How NOT to Talk to Women

Originally posted two years ago on an old blog, I had to repost this one when it popped up in my Facebook memories today and made me laugh...

How NOT to Talk to Women

18.5 years of marriage warrants a few lessons learned, yes? My favorite color, how I don’t like cheese, my abhorrence for camping...random things. You might even believe 18.5 years brought an understanding, albeit small, of how NOT to talk to me. Let me explain.

Correct way: “Hey, would you mind throwing in a load of ______ for me?”

Incorrect way: “You planning to do laundry anytime soon?”

See the difference there? One expresses a need, asks in a non-condescending way, and isn't the least bit asinine. 

That brings us to the fodder for today’s lesson. Imagine, if you will, a three pound jar of rock sugar. This sugar is used exclusively for the over-priced loose leaf chai tea I order online (Seriously, it’s pretty fan-freaking-tastic). Imagine the jar, completely full, slipping from your grasp, catching the edge of the granite countertop, then slamming into your knee on the way down. Glass … EVERYWHERE … the precious rock sugar … EVERYWHERE … me standing in a pile of rock sugar littered with glass shards … me being sad. *sniff* 
Wes jumped up and said, “What happened? Are you okay?” THIS was an appropriate response. I would've later lavished him with praise had he JUST STOPPED RIGHT THERE!  But did he stop? No, he didn’t.

The next sentence went something like this, “You really shouldn’t use glass at all because you break things constantly.” 

Yep, that definitely negated the original two questions intimating concern and interest in my well-being. Gone. Nada. Zip. Open mouth, insert foot.
The next twenty minutes were spent explaining to this creature with the XY chromosomes why comforting someone does NOT, in fact, allow for statements of this nature. He made the mistake of asking the youngest child her opinion on the matter. THAT conversation went something like this:

Triumphantly, believing he will be victorious, he asks, “Katlyn, remember when you busted your eye open last year, and I came into school? Was I comforting?”

Katlyn, looking incredulous, says, “Um, NO! You told me that it looked like I was growing another eye, and that if we put a marble in it, I really would have a third eye.”

I’m afraid I was unable to contain my glee. I may have DID gloat a little. Fortunately, I think he’s cute, so I didn’t rub it in … too much.

Fast forward one week...

The Consequences For Lecturing Your Wife

Recall, if you will, the previous story involving the husband who wandered into the danger zone of How NOT To Talk To Women. To sum it up, broken jar, glass everywhere, precious rock sugar ruined, inability to drink wonderful chai… then husband with his foot in his mouth.

After the sad debacle in which I said goodbye to my rock sugar, and listened to my husband lecture me, I decided online therapy would heal my wounded soul. The sting from his unsympathetic judgment faded as I used his card to purchase the sugar along with more chai to make up the free shipping difference.

Thanks, Wesley … you should lecture me more often! I fancy some new shoes next!

"YOU Have A Tattoo?"

"YOU Have A Tattoo?"

Forget what you think you know about tattoos for just a minute...

"YOU have a tattoo?" I can't tell you how many times I've heard this question with an incredulous tone in the last fifteen years. Wait...FIFTEEN YEARS?  Yeah, that's right, I said FIFTEEN YEARS!  I had my first tattoo done when I was in my mid twenties.  Yeah, yeah, yeah...a lady never says how old she is.  I'm 39 and proud.  It's just a number.  Moving on...

I'm just going to put this out there...

The stigma of the lower back tattoo is narrow-minded.  For those who prefer to call it a tramp stamp, more power to you.  I've been married for TWENTY years to the same man I started dating at sixteen.  If that makes me a tramp, well... *shrugs*  My first tattoo was done for the same reason as my second tattoo.  FOR ME.  

Whoa.  Wait a minute. What did she say...

*GASP* For ME? I walked into the tattoo studio completely sober, aware of my surroundings, after contemplating what I wanted for months (two years on the second one). Then I sat down and talked with the artist who listened to me describe what I wanted and started drawing.  Right there.  While I spoke. I didn't put it on my lower back because it was a fad. I did it because it was there for ME.  It rarely showed, I wasn't having one done to prove a point, and I didn't care if anyone else ever saw it.  I. Did. It. For. Me.  I was 24 years old, a wife and mother, and I wanted one little thing that was purely for my own sense of self-expression and individuality.  It was vines, roses, and a blue butterfly that reminds me of Absolem (after he hatches from his cocoon) from Alice in Wonderland. I'm a Wonderland fiend, and it's very symbolic.  

Fast forward 15 years...

I spent about two years contemplating adding to my tattoo.  I have NEVER regretted my first tattoo, and I really wanted to add to it.  I've evolved a great deal over the last couple of years, and I really wanted to find an artistic way to express that.  Again...for ME.  I know all of the super conservatives may be thinking, "But what about Wes?  You're married!  What does HE think?"  I'll answer that for you right now.  He. Does. Not. Care.  He says it is MY body, that he doesn't have an opinion one way or the other, and that if it's really what I want, then that's for me to decide.   I realize that might be unpopular in some circles, but that's honestly what he said.  I'm not harming myself, I'm expressing myself in my own way.   

