, and I visited Dad every other weekend. (Not to detour, but Matt and Mark are my half-brothers and we only saw each other during Dad weekends.) It was a Dad weekend in the 80s. WWF was IT. I don't know if really knew what in the world WWF was but I wanted to play with Matt and Mark and I wanted them to love me. So...I volunteered as tribute.
Being a WWF tribute consisted of Matt placing me over his shoulders and spinning in a circle as fast as he could, for what seemed like forever. (For the record, super fun.) THEN I would get thrown on the floor or water bed and Mark would drop a 'bow on me. (That part? Not super fun.) I would always end up crying and then Matt and Mark would get in trouble. We would all get mad at each...and then in about 20-minutes I would ask for a helicopter ride...rinse and repeat...
While my family and upbringing is anything far from traditional I love all my memories and lessons learned. I would give my kidney to any one of them. I miss those younger days, I miss my family being closer. But just because we are far apart in distance doesn't mean they are not as close in my heart.
I've never been super close with any of my family, in the terms I think many families are. But I hope they all know they are held closer in my heart than they think. Even if there has been blood and tears in the past.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Why Are You Running Away
One thing i have always prided myself on is being extremely perseverant. Which doesn't mean I've never run away. In fact I really would like to do so tonight.
Here I am on my iPhone trying to cure insomnia when I decide to open up my Blogger App. I have several post ideas saved and have been meaning to get back to writing. My case of insomnia tonight is related to a work issue. I've been searching and reflecting and I may have found an answer and lesson from my past.
When I was four years old I decided to run away from home one afternoon. That wasn't a typo. I decided. I remember the thought process. I can't really give you the why other than it seemed like a good idea.
What started out as something I thought was going to be a great joke turned into something quite scary. I've never been good at directions. When I thought I had been gone long enough, which was probably like 20-minutes, I decided to turn around and come back home. I ended up being completely turned around and ended up out along Route 20, which is a highway. I didn't have any shoes on. I was dirty and scared. I was crying and so upset with myself that I had let myself get so far away. There were people honking and shouting at me which was even more traumatic. I didn't think I'd ever get back home.
Then a beige Oldsmobile pulled up about two blocks away from me. An old man got out of the car and started to walk in my direction. Being taught about stranger danger I started to run in the opposite direction and then stopped. Something told me that this guy was ok, that he could help me. So I turned around and went to him.
"Little girl, are you lost?" he asked me. "Yes." I answered. "Let's get you home." He replied.
When we got into his car I started to tell him my address. He stopped me and said "I know."
Now I lived in the white ghetto and not too many people knew of my street name. He pulled right up to our trailer. I got out of the car and ran to meet my mom who was half way out the door. We hugged, turned around, and the man and the car was gone. It was like it had vanished out of thin air.
I told my mom what happened as best as I could at four. Even then I knew, my Guardian Angel had rescued me.
We never saw that beige Oldsmobile or that old man again. Even here at thirty-one, I feel like he saved my life that day. A day in which I thought it would be fun to run away. Where I learned at four years old you can't run away. That is what I am reminded of tonight. Perseverance.
I can't say that I'm not waiting for my Guardian Angel to show up and point me in the right direction. I am desperately seeking direction for what to do in my professional life. Yet maybe clicking on the draft of this post and remembering about that day so long ago is once again My Angel pointing me in the right direction.
I life with a full heart. I feel. Everything. My heart is heavy tonight yet I feel it turning into hope. I know the value of persevering. I just hope I'm getting pointed in the right direction.
Here I am on my iPhone trying to cure insomnia when I decide to open up my Blogger App. I have several post ideas saved and have been meaning to get back to writing. My case of insomnia tonight is related to a work issue. I've been searching and reflecting and I may have found an answer and lesson from my past.
When I was four years old I decided to run away from home one afternoon. That wasn't a typo. I decided. I remember the thought process. I can't really give you the why other than it seemed like a good idea.
What started out as something I thought was going to be a great joke turned into something quite scary. I've never been good at directions. When I thought I had been gone long enough, which was probably like 20-minutes, I decided to turn around and come back home. I ended up being completely turned around and ended up out along Route 20, which is a highway. I didn't have any shoes on. I was dirty and scared. I was crying and so upset with myself that I had let myself get so far away. There were people honking and shouting at me which was even more traumatic. I didn't think I'd ever get back home.
Then a beige Oldsmobile pulled up about two blocks away from me. An old man got out of the car and started to walk in my direction. Being taught about stranger danger I started to run in the opposite direction and then stopped. Something told me that this guy was ok, that he could help me. So I turned around and went to him.
