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.

I take it back ... I'm okay after all!

Admittedly, I've been a huge hypocrite.  I've spent so much of my time telling other people why they are awesome, why they should love themselves, and why they shouldn't think their personalities are bad just because they don't go with the status quo.  I'm great at dishing out the pep talk, and I SUCK at applying it to my own life.  Yeah, yeah ... I know, that's not an eloquent word -- but it gets the point across, and it's nicer than some others I could use.

Over the years I've randomly written things about my family's antics, or even snippets of things just for myself that I've saved to look back over from time to time, but last year I intentionally set up a blog despite doing very little with it. I called it Stretching the Comfort Zone, and the entire point of the name is that I've spent a couple of years seriously stretching my personal comfort zones -- like a lot.  Today I felt it stretching again, but this time I nearly heard an audible *POP* as I came to a nasty realization.  I've spent years apologizing for something I should NOT be apologizing for.

I'm taking back some of my own random apologies.  Yeah, that's right - Taking.Them.Back. I've repeatedly found myself apologizing over the years for over communicating. Huh?  I was getting ready to apologize again for it earlier (I literally just did it last night -- you know who you are -- I'd say sorry but ... not so much now) when I realized how freaking STUPID that is.  WHY ON EARTH would I apologize because I take MY TIME to try and explain what I'm thinking enough to be clear?  I'm a solid supporter of being introverted -- I'm tried and true -- yet I'm apologizing that when I do have something to say it's "too much".  Where's the logic?  There IS no logic there.  

The majority of my life is lived via typed communication.  I'm surrounded on all sides working with people who WRITE for a living -- they tell stories and build mental images and characters WITH THEIR WORDS.  I spend most of every day immersed in worlds created by the WRITTEN WORD yet I apologize that I over explain and type "too much" when I'm communicating. Wes will often glance over and see me typing out yet another message or paragraph to someone and make comments about how it's "too much" to read for the other person.  Or how I should be more direct or cut back on what I say. Caleb tells me, "Just pick up the phone and call, for Pete's sake!"

WHY SHOULD I?  As much as it is someone else's right to be short and sweet, or even terse at times, in their responses, why isn't it my right to be more verbose? Why is one better or worse than the other?  Because I feel guilty that I'm "taking up too much" of their time?  Isn't mine just as valuable?  You know what takes up a lot of time?  MISUNDERSTANDINGS from lack of communication.  Oh yeah, that's right, I said it.  Whereas some people might find it taxing to have to read too much, maybe the over communicators of us find it taxing to constantly be second-guessing what others of the less communicating route are thinking or mean in their semi-explained responses.  

You know what I've finally figured out today?  One is NO WORSE than the other.  Neither are wrong. We're all different.  Part of my personality might be annoying to some, but guess what?  Just maybe sometimes their lack of communication annoys me. I'm done feeling guilty, done apologizing, for something that is NOT a flaw except to those who think their way is the only "right" way. 

What it boils down to is being KIND to others even if we don't fully understand their personalities.  I have no right to ask them to change who they are, so neither do they (the proverbial "they") have a right to think I should change.  There truly does have to be a compromise between both that leaves neither feeling slighted or frustrated, but that requires effort -- on both parts. 

I'd apologize for taking too many paragraphs to explain, but that would be hugely hypocritical ... wouldn't it? It's a dirty little habit that might take me some time to break, but I'm determine to stop apologizing for my personality constantly and seeing myself as less than simply because my personality isn't conforming to those around me.

I've had the beautiful and eye-opening pleasure of getting to know a couple of women over the last year or so that have been shining examples of learning to be okay with who I am and not constantly feel inferior for reasons that make no sense.  Hopefully, they know who they are (because I'll over explain and tell them, of course), and I'm eternally grateful for their unwitting examples.  I'm always going to over think and ponder if I'm saying too much or not enough -- it's just the way I'm wired. But maybe someday I'll figure out this skin of mine, stretch it to the point of growing a little more here and there, then lather, rinse, and repeat.

*SOMETIMES* I'm A Lousy Mother!

**Repost from last May from an old Blog -- but the essence is the same no matter when/who/where**

*Sometimes* I’m a lousy mother.