For those curious why I chose the tattoo I did...

I worked with a VERY talented artist here in Arkansas.  I spent an hour talking to her about what I wanted, showing her ideas, and explaining why it was important to me.  She took those thoughts and ran with them, and she created a beautiful piece of art...and...I. Love. It.  

Yeah, that's right, I love it...

I'm an avid reader. Although I work in the indie publishing industry, I've been passionate about books since I was a child. My aunt Julia worked at a library, and she always gave us books at Christmas.  Those books, along with Scholastic school flyers, fostered my passion for reading.  Books are not only my career, but they are also my passion...since childhood.  I chose the books I did based on their influence in my earlier years of reading. 

It wasn't impulsive, random, or chosen from a picture on the wall...

The lamp post represents Narnia and the lamp post that grew in the newly formed Narnia in the book The Magician's Nephew and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  The subsequent signs speak for themselves and all represent books that were the foundation of my passion.  It was SO hard to choose which signs to add, but I spent a lot of time thinking about what to add.  Yelicia added her artistic flair to it, and I'm so happy with the end result.  It feels like ME, and that's all that it's about.  After 21+ years of being a wife and mom, it's completely acceptable for me to have something that defines me, that brings me happiness, and that represents a journey that brought me to where I am today.

Don't make assumptions...

I am NOT ashamed or embarrassed to show my tattoo.  Although asked, I did not show it to anyone during our Thanksgiving trip.  Large tattoos are not pretty when they are healing, and I wasn't ready to show it then aside from providing the picture taken at the studio.  Ask me the next time you see me.  I might let you see it...if I'm in the right mood. *wink* Questions don't offend me.  I'm completely confident about my decision, and I'm happy to explain it.  All I ask is that you don't judge me based on your own preferences.  I'm happy with the decision I made.

For those curious...

Yes, it hurt. A lot. It's on my SPINE, after all.  But so does childbirth and seven abdominal surgeries.  This was a journey.  It took 3 sessions for a total of 7.5 hours to complete my tattoo.  Yelicia incorporated it with my first tattoo and she blended it so that it's cohesive and, in my opinion, so beautiful. It was worth the pain.

So basically....

It's ME.  It makes me happy.  I love it.  So if you don't understand, that's absolutely okay.  You don't have to.  

It's mine.  And I love it.

This was immediately after my tattoo was finished.  

Curious about my previous blogs?  Click here <---- !!!

Choosing Adoption after Infertility

On October 20, 2005 we stood before a judge in Wichita Falls, TX while he signed papers officially giving this little girl our last name. She was our baby long before this day, but that signature signified the end of a very long journey to complete our family. 

Prior to adoption we spent five years struggling with infertility.  Since we were overseas while Wes served in the Air Force, we did the bulk of our infertility treatments in a foreign country, with a crooked doctor.  He was a terrible man, that doctor.  But that is a subject for another blog post (Here, if you're curious) because this one is about a little girl who charged into our lives at full throttle and continues to keep us on our toes every day. 

Even though we lived across the Atlantic on the day she was born, we already knew she would be in our lives one day.  We knew the situation she was born into was not a good one. Call it intuition, call it a gut feeling, but we knew. This tiny girl came into the world at 29 weeks weighing only 2lbs and 2oz. She spent the first two months of her life in the NICU.  Preemies come into the world fighting, and so many of them retain that spunky, driven personality as they grow up.  Ours did.  

Although blessed to spend time with her a couple of times in the first year of her life, she didn't come to us until she was a year old.  From the moment we told Caleb he was going to have a little sister, he immediately accepted that she was part of our family.   He would draw pictures of his family and include her despite the fact she wasn't with us yet.  There was no transition necessary, no jealousy, no need to have it explained repeatedly.  He just accepted he didn't have a sister before but did now.  Children have such beautiful hearts.

I wish I could tell you we all adjusted that easily.  This tiny girl turned our household upside down, but from the very first moment I took her in my arms, she was MY baby...our baby. She was behind developmentally, as preemies often are. She had separation anxiety, and she would scream like a banshee if I left the room.  WOW could that girl scream.  But I took up yoga to keep my sanity, Wes learned to FINALLY change diapers (not so much with Caleb—okay, EVER), and we all adjusted slowly but surely.