"Little girl, are you lost?" he asked me. "Yes." I answered. "Let's get you home." He replied.
When we got into his car I started to tell him my address. He stopped me and said "I know."
Now I lived in the white ghetto and not too many people knew of my street name. He pulled right up to our trailer. I got out of the car and ran to meet my mom who was half way out the door. We hugged, turned around, and the man and the car was gone. It was like it had vanished out of thin air.
I told my mom what happened as best as I could at four. Even then I knew, my Guardian Angel had rescued me.
We never saw that beige Oldsmobile or that old man again. Even here at thirty-one, I feel like he saved my life that day. A day in which I thought it would be fun to run away. Where I learned at four years old you can't run away. That is what I am reminded of tonight. Perseverance.
I can't say that I'm not waiting for my Guardian Angel to show up and point me in the right direction. I am desperately seeking direction for what to do in my professional life. Yet maybe clicking on the draft of this post and remembering about that day so long ago is once again My Angel pointing me in the right direction.
I life with a full heart. I feel. Everything. My heart is heavy tonight yet I feel it turning into hope. I know the value of persevering. I just hope I'm getting pointed in the right direction.
Friday, December 14, 2012
My Religion
I have been meaning to write another entry for quite some time. My work schedule has been even more crazy that usual. Tonight finds me home alone. I've wrapped presents while watching "Elf", indulged in wine and pizza, and now have settled down with my thoughts. Since it's The End of the World as We Know it, it just so happens I have a childhood story for you.
Growing up I was surrounded by religion. My Grandmother was a devout Christian. I have memories upon memories of her singing hymns, reading the bible, and watching her write in her bible. I loved my Grandmother deeply. She was and is my musical inspiration. It is no surprise that I wanted to go to church with her. I remember her taking me to bible school as a small child, no more than four. We would sing and make crafts. I loved church. Grandma even gave me a pocket-sized Old Testament of my very own.
I learned to read at an early age and Grandma liked to read stories from the bible to me. My favorite was about Lazarus, because he was poor just like me. I can remember praying to God and thinking about Lazarus. And maybe if I prayed hard enough and if I was good enough he would help my mom and I too.
My Grandmother was a Baptist. I was "saved" at four years old. That's right. A four-year old little red haired girl walked up the aisle, kneeled at the alter, and asked Jesus into her heart. Do you know why? Because I was so scared that Jesus hated me and would send me to hell if I didn't.
Fast-forward a few years...
We had a Baptist church right around the corner from our trailer. My best-friend was a member of the church. I stopped going to church with Grandma and started going to church with my bestie. We were in a group called G.A.s. I know we went to church at least twice a week.
If my Grandma was a devout Christian, my friend and her family were on the path to sainthood. It was intense. I can remember being told that I was a horrible sinner and that if I didn't ask Jesus into my heart every Sunday I would go to hell.
Every Sunday a red-haired girl would walk up the aisle, kneel at the alter, and ask Jesus into her heart. Every. Sunday.
I thought I only had to do it once. That's what Grandma said but she was old, so I didn't question the ritual.
Fast Forward...
In my lifetime I have been a Baptist, a Presbyterian, a Methodist, Agnostic, and now a Buddhist.
In my life organized religion has only made me hate myself and fear that every decision, every action I performed was a sin...and even if I prayed for forgiveness, I would ultimately go to hell.
December 21st is suppose to be the end of the world. Do you know even though I have grown and logically told myself that this is a bunch of hoopla I'm still scared? I still see the pastor, the congregation, and my friends' eyes on me...telling me to walk to the alter to ask forgiveness of my sins. I'm afraid that even though I know in my heart of hearts I am a good person, it just won't be enough.
I know that I am good person and the feeling of being judged by "God" just isn't right. Everyone makes mistakes. Are mine really so horrible that I should die or have a horrible afterlife due to them?
This is what attracted to me to my current practice of Buddhism. When I chant I chant for my well-being and the well-being of others. There are no guilt feelings...no pain...no fear. I practice alone. There is no one telling me I am a horrible sinner. I just am. I am me. I have wants, desires, needs, and a will for the best of life. Not only that but I wish it for those around me.
If being myself and doing the good in my heart is not good enough for God, who is this God anyway? It's good enough for me. I'm so angry at times with all the guilt and fear that was instilled in myself by organized religion. It hurts. At times I just can't let it go.