Mother’s Day weekend finds me sitting in the car outside of my oldest child’s first job shadowing opportunity. It’s Saturday, traffic is awful, and my attempt at shopping was thwarted by the immense crowds thronging every place within a ten mile radius. No thanks, I’ll sit in the car with my own little personal space. Besides, Starbucks happy hour isn’t for another hour and a half.
Body image isn’t the only way women are trained to compare themselves. Social media is full of examples of super moms who can handle it all, with a smile no doubt, and perfect hair and singing songs while birds sing in chorus as back up. Yeah, that’s not me. Either social media is not necessarily always truthful (*gasp* say it isn’t so), or I’m just WAY down the list of possible super moms.

~ I don’t cook my kids (or husband) breakfast. Nope, I get up at 5:00 M-F to fix lunches, fix hair, find clothes, keep everyone organized, AND make sure they are not late. That includes getting myself ready as well. So no, I don’t cook in the morning. They have to be out of the door by 6:25 am to be on time, so Pop Tarts, pastries, and cereal seem perfectly fine by me.

~ Sometimes I gripe about having to drive them everywhere. YES, I’ve been a SAHM for 16 years. YES, I know it’s privilege, but you know what? I’m freaking human. I get tired. I get busy. And sometimes I don’t want to drive 20 minutes back into town for ANOTHER time that day. But I do it despite the sigh or the eye roll.

~ I’m learning to juggle being a WORK at home mom now on top of a SAHM. Yeah, the last part didn’t disappear because I have a couple of work at home jobs. I’m still suppose to keep everything going, give all the attention everyone needs, AND manage to keep up with jobs. Just because they aren’t full time doesn’t mean it’s less of a learning process. My husband thinks I’m always too busy for him, my kids always have to hear, “Hang on, I have to work for a few more minutes,”, and more than once lately I’ve said they’re getting frozen pizza because I don’t have time to cook. I’ll figure it out - eventually - but I’m not terribly apologetic because it’s OKAY for them to realize that I’m more than a chef, maid, chauffeur, and hair stylist. I’m an entire person that encompasses those things AS WELL as others. Some of them I’m still figuring out since I’ve spent so many years of my life focusing mostly on the first three things.

~ I don’t volunteer with school anymore. I spent SO MANY YEARS volunteering for most things at school. I ran organized parties, ran book fairs, tutored, stuffed Tuesday folders, and made copies. I’m still there for every Award Ceremony, for every performance, but I just don’t have time to volunteer for things right now. I’m not going to feel guilty because I DID put a lot of years into it.

~ I get frustrated with my kids. My daughter is very high maintenance. She’s adorable and sweet and loving, but she requires a lot “MORE” all the way around from day to day. I can’t help it, I get frustrated. I will look them right in the eye and tell them they’re being annoying. SOMETIMES THEY ARE! Better me tell them than someone at school that uses it to ridicule or laugh at them. People sometimes can’t handle that we are blunt with our kids. No one is perfect all of the time - including them - it doesn’t make me a bad parent to tell them when they’re being jerks.

All of those things, and a myriad of others, make me a lousy mom sometimes. However, there are many more things that make me great that are often ignored on those days I feel guilty for what I’m not.

~ I pick my kids up every day from school.
~ I spend hours sitting in the car driving, waiting, driving more.
~ I’m teaching my teenager to drive. It’s scary. I’m doing it.
~ I might not bake in the kitchen with them, but I do take them places, bring them little treats, etc.
~ I pack their lunch every day so they don’t have to eat school food.
~ Even if it’s frozen, not organic, and wasn’t made from scratch, I make sure they eat every day.
~ I’m always there after school. They can take me for granted because I’ll be there, and that’s something.
~ I explain WHY I’m pissy when they act rotten so they will understand how to act in the real world.

I could go on because every day is filled with things I do great and many other things where I fail. It’s okay. I’m here. I adore my kids. Being a mom is everything I wanted out of life, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even as I sit here, in the car again, waiting for my teenager as usual, I’m not sorry. I’m ready to go home, but I’m not sorry.

Working From Home Is Beautifully Brutal

Me too, Bruce ... me too.