We never hid Katlyn's adoption from her.  We celebrated it.  We told her how special she was, she completed our family, she was the answer to all of the prayers and the heartache we endured to complete our family. We told her we knew we were supposed to be a family of four—she was the answer to all of the whys and hows and longing. However, although we were open about the subject, we didn't share the origins and details behind her adoption with her until just recently. Not every story of adoption begins with beautiful sacrifice by people who just want better for their offspring.  Wes and I agreed early we'd never lie to her.  Because no matter what would happen later in life, we wanted her to know she could depend on us for honesty and support and answers where we could provide them. Reality is sometimes people are selfish and not everyone who CAN have children should...and frankly, sometimes they just plain suck.

I've spent the last nearly 18 years as a mother teaching my children that LOVE IS A CHOICE.  Every single day we wake up and choose to love.  It's not an accident, no special formula exists. I've told them time and again that being a parent isn't about who biologically creates you.  It's those who are there for you as you grow up.  The ones who take care of you when you're sick, hug you after the millionth tantrum, potty train you, teach you to ride a bike, help you learn morals, make you do your homework, provide for you, sacrifice for you...put you first.  Being a parent is setting aside selfish desires.  It's being there for your children SO much they can take you for granted.  Because at the end of the day, every child SHOULD be able to assume their parents will be there for them and love them...unconditionally.  

Being a parent is one of the hardest jobs in the world.  It's also one of the most rewarding.  Your children can simultaneously love you and hate you...revere you and despise you...want to be with you but detest being in your presence.  They will take you for granted, stomp on your heart, then put their arms around you and meld the pieces of your heart together once again. 

God blessed us with the opportunity to adopt after we'd given up on having more children.  And as we've told Katlyn a million times, where we thought His answer was no, it was really that we just needed to wait because His plan was a bit different.  

And we wouldn't change it for the world.

Happy adoption day, Katlyn.  Thank you for completing our family. We love you unconditionally, we love you forever, and you are our baby girl now and always.

If you've NEVER been ANXIOUS, don't read this!!!

Habits are Hard to Break

I literally deleted the first sentence four times.  I was going to try and be funny, you know, to deflect.  Instead, I'll leave you with this and move on...

No, but seriously...

It's been a crazy whirlwind the last few weeks.  Lots of change, lots of adjustments, and a lot of stretching that ever-growing comfort zone.  Surprisingly enough, the most uncomfortable stretch I'm struggling with currently isn't about my job or my family...it's how I see myself...my self-worth. 

*GASP*

Before you shake your head in disbelief, let me just preempt your arguments.  So what if I'm outgoing and active online?  So what if I have a quirky sense of humor, love to laugh, and act goofy more times than not?  All of those things are true, no doubt.  But that doesn't change that many of us have insecurities and negative habits where our self-worth is concerned.  I've previously mentioned body image (HERE if you're curious) and being introverted (HERE if you're further curious) and even my constant need to apologize for over clarifying (HERE if you have the same problem habit).

One of my favorite books (and it's a decent movie) is The Secret Life of Bees.  The book follows a teenage girl as she leaves home to search for answers and fill the holes in her life...in her heart. Lily feels that she is unlovable. There's far more to it than just the little bit I'm hinting at here.  The cast is a powerhouse team of beautiful women during the Civil Rights era.  It's a story...or a journey really...of heartache, searching, and ultimately love and acceptance. I never get tired of re-reading it or even watching the movie. In fact, I think I'm about due again.  I suggest the ebook because you're going to highlight. Just saying.

I'm going to get kind of serious here, so beware...you've been warned.

"Lily feels that she is unlovable." <--- Did you read that up there? The first time I watched the movie, the moment she admits that wrecked me.  Why?  Because I've spent the majority of my life feeling unlovable.  I'm already rolling my eyes right now because this is the point where everyone wants to argue with someone when they say something like that.  Don't do it.  Just stop where you are and realize there's another message to this blog post.  YES, I've been married for 20 years, yes I have two children, and yes I have family that loves me.  But we all have pasts.  The older we get, the more mistakes we make in life.  It's a part of human nature.  Somewhere early on a tiny seed of self-doubt began to grow, and then the belief that I was inherently not enough blossomed. I had a knack for choosing the wrong people to trust, and it chipped away at my confidence and security to the point that I built a wall I kept firmly between me and the rest of the world.

For a long time I had the tendency to gravitate towards people with super outgoing, magnetic personalities that had so many friends there was always a disposable rotation of them.  I could comfortably be my introverted self and watch, listen, and go along with whatever they wanted.  Because I was just okay being included in their presence and that they seemingly wanted me around.  *I'm gagging at myself a little here*  I mean, seriously, how gross is that? The last time a friendship like that went badly, I realized (after a lengthy heartbroken period) that the fact remained the "friendship" meant far more to me than it did to the other individual.  I completely removed myself from any chances of getting to know someone to the point that I'd get attached...for years. I really and truly thought something was wrong with ME. Another point that solidified that was when someone I worked with awhile ago mistook my sincerity and desire to be a good coworker as some needy desire to be friends.  And this person actually said something along the lines, "I think the problem here is that you just want us to be good friends." OhMyGosh.  WHAT?!?!?! That was SUCH a humiliating moment for me because I wasn't even thinking along those lines, and it made me feel like people must see me as some gross, needy person.  Ugh.  I was hurt for a long time about that until I realized the problem was with that person, not me. Aside from my inability to choose wisely, I'm starting to see more that I'm not some terribly flawed individual. I'm ME.  And why does that have to be wrong?