I really believe the world would be a better place if people just kept religion to themselves. I don't care what you practice. I care if you are good, and kind, and fair.
Isn't that what is most important? Love? Acceptance?
And now do yourself a favor and listen to Imagine by John Lennon.
Growing up I was surrounded by religion. My Grandmother was a devout Christian. I have memories upon memories of her singing hymns, reading the bible, and watching her write in her bible. I loved my Grandmother deeply. She was and is my musical inspiration. It is no surprise that I wanted to go to church with her. I remember her taking me to bible school as a small child, no more than four. We would sing and make crafts. I loved church. Grandma even gave me a pocket-sized Old Testament of my very own.
I learned to read at an early age and Grandma liked to read stories from the bible to me. My favorite was about Lazarus, because he was poor just like me. I can remember praying to God and thinking about Lazarus. And maybe if I prayed hard enough and if I was good enough he would help my mom and I too.
My Grandmother was a Baptist. I was "saved" at four years old. That's right. A four-year old little red haired girl walked up the aisle, kneeled at the alter, and asked Jesus into her heart. Do you know why? Because I was so scared that Jesus hated me and would send me to hell if I didn't.
Fast-forward a few years...
We had a Baptist church right around the corner from our trailer. My best-friend was a member of the church. I stopped going to church with Grandma and started going to church with my bestie. We were in a group called G.A.s. I know we went to church at least twice a week.
If my Grandma was a devout Christian, my friend and her family were on the path to sainthood. It was intense. I can remember being told that I was a horrible sinner and that if I didn't ask Jesus into my heart every Sunday I would go to hell.
Every Sunday a red-haired girl would walk up the aisle, kneel at the alter, and ask Jesus into her heart. Every. Sunday.
I thought I only had to do it once. That's what Grandma said but she was old, so I didn't question the ritual.
Fast Forward...
In my lifetime I have been a Baptist, a Presbyterian, a Methodist, Agnostic, and now a Buddhist.
In my life organized religion has only made me hate myself and fear that every decision, every action I performed was a sin...and even if I prayed for forgiveness, I would ultimately go to hell.
December 21st is suppose to be the end of the world. Do you know even though I have grown and logically told myself that this is a bunch of hoopla I'm still scared? I still see the pastor, the congregation, and my friends' eyes on me...telling me to walk to the alter to ask forgiveness of my sins. I'm afraid that even though I know in my heart of hearts I am a good person, it just won't be enough.
I know that I am good person and the feeling of being judged by "God" just isn't right. Everyone makes mistakes. Are mine really so horrible that I should die or have a horrible afterlife due to them?
This is what attracted to me to my current practice of Buddhism. When I chant I chant for my well-being and the well-being of others. There are no guilt feelings...no pain...no fear. I practice alone. There is no one telling me I am a horrible sinner. I just am. I am me. I have wants, desires, needs, and a will for the best of life. Not only that but I wish it for those around me.
If being myself and doing the good in my heart is not good enough for God, who is this God anyway? It's good enough for me. I'm so angry at times with all the guilt and fear that was instilled in myself by organized religion. It hurts. At times I just can't let it go.
I really believe the world would be a better place if people just kept religion to themselves. I don't care what you practice. I care if you are good, and kind, and fair.
Isn't that what is most important? Love? Acceptance?
And now do yourself a favor and listen to Imagine by John Lennon.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Who?
I remember when the first Nintendo came out.
Well...after just checking a few sources it says that the Nintendo came to the US in October of 1985. I was four. So maybe I remember when it became popular in my little corn country Ohio town.
My memory is at around the age of nine. Mario Brothers was THE game. Everyone was trying to save the Princess. My best friends family were first to get a console. I can remember playing for hours on end. Not just Mario. My favorite was some cave man game where you could throw people around be the hair. I also quite enjoyed beach volleyball but make no mistake, Mario was my ultimate favorite.
I wanted my own Nintendo so bad. I put a magic spell on my dad and did get one that Christmas. The only game I had was Mario but that was A OK with me! I still have never saved the Princess. I know, right? Never saving the Princess makes sense because I remember friends getting Mario 2...and then Super Nintendo and my favorite game of all time, Mario 3.
I loved being that damn flying raccoon.
Also Tetris and in my much older days, drunk Tetris. We still have a original Nintendo, jealous?
What prompted me to write about Nintendo is the current ideal that gamers are geeks. I keep seeing all of this Nintendo and gaming stuff on Pinterest in the Geek category. (Geek category is the first place a look thank you.)