Let's clear this up right away - I LOVE my jobs - all of them.  The first person to tell me I don't sound grateful will receive a smoking bag of USED cat litter--and probably a rude gesture emoticon.  (Thank you, Apple) 

I've worn a lot of hats career-wise in my decades years of working. I've worked outside the home both full and part time, had a few small businesses, raised kids, been a military wife ... all while always finding some way of contributing financially while still giving the majority of focus to my kids.  I helped Wes get through two Associate degrees, a Bachelor degree, AND a Masters degree. Meanwhile, I sort of forgot what it was like to be just Jamie.  I think that's a common thing for SAHMs, and I wouldn't trade it, but it was time to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up now that my little chicks didn't need me as much.

So I not only reentered the world of employment, but I did so with something so completely out of my comfort zone that I'm still surprised by it some most days. I'm so absolutely thankful for the work I do from home.  And I love it.  And I'm a bit nuttier for it, but most people didn't know me beforehand anyway. *shrugs* My relatives often think I've lost it. *snort*  The joke's on them--I'm as weird as I ever was.

There are fantastic benefits to working from home, and I'm quick to point them out.

•  I can still take my kids back and forth to school and have every day since they started.
• When someone is sick, I'm here to take care of them.
• When I'm sick, I don't have to call in!
• Working from home means feeding my inner introvert in the best way when I really don't feel like "people-ing".

• My schedule is flexible to deal with life stuff, and I can work on-the-go whether I'm traveling, sitting at school functions, or sitting at the car dealership for the umpteenth freaking time. (no bitterness there, stupid car) 
• I can look as ugly as I want, and my two cats don't care. And because cats.

• I have my dream computer, keep updated w/ phones and iPads (for the most part), and I can write it off.  Not to mention the days I work at Starbucks, the coffee is a write-off as well.

• When I work at home I never run out of coffee, and the bathroom is always nearby.
• I can play the music as loud as I want, and the only people who might care are the neighbors if I have the windows open.  Sorry, neighbors.
• I work with AMAZING people that I admire very much.
• I've MET amazing people that continue to bless me daily and make me smile.
• I have the chance to learn new things constantly, and that's a big deal for me because I LOVE learning new things.
• I've been forced to push so far outside my comfort zones that I'm evolving and have no idea where it will go -- which can be a great thing!

• Having to be careful what I post online means I'm thoughtful about it and tend to not end up in pointless debates about explosive topics.  I am NOT inclined to debate.
• The books ... oh the books ... the wonderful, awesome, amazing books by wonderful, awesome, amazing people.
• ... I could go on for days.

As awesome as all of those things are, there's no such thing as the perfect scenario. Regardless of the advantages, not everyone is equipped personality-wise to work from home no matter how much they think they could do your job better. *wink* Even a perfect-for-you career has trade-offs.

• When I'm sick, I still work.  No kidding, I was yakking awhile back and still working in between bouts of heaving.  Is it required? No. It's just the way I'm wired.
• With my main job, I'm connected online *mumbles* hours a day, no matter where I am, what's going on, and who I'm with.  Not everyone gets it but most understand. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but I look like an addict to anyone who doesn't understand what I do.
• I feel G-U-I-L-T-Y if I take time off, and I am entirely uncomfortable until I am back online and plugged into whatever I'm working on or keeping up with the various aspects of social media.  But I feel G-U-I-L-T-Y if I don't stop and focus on the kids when they finally deem my presence worthy want to talk.

• No one advocates for me BUT me. I don't have a set of guidelines or corporate rules I can shelter under.  When it comes time to deal with anything, the buck always stops with me. I'm not overly assertive, and that can be is a challenge.  I'm bound by necessary discretion on many things, and that leaves little room for asking advice when I have a business snafu.
• The looking ugly thing backfires when you start to resent days you have to actually dress like a grown up and leave the house for more than school pick up.

• That whole "writing off" thing means I have a CPA, have more complicated taxes, and have more to keep up with than W2 forms or basic tax deductions. And taxes.
• There's no downside to the coffee, so forget that.
• That evolving thing requires stretching comfort zones, which is not always pleasant.  Learning to balance being an introvert with needing to be "on" all the time for my main job isn't easy.  It's GOOD for me--and I'm thankful for the growth--but it's not the piece of cake people assume.

• On the downside to being careful what I post online, it makes me overthink A LOT. 
• I'm a perfectionist, and I try TOO hard, which is often annoying to people stuck working with me.  Oh, and I over clarify.  Ugh -- those poor people who work with me. *whispers* sorry
• I often don't know how to describe WHAT I do overall because it's SO multi-faceted for many reasons.  I tend to dumb it down, which makes it seem insignificant and like I'm just addicted to my phone/iPad/computer.  I mean, I am, but it pays to be. *wink* 

• If you accidentally misspell something or make a small error, working online means coming in contact with that certain group of people who are dying to call you out.