As for that wall I retreated behind, wow has God been removing bricks for the last couple of years. Recently, I followed a link from a tweet that caught my attention. I started reading an article and stumbled onto a name that someone previously mentioned.  I hadn't dug into Brené Brown's work much yet, but this article made me stop and pay attention.  This quote absolutely whacked me upside my thick skull, "... a pervasive sense of shame makes many of us—particularly in America—feel unworthy of human connection. Why the shame? Because in this perfectionistic culture, most of us believe we’re “not good enough . . . not thin enough, rich enough, beautiful enough, smart enough, promoted enough” to be worthy of love. So we can’t afford to let our guard down, become vulnerable, because letting others see us as we really are would mean we’d be rejected out of hand. Better to avoid emotional risk, avoid vulnerability, and numb ourselves to any pain we can’t escape. "  I might've cried when I read that.  Because it resonated.  Hard.

We all struggle in some form or another in life.  And my knee-jerk reaction to hide behind a wall of self-protection might keep me from feeling the vulnerability that Brené Brown described is normal but not the best solution.

This amazing quote came across my path, and it aptly describes human nature far better than I can.

We are NOT islands unto ourselves, and human nature craves the connection of others...the acceptance...feeling a part of something.  And when we feel as though others we value pull away or keep us at arm's length, it fuels that self-doubt.  It's yet another reason why it is so important to choose wisely when looking for our tribe.  I hope to find my tribe someday.  That safe place where I feel like it's okay to just relax and be me without second-guessing when they will get annoyed with me and pull away.

Fast forward a couple of weeks...

Second serious warning (no seriously, I'm going to be super honest here)...

A very dear friend sent me a link to a video recently, and on further inspection I found an entire article on the subject.  We've all heard about anxiety, but I NEVER classified myself as having anxiety.  I've known people with very debilitating anxiety, and I DO NOT struggle with that.  I function quite well, go about my business, and do what needs to be done without issue. But this article was about high-functioning anxiety.  Wait.  What?  Yeah, high-functioning anxiety . It's a thing.  I'll tell you right now that NOT EVERY SINGLE THING in the article or video were me.  But many were.  My mouth kind of hung open.  I watched it a second time.  I read the article.  I nodded.  I shook my head a few times in disagreement too.  The opening lines to the article go like this:

High-functioning anxiety looks like…Achievement. Busyness. Perfectionism.

HUH?  That's a bad thing?  No, it's not.  *She argues in disbelief* But then it goes on further down:

High-functioning anxiety sounds like…You’re not good enough. You’re a bad friend. You’re not good at your job. You’re wasting time. You’re a waste of time. Your boyfriend doesn’t love you. You’re so needy. What are you doing with yourself? Why would you say that? What if they hate it? Why can’t you have your shit together? You’re going to get anxious and because you’re going to get anxious, you’re going to mess everything up. You’re a fraud. Just good at faking it. You’re letting everybody down. No one here likes you.

All the while, it appears perfectly calm. (<--- Oh snap. *sigh* Okay, I'm listening now.)

Are you curious about the rest?  Read the full article right HERE. Needless to say, the more I read, the more I realized that even if I didn't possess all of the qualities, there were enough similarities to stop and pay attention.  It's not worth going into which ones I resonated with and which ones I didn't.  The important thing is that by the end of the article I wasn't sure if I felt sad, relieved, enlightened, empowered...all of the above? The fact that someone else understood what I meant blew my mind. The friend who sent it to me got it.  The woman writing the article got it. I found myself at a consultation for a new tattoo today talking about anxiety with the tattoo artists, and they GOT IT. In fact, they brought it up first! These two lovely, talented women were sitting there talking about many of the same things from the article.  

So what's the point in all of this? It all clicked for me.  I found a connection in my anxiousness, my self-doubt, my desire to protect myself from vulnerability, my busy mind and need to stay in motion...

I HAVE to find a place of self-acceptance.  I HAVE to stop putting myself under a microscope and seeking flaws.  It sounds easier than it truly is.  And I know I won't wake up tomorrow feeling magically better.  Even this week I've struggled with people I care about pulling back from me and feeling as though there was just something inherently wrong with me that pushed people away. That I was just "too much" for anyone but my own immediate family. (No seriously, please don't do that arguing thing. It just makes me uncomfortable, and this honesty stuff is hard enough. No one said self-doubt makes sense.)  Vulnerability is SO hard, yet it's necessary in order to find that elusive TRIBE our hearts seek. Yet behind the anxiousness and doubt, I have this strong sense that it must surely be worth it.  Because there's a special place in life for people who love you unconditionally without the ties of being related...just that they love you for you, in spite of you, because of YOU. 