How is it that back in the late 80s early 90s everyone was playing Mario and it was cool. Now it's a geek almost hipster thing? Please. It's not like you have to be smart to play video games. Or a geek. Or a dude. Or anything.
My husband and I were chatting in the living room yesterday and I was telling him about my endocrinologist appointment.
I guess in this blog post you get a glimpse of who I am now.
I have been waiting to go to this appointment for two months. That is how long it took to get in to see this guy. I have been dealing with trying to find the proper treatment of hashimotos thyroiditis. I was diagnosed in the fall of 2007. It's a constant battle and right now it seems that my hashi's may be switching to grave's disease. Case in point why I am now at a specialist.
I digress...
Back to the living room. I was telling the hubs how my appointment went. My doctor asked what I do for fun. I said yoga and "Oh! My husband and I are really into Doctor Who right now." Which gave him a good laugh for about a minute. I hope that meant he's a Whovian.
So Jon the husband gets all philosophical with me as I am sitting on the arm of the couch.
"...Being a fitness director and liking Doctor Who isn't a typical combination. People who are into sports are typically into nerdy things...P.T.I makes fun of Lord of the Rings...why can't I like sports and like Lord of the Rings?..."
Which brings me to the fact that I can't wrap around my head that gaming is a geek thing. And why can't I like sports too? Why does it have to be a nerdy thing to do to watch Doctor Who, Lord of the Rings, or the like? They are all quite fantastic.
It really bothers me that having a brain in this society makes you a geek. But being 16 and pregnant makes you a star on MTV. Our Nation really needs to get its priorities straight. In fact, I bet if more people did "nerdy" things, our society would reap the benefits because it actually makes you think. I guess that is...if you know how to think.
Well...after just checking a few sources it says that the Nintendo came to the US in October of 1985. I was four. So maybe I remember when it became popular in my little corn country Ohio town.
My memory is at around the age of nine. Mario Brothers was THE game. Everyone was trying to save the Princess. My best friends family were first to get a console. I can remember playing for hours on end. Not just Mario. My favorite was some cave man game where you could throw people around be the hair. I also quite enjoyed beach volleyball but make no mistake, Mario was my ultimate favorite.
I wanted my own Nintendo so bad. I put a magic spell on my dad and did get one that Christmas. The only game I had was Mario but that was A OK with me! I still have never saved the Princess. I know, right? Never saving the Princess makes sense because I remember friends getting Mario 2...and then Super Nintendo and my favorite game of all time, Mario 3.
I loved being that damn flying raccoon.
Also Tetris and in my much older days, drunk Tetris. We still have a original Nintendo, jealous?
What prompted me to write about Nintendo is the current ideal that gamers are geeks. I keep seeing all of this Nintendo and gaming stuff on Pinterest in the Geek category. (Geek category is the first place a look thank you.)
How is it that back in the late 80s early 90s everyone was playing Mario and it was cool. Now it's a geek almost hipster thing? Please. It's not like you have to be smart to play video games. Or a geek. Or a dude. Or anything.
My husband and I were chatting in the living room yesterday and I was telling him about my endocrinologist appointment.
I guess in this blog post you get a glimpse of who I am now.
I have been waiting to go to this appointment for two months. That is how long it took to get in to see this guy. I have been dealing with trying to find the proper treatment of hashimotos thyroiditis. I was diagnosed in the fall of 2007. It's a constant battle and right now it seems that my hashi's may be switching to grave's disease. Case in point why I am now at a specialist.
I digress...
Back to the living room. I was telling the hubs how my appointment went. My doctor asked what I do for fun. I said yoga and "Oh! My husband and I are really into Doctor Who right now." Which gave him a good laugh for about a minute. I hope that meant he's a Whovian.
So Jon the husband gets all philosophical with me as I am sitting on the arm of the couch.
"...Being a fitness director and liking Doctor Who isn't a typical combination. People who are into sports are typically into nerdy things...P.T.I makes fun of Lord of the Rings...why can't I like sports and like Lord of the Rings?..."
Which brings me to the fact that I can't wrap around my head that gaming is a geek thing. And why can't I like sports too? Why does it have to be a nerdy thing to do to watch Doctor Who, Lord of the Rings, or the like? They are all quite fantastic.
It really bothers me that having a brain in this society makes you a geek. But being 16 and pregnant makes you a star on MTV. Our Nation really needs to get its priorities straight. In fact, I bet if more people did "nerdy" things, our society would reap the benefits because it actually makes you think. I guess that is...if you know how to think.
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