• In the same tone of the previous point, when you accidentally mistype something or make an awkward comment, EVERYONE sees it online -- and judges you.

• Last but not least, I still have all of that pesky "running a household" stuff to keep up with on top of working full time+. Laundry, kid ferrying, school functions, regular world tasky crap ... it all waits to be finished no matter how many work hours are put in.

At the end of the day, no matter how long it's been, I love what I do and every single person I work with.  I don't feel guilty for the random perks because I work pretty freaking hard for them.  In the beginning I felt like I shouldn't say it's awesome because it would sound like bragging.  I've since realized I don't have to feel guilty for working my butt off, working ungodly amounts of hours, and putting my whole heart into what I do.  NOTHING is all roses and sunshine, and no matter how awesome the job, no one else sees everything that goes on behind the scenes. I'm a workaholic, but I'm also a work in progress, so I'm still learning and have infinite amounts to absorb.  I'll get some of it right, and lots of it wrong, but in the end there's a balance of awesome moments and not-so-much-awesome moments--with a bit more weight on the former. 

And that's all I have to say about that ... for now...well, until the edits below...

Edited to add:
One year from this post has brought about SO many changes.  The learning never stops, and I love that part.  I love what I do more now than ever.  It challenges me, it keeps me busy, drives me bonkers, and generally keeps me in a constant flux of not being caught up.  But I'm blessed, stressed, and comfortably dressed. HA!

Terrible Parenting or Awkward Social Malfunction?

Let's get one thing straight - I ADORE my kids.  I'd move Heaven and Earth for my children.  I think they are spectacular and intelligent and adorable.  However ... *clears throat awkwardly* ... to be entirely honest with you ... *looks around to see who's listening in* ... my kids can be jerks.

*GASP*

*Giving you time to mutter amongst yourself in disbelief of my awful parenting*

"Can you believe she said that?"

"She's really quite terrible."

"Child Protection Services will be there shortly to interrogate her, surely."

"WHY do people like her have kids?"

Are you quite finished? Can we move on?

Remember when I said I adore my children?  I DO! They are my heart and soul. I spent 16 years focusing on raising the two of them to be polite, productive, intelligent, lovely members of society.  My oldest is now 17, and my youngest is 12.  I went back to work full time last year for the first time since my oldest was born.  It's been an adjustment for them at times to have my attention divided, but they're doing just fine overall.  Know why?  I didn't raise them to think they were the center of the entire universe.  

That's right, I said it. 98% percent of the time they are.  I drive them back and forth to school, I spend hours working in the car waiting on them for one reason or another, when I'm tired of the car I sit in Starbucks.  I don't live conveniently placed to their schools, so those multiple trips a day add up.  And it's okay -- that's one of the things I'm here for!

But do you know what I'm tired of? I'm tired of judgy types who think if I say anything remotely untoward about one of my children I must SURELY be a jackass less-than-desirable parent for besmirching my child's character.

CASE IN POINT:

For the life of me, I often don't know WHY I open my mouth and speak. But I did yesterday morning at the orthodontist. I don't care what you think you know about me based on my job, but I am an introvert. I'm not even close to the middle hovering around ambivert.  I'm firmly ensconced in my introverted personality, and making pointless small talk with people I don't know is not only mentally draining but ends up making me look like an idiot when I fumble for something to fill the awkward silence.

If you know us in the slightest, you'll know what I mean when I say my youngest child is SQUIRRELLY.  She is also petite, full of life, loving, smart, adorable, infuriating, pretty sneaky (because girls, y'all), completely extroverted, bubbly, and in the throes of preteen drama and hormones. (*whispers* Help me.) But SQUIRRELLY she is.  I often call it Squirrel-itis. I have learned NOT to give her more than one task at a time.  I also know she doesn't pay attention if she's not interested in something.  Not that she can't -- she just won't.  If you watched the movie Up, you'll understand this meme.  If not, watch it and get back with me.

It was 7:30 in the morning, and the orthodontist started giving her instructions about where to hook her rubber bands, when to wear them, etc. I good-naturedly said, "You'll need to make sure I see where they should go because she won't remember by tonight.  She's pretty squirrelly about things like that."