And I'll get there. I'm trying. And as frightening as it is to post this, to be so open and vulnerable, I know that others must surely feel the same.  And what if posting it means even one other person feels less alone? If two ladies I meet for the first time are talking about the very things I read in an article--less than 24 hrs after reading it--that's not an accident.  And maybe I'm SUPPOSED to share. Okay God, I'm listening.

*Deep breath*

And YOURSELF.  Love yourself just as hard.  Because you matter.

And So She Jumped...

Why the ellipses?  First of all, I really dig them.  I feel like it means I'm not quite finished.  Some people get into the semicolon—I like ellipses...

A couple of years go I was this quiet introvert attempting to go through life as unseen as possible.  I've mentioned my comfort zone many times, and I will continue to do so.  Because it's relevant...

I'm sure it's no surprise that I love books. (I didn't get the title #bookpusher just randomly, you know). I'll always be ready to recommend my favorites.  I downloaded a book by an indie author, and I was swept away—then I downloaded more.  I reached out to thank her for such great stories, and like social media tends to do, it led to more...*shrugs* I found out she would be traveling through my area a couple of summers ago, threw together a small meet and greet, and had the chance to meet her in person...

Something significant that stood out to me the more I learned about her was she had reinvented herself.  She set goals, she met them, set new ones...you see where this is going.  She didn't let being uncomfortable deter her from doing things in life.  That was exactly what I'd always done, and I was pretty tired of myself. Rather than seeing life as full of adventures and possibilities, I felt like I had to keep my comfort zone sweater tightly clasped around me.  I wanted to keep people at a distance because I'd been hurt and thought it was the only way to protect myself.  Here's where the real transformation took place... (<--- just love those)

As much as I never liked calling attention to myself, I have always loved supporting, praising, and watching others be successful from behind the scenes.  I was a teacher's assistant in high school for three years, and my last job before my oldest was born was working as a personal assistant for a business owner where we lived at the time. I'd never worked in social media, but despite my hesitance I really felt like I could do it. Well, I hoped I could...

Something amazing happened in the process of the new adventure.  I started to grow as an individual.  I started doing things I would've never even considered previously.  Readers trips where I had to *gulp* talk in front of everyone?  No way, that's crazy.  They would think I was stupid. Managing an ever-growing group of people and having to be "on" personality-wise all of the time?  Not possible. I'd sound stupid.  No one would tolerate me. THOSE are the thoughts I had.  But here's the REAL magic.  The more I got to know readers, the more I realized a common theme...people just want to be seen.  No matter their personalities, no matter their backgrounds, people should ALL be made to feel like they are seen...heard...accepted...

I've always believed one of the cruelest things you can do to someone is to ignore them.  I'm not talking about bullies or really awful people.  Let's face it, they exist.  But even when someone is being mildly unpleasant, many times they just feel unseen and unheard.  What does it take to share a smile, a kind word, or just a bit of encouragement?  And the more I worked towards TRYING to make others feel seen and heard and valuable, the more blessed I was by getting to know some truly wonderful people...and they changed me.  I'm not saying I'm no longer introverted.  I truly am—it's an inherent part of me.  But suddenly I wasn't nearly as afraid to speak up and reach out. I didn't feel nearly as scared about being seen.  And for the first time in a long time I allowed myself to make actual friends outside of the SUPER tiny comfort zone I'd maintained...

So fast forward to recent events.  Once again I felt led to let someone know they were seen and mattered. I reached out to someone to simply thank them for a post that touched me, resonated with me.  And it led to conversations and a world of new possibilities.  It was totally unplanned and unexpected, but now I was really in a place of needing to make a decision.  Could I adequately give enough of myself being split between my job managing the author's social media while trying to learn so many things with my new position?  The scope of things I'm learning is so much bigger, and I had to make a decision.  Do I stay safe in my comfort zone sweater...or do I jump in with both feet...

The idea of leaving the groups was gut-wrenching.  Early on the author and I decided to change the name to include the word community because we wanted it to be just that—a community where people could safely come together and feel a part of something.  And all of the readers made it possible to be just that—a community. I'm not leaving just a job, I'm leaving a piece of my heart behind with all of you. I'm going to leave all of the author related groups.  Now before you think that's a terrible thing, understand there's no way a transition can take place if I stay.  It's not because I have to leave or don't want to be here anymore. It wouldn't be fair for me to be in the background because lines would be blurred, and it would be natural for people to default to me for answers. I still have every intention of sharing in your excitement and love of books. I'm not leaving this industry, I'm just moving on to bigger things...

So I jumped...

P.S. I am pretty much on every relevant social media platform (see all the links below).  I'm not leaving social media.  I would GLADLY welcome any of you on my friends list—so feel free to request me and comment, message, etc. I have, and will continue, to enjoy your messages and posts.  You can still ask me for book recommendations. I love it. You can also follow me on this blog where I'll be posting about my new adventures and my regular life-y stuff.  (And obviously making up words like life-y) Please keep in touch as that's the only way to ease the bittersweet feeling of leaving. Come be excited with me because there's so much more to come...

Update one year later...

I'm torn between, "It's only been a year?" and "Wow, it's already been a year?" The decision to jump was the best possible choice I could've made. It led to bigger and better things, some truly amazing people, and opportunities to learn things I'd wanted to learn for a long time. One of the best parts is so many people kept in touch, so it's not like I truly left anyone behind.

Being self-employed is a special kind of challenge, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  But that is a different blog post and one I wrote already. (HERE if you're curious) *wink* I thought I was leaving for one purpose and ended up going a completely different direction in the best way possible. 

If I've learned anything, it's not to stay too comfortable for too long. Comfort zones often equal complacency and growing stagnant. So get out there and take some chances, learn new things, and remember it's okay to be afraid as long as fear doesn't stop you from trying new things.

I'd love to know about things you've done despite being nervous or afraid. Feel free to reach out and share your experiences. New adventures are the best when you share them!

Meanwhile, I can't wait to see what happens a year from now...

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/Jamieelizabeth77

Blog: http://stretchingthecomfortzone.blogspot.com

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P.P.S.  If you're curious about the authors I'm working with now, send me a message!  I'd love to share with you!

Comfort Zones are Meant to Stretch!

As a diehard introvert, my comfort zone has always been tightly woven around me like a comfortable sweater. My zone wouldn't even qualify as a bubble because round would've been too spacious. The last couple of years have been a journey an overhaul (yeah, that sounds more like it) to that comfort zone.  I wish I could say I woke up one day with an epiphany and just decided it was time for personal growth.  But I can't.  (**whispers** Because I’d be lying).

As a teenager, I was painfully shy.  I was the kid who would do TWO projects so I could still receive an A once I refused to present the first. In Jr. High I had a teacher who allowed me to come in during lunch to present my project to her.  In high school I had a couple of teachers who not only understood but allowed the extra work so I could keep the high grades I worked so hard for. These days, I’m usually not shy.  It’s always funny to me when I say I’m an introvert and someone says, “No you aren’t! You are not shy at all!”  That’s correct, I’m not—usually. I still have moments since old habits are hard to break. But introverted and shy are not the same.

A few years ago, I was obligated to attend a holiday dinner with Wes.  Most of the attendees were upper level team members, and let me tell you I felt as out of place as possible.  Two things happened that left me wanting to crawl so far out of my skin that I’d be unrecognizable for the remainder of my days.  The initial problem was we weren’t able to select our own meals, and it was served family style.  I’m not ashamed of the fact I’ve always been a picky eater, nor am I ashamed to say I had food issues earlier in my life. (but that’s an entirely different subject covered HERE) It’s part of who I am.  But already being uncomfortable makes those traits flare and pulse with a life of their own.  The moment I looked down at my plate and saw a tiny squid looking back at me (tentacles and all), I was D O N E with that meal.  Oh well, not a big thing, right?  In the scheme of things, it was cake.

The traumatizing part came after the meal while
everyone chatted innocently.  I was content to listen and watch for the most part.  Some of the conversation was pretentious (you know how it is in larger groups), but the people were fairly nice.  Fate decided to twist the night from uncomfortable to gruesome on a horror movie level.  Wes’s VP announced she wanted everyone to go around the table and introduce themselves.  Not only that, she wanted everyone to tell the group something interesting about themselves.  This is where my soul ran screaming from me leaving a shell of panic and horror.  What in the ACTUAL Hell was I doing there?  She wanted me to not only speak in front of everyone but talk about myself on top of it.  Had someone offered me a way out via death at that moment, I might’ve taken them up on it.  (**whispers** I so would’ve.) Despite my love of learning about other people and things, and my enjoyment of listening, I have never liked talking about myself.  I still don’t.  I know I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights when Wes glanced over at me.  Oh, he knew.  Wait, it gets worse.

As if fate hadn't already screwed me over, Wes’s VP looks down the table – AT ME – and tells me I have to go first.  I looked frantically for the black hole I’d prayed so fervently for but no such luck.  Something you should know about me is that I make awkward jokes when I’m uncomfortable.  I can’t help it.  Just call me Chandler Bing.  (FRIENDS reference for those poor souls who don’t know) I managed to fumble out the basics, but I still hadn’t landed on something interesting to say.  As far as I was concerned, there was NOTHING interesting to say.  In the last split second I choked out, “… and I really hate speaking in public.”