He just stared at me -- blankly. 

 

It was a VERY long 

2 seconds.

HUH?

It. Gets. Better.  Not only is there an awkward silence as he stares at me, but I have twitchy need to fill that awkward silence with words.  I grapple with something intelligent to say and manage to fumble out, "Um, maybe it's a girl thing." 

No wait.  It. Gets. Worse. The orthodontists blank look takes on a slightly judgy manner and he actually looks at me and says, "Well, we're all made different."

Not only had I just been making casual conversation, I was being HONEST about the fact that she wouldn't pay attention to his directives.  She isn't unaware she's like that -- she's TWELVE! In fact, she even jokes about it herself.  I wasn't making fun of her in front of people, I wasn't insulting her, I wasn't being cruel or harsh. I was being HONEST. Since WHEN did it become unacceptable to admit your child might possibly have flaws? 

This wasn't the first time I received that type of look.  Not long ago, we were out shopping.  She was being particularly bratty at that moment about whatever preteen thing she had to moan over.  I looked up at a woman we were passing in the store just as I told her, very plainly, "THIS is why no one wants to be around you today.  When you're acting like a BRAT, you are not the least bit fun to be around." The look on the woman's face was definitely judgy ... and open-mouthed.

My viewpoint on honesty with my kids is that I'd MUCH rather it come from their parents than to be sent out into the world to have strangers or people they work with or go to school with tell them how awful they are because their attitudes have never been addressed. I CAN tell them they are being bratty or acting like a jerk because I DO LOVE THEM despite their occasional undesirable behavior.  I applaud you if you approach your children with a sing-songy voice in every situation.  My children are NOT in the tender stages of developing their personalities. They are MORE than old enough to be aware of their behavior and to make choices.  In real life, people are fired for bad attitudes, for not being team players, or treating others with respect. I real life, relationships aren't successful when they can't handle hearing the truth or think it's okay to lash out at people.

If the soft and easy approach is your preferred mentality and method of raising your kids, that is absolutely fine.  But my way isn't wrong either.  Because in the next breath I will tell my kids how much I love them and explain why their behavior isn't okay. We all have different methods of handling our kids.  We all want them to be successful and happy and well-rounded individuals. I won't judge you or accuse you of coddling your kids if you don't accuse me of being mean to mine. None of us are perfect.  The orthodontist was correct, we ARE all made differently, so it's safe to say we aren't all going to parent exactly the same.  

Don't Bother Apologizing

Anti-Apology: The "art" of apologizing insincerely.

I have work to do, minutes are ticking by, but I'm staring at this blog post screen instead.  My coffee cup is empty.  Why is the coffee gone? 

... hold for coffee refill, please ...

For whatever reason, I've noticed more and more that people apologize without really apologizing. Perhaps it's the constant exchange of internet snarkiness and that protective layer people think they have through computers or smart phones.  It's as if people think communicating via the internet or text negates the need to be civil.  Regardless of the reason, the fact remains we ALL have to apologize to someone on occasion. Maybe it's just me, but I'd rather someone not apologize at all rather than to give me an insincere platitude. I've had several opportunities lately to gather examples. 

Incorrect: "I'm sorry if you feel _____." 

Correct: "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings when I said ______."

Incorrect: "I'm sorry if you think ______."

Correct: "I'm sorry if I came across wrong. What I really meant to say was _____."

Incorrect: "I'm sorry if you're mad."

Correct: "I'm sorry I ____."

You can't tell someone you're sorry "if they feel" or you're sorry "if they think".  You know whether or not you have a need to apologize for something.  Don't attempt to negate their feelings to make yourself feel better.

The essence of the anti-apology

Let's face it, that's what you're really saying.

If you're going to offer an anti-apology, don't offer one at all.  Anti-apologies only incite more aggravation for the recipient They're patronizing, they invalidate the recipient's feelings, and they just downright blow chunks (because I'm eloquent).  So don't do it.  Want to be a jerk?  Just be one.  Please don't fake apologize, so I don't have to fake accept.

Hauntings, Premonitions, and Things That Go Bump in the Woods

(Not really my trail, but it sure felt like it)

Definition of paranormal:

Beyond normal explanation.