**CRICKETS** So. Many. CRICKETS.

What felt like a lifetime was really only a couple of seconds before Wes jumped in with his turn and did that magnificent thing he does of speaking in public with ease.  Seriously, what IS that ability?  I swear it’s a super power.  Needless to say, I heard about my response later.  Apparently, it was entirely inappropriate.

Know what else is inappropriate?  Putting me on the spot in front of 25+ people.  I promise whatever anyone else thought could not have superseded my own burning shame. During that time of my life, I truly believed being an introvert was a detriment, something that made me weaker than other people.  I. WAS. WRONG.  Somewhere along the way I’ve realized there is absolutely nothing wrong with being introverted.  Granted, being stagnant and not fostering personal growth isn’t healthy either. Like everything else in life, balance is a necessity.

BY THE WAY, I'd nail it now.  I might be uncomfortable, but I'd be confident ... at least on the outside.  *wink*  (hey, who said growing happened quickly?)  I've had more opportunities since then to speak and be "on", and even if it's still hard, I don't back down.  Maybe I'll have more chances.  *shrugs*

At the time I had my own small business sewing boutique hair bows online and at craft shows.   I was constantly busy, but I was firmly out of the regular world.  Fast forward a couple of years, and I think I might’ve lost my mind somewhere along the way.  I took a job in social media.  Granted, I could still work from home (Or Starbucks, the car, sitting at a stoplight, from bed, at school functions … you get the drift … the over doing it is strong in this one, folks.), but I was also in a position suddenly to have to be “ON” all of the time.  I’d rather eat grass than ever make anyone feel dismissed or unseen because I was having an introverted moment.  So I learned to set it aside and threw myself into it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a diehard introvert.  I’m writing this as I sit on an airplane with my earbuds in so I won’t be obligated to carry on a conversation. There’s nothing playing on the earbuds.  **face palm** #notevensorry

Too many things happened in a couple of years to go through them all.  I’ve met the most amazing people and made friendships that continue to surprise me.  After some bad experiences, I’d vowed to steer clear of getting beyond acquaintance with people. I did really well for a long time, but the nature of my job found me unexpectedly connecting with others. And the overall idea I’ve come to embrace comes from something I read awhile back.  It mentioned intentionally doing things to make yourself uncomfortable.  And I haven’t stopped.  Don’t get me wrong, my brain is still constantly working, and oh the anxiousness roiling in stomach when it's throttling full speed ahead … but I haven’t stopped doing new things. In fact, I’m learning to be excited by the possibilities so that there’s something positive warring alongside the anxiousness.  Someday the excitement will outweigh the anxiousness until many of these things will no longer be uncomfortable. #goals

In less than an hour, I’m meeting two brand new people that not only popped into my life unexpectedly but made me fall in love with them pretty quickly.  During my layover today,I made plans for a weekend trip in November with another person I’ve gotten to know online. (Shoutout Twinsie) A couple of years ago I can’t imagine I would’ve jumped on an airplane and flown halfway across the country on an adventure like this.  But I am today – and I’m SO excited about it.  Seriously.  No words.

Dawn

Dawn 

Misty tendrils winding through morning dew

While the world waits in silent anticipation

For the moment when sparkling rays

Of golden sunshine brighten the morning.

Warming the chilly breeze with a slow burn, 

As it swirls through leaves, waking birds

Who echo one another in greeting.

Shadows shorten, revealing their secrets

Which lose their mystery in the growing light.

New beginnings so shrouded by night

Breathe new hope with twilight's rival.

~ Jamie Davis

Weighing In And Stepping Out On Body Image

Body image is a prevalent focus in media today.  Whether or not it's a Love Yourself theme, or mainstream media pressing people to find beauty in the so-called "perfect" body, we're surrounded on all sides by the concept of body image. I've been contemplating this blog post since I had a conversation with my daughter about loving herself and accepting herself for who she is. I felt like a huge hypocrite on one hand, and on the other hand I felt like I was reaching to save her from struggling with the same self-doubts that myself, and many others, struggle with daily.  I've started to write this blog post five or six times and abandoned it when it started to feel too personal ... too private.

So why the hesitation for this blog post? Because I'm great with sharing funny things on Facebook and don't mind blogging about marriage and kids, but I'm not so fantastic at sharing things firmly marked "Private" in my heart. In a world filled with social media on every front, we tend to see people through a tinted and skewed, even somewhat shiny, veil that is two-dimensional.  On the other hand, we joke about people who use their status updates as a diary and share TOO much.  So where is the fine line between being real vs being too out there? Because I work in the world of indie publishing, I spend a lot of time on social media so I'm active and post regularly and share the trivial things; but there is a limit to what I am willing to share even if I occasionally step a bit outside that comfort zone for one reason or another.  But I digress ... this blog post isn't about social media, so back to the point.

I look at my daughter, this beautiful but petite package, so full of personality, and in the throes of puberty.  God help us all, it's like watching an alien birth out of the innocent, naive baby she's always been.  High maintenance has always been an apt description for this little stick of dynamite, and she's an extrovert. That's not a "language" I speak well. At all. But she's hit that phase where she's unsure of herself, where kids are cruelly hateful about pretty much anything, and where she's more aware of her appearance overall.  She's trying to figure out who she is, and I'm scrambling to know how to encourage her self-confidence and positive body image when it's not something I'm even good at for myself -- hence the hypocrisy.

By the time I hit junior high and high school, I was the poster child for an eating disorder. Childhood experiences left me with a terrible self-image that I kept hidden from everyone, and I was such a textbook case.  It only took that first time of realizing that eating was something I could actually control in my otherwise out-of-control life for me to be in over my head. But no one knew. Later on a few people became aware of the situation through one means or another, but mostly it was a burden I carried on my own.  The few people who did find out thought it was over and done years before it truly was under control. I didn't talk about it, I did my best not to let anyone see. Like many struggling with eating disorders, not eating, or purging what I did, was only a symptom of something much deeper in my psyche.

The ironic thing is that I was never unaware of my problem.  I knew I had an eating disorder, knew that my body image was completely distorted, and I studied everything I could get my hands on in order to understand it all.  I was very careful not to lose too much weight, and to remain unseen with my habits as much as possible.  And even though I was fortunate not to suffer outward physical ill effects, the many years of struggle took a toll on my self-image. Even once I learned to control the symptoms (because the not eating and purging really are just a symptoms of something deeper), I still looked at myself through a distorted veil—still do to be truthful.

I neither need, nor want, people to lecture me about my size, body shape, how I look, or anything else remotely related.  It doesn't help.  In fact, it actually just makes things more awkward and uncomfortable.  Guess what?  I've probably studied more about it than you have unless you're in the same boat—or a psychologist.  Even if you KNOW someone who's struggled with it, it's not the same as actually living it. In the *mumbles* years since I first tripped and fell into those terrible habits, I've rarely spoken about it in depth to anyone. Why?  Because I don't want to be lectured, judged, told "I'd love to be your size", or scrutinized when someone shares a meal with me. If you mention an eating disorder, people immediately begin evaluated how you really aren't that thin or are suddenly are super interested in the food you do or don't eat. I'm already a VERY picky eater, to an extreme, so I do not want more notice. 

**Side note: WHY do people feel the need to comment on what you do or don't eat, how much you do or don't eat, when you do or don't eat? I don't understand the nosiness of always questioning other people's food habits.**

How did I overcome? Physically, the more control I had over my own life, the better I did with the physical aspect.  My husband was a great deal of help, didn't try to push me or cajole me or control me—he just loved me.  Mentally? The best line I heard came from a movie about a girl with anorexia.  

I may never be completely cured, that this disease doesn’t always go away; it’s kind of lurking around, like my Achilles heel, but it’s alright because I’m stronger than it is. I know I can make it. I know I have the strength to save myself.

I've never forgotten those lines, and I never will. I remind myself of them from time to time when it's necessary. I don't think the mental aspect will ever fully go away...I'll just be stronger.

So I have to tread lightly while my little girl is so easily influenced in her formative years.  I want to instill self-confidence and self-respect in her that she is beautiful and perfect the way she is.  I want to teach her that food isn't "good" or "bad",  and that being healthy is about moderation in all things and taking care of yourself—NOT the numbers on a scale.  I don't buy magazines because the pictures are SO unrealistic.  I try very hard not to mention my personal insecurities about my body in front of her.  I haven't always been perfect at it, but I've grown more diligent in recent years.

Summer is a brutal time of the year on body image.  Bathing suits are nature's way of making sure to keep us firmly planted in reality.  Society tells us we need to look a certain way before donning the spandex that never covers the areas we detest most.  Less clothes in summer means less ways to hide the things we don't like.  So do I miss out on enjoying the beach because I'm feeling completely insecure about how I look, or do I suck it up and push through in the hopes that one day maybe I'll be confident to not feel quite so self-conscious?  I dare say it's the latter because I don't ever want her to look at me and know that I didn't jump in the waves with her because I didn't look good enough.  How ridiculous does that statement look in actual black and white?  Screw being "ready" because she's watching me ... and learning. And there's a lot of truth to the old adage, "Fake it 'til you make it!" 

But if you ask me to hang out at the pool with you, or go to the beach with you, no way am I wearing a bathing suit. Going with my family to a beach where no one knows me is one thing, but I don't know that I'll ever reach a point I'd wear a bathing suit in front of anyone I know beyond my husband and kids. Some things never change. 

I'll keep working on that inner voice, that critic who is completely irrational more times than not, and keep working to teach my daughter God made her beautifully perfect just the way she is.