That word, paranormal, sums up the tone of this week—and it's only Wednesday.  I'm a very logical person overall,  but I also believe in the...unexplainable.  Yeah, that word fits. I'm logical (the point of annoying sometimes), and I'm NOT inclined to be dramatic.  

I made this Facebook post on Monday: Just heard a door close—when no one else is home. ‪#‎hauntedhappenings‬  It was entirely true, but my method of dealing with weird is to just make a joke about things.  It wasn't a big deal—it still isn't.  We've had odd things happen pretty much everywhere we've lived, and we don't give more than passing thoughts to things like that after so many years.  Whether the door opened or closed, I only paused long enough to look up and then kept typing away on the keyboard.  

Monday night I stayed up too late went to bed at a decent time (*snort*) but woke up at 4:00 a.m. Tuesday feeling very anxious.  I don't mean I was stressed about something in life or had a bad dream.  I woke up with a full blown feeling of tightly knotted anxiousness smack in the middle of my chest.  I'm not prone to anxiety, I don't have panic attacks, heck I'm not even a worrier.  But I DO get "feelings" about things, and I have for most of my life. However, those are stories for another blog post.  This time I just had this terrible feeling like I was missing something that was just out of reach.  The feeling lingered for a couple of hours, and I never could grasp what it was that hung so heavily over me.  I mentioned it in passing to Wes and put it out of my mind.  

This afternoon I decided to drag my frumpy-feeling self away from my desk and hike the trails around the museum like I have many times over the last couple of years.  I've hiked with the kids, hiked with Wes, but most often I've hiked alone.  They're public trails - both wooded and concrete pathways that wind around the art museum.  I've never once felt unsafe. Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid.  I keep a knife clipped inside of my waist band every single time whether I'm alone or with the kids.  Whether listening to audiobooks or music, I keep the decibel at a level that I can still be aware of my surroundings.

Instead of parking at the trailhead, I parked at Katlyn's school and walked for about 15 minutes to one of the entrances only to find an annoying signed marked Trails Closed For Maintenance.  It was annoying as I love walking the wooded paths the best—because trees, peace, and serenity, y'all.  I backtracked a little and headed another direction.  The Crystal Bridges Museum sits in a small valley surround by paths both of the wooded and concrete variety.  There's a very large courtyard with a few picnic tables, and all the way down the hill, near the museum, is a set of stairs that leads back up where you can choose to go back into the trees again or wind around the base of the museum to another entrance.  

I left the concrete path and entered the courtyard headed in that direction.  Halfway there I noticed a man sitting at the picnic table furthest from the entrance.  Normally there are people walking, eating lunch, or just hanging out in the courtyard, but today he was the only one.  At the same time I noticed him, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and that "off" sensation crawled up my spine.  An odd feeling hung in the courtyard that I couldn't quite place.  Call it oppression, call it intuition, but I felt the need to leave.  It was like walking through the film of a large bubble and realizing sounds are muffled, the air isn't right...time is distorted.

I couldn't see what the man was doing until the same moment I saw the entrance to the stairs leading to the paths were blocked off.  He was sitting at the picnic table closest to the blocked off stairs doing...NOTHING. His arms and hands were resting on the picnic table, and he was staring forward.  Just sitting while facing the direction I'd come.  No phone, no book, no picnic lunch. Just. Freaking. Sitting. I made a u-turn and headed back up towards the entrance to the courtyard, but the feeling settled between my shoulder blades, and as I glanced out of the corner of my eye, the man was following a couple of hundred feet behind me.  He hadn't moved a muscle the entire time I walked through the courtyard, but when my back was turned he closed the distance between us quick enough that I felt him behind me. The entrance was too far to comfortably walk with him behind me, so I decided to detour off the regular walkway and climb a small hill out of the courtyard up onto a concrete path that wound around.  There were always people up there, and I knew everything would feel normal again once I climbed up onto the sidewalk.

But the man followed me up the hill. It wasn't an easy way.  It wasn't a place people EVER walked.  I'd purposely taken an awkward way out in order to get away from him thinking he'd keep going towards the entrance.  He followed me. All of the oppressive sensations constricted into a cold knot of fear. Where were the people? There were no people on the sidewalk - there were always people on that sidewalk.  I should've been able to hear the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.  The only thing I could hear was the occasional scuff of his shoe. Shifting my phone and keys to the opposite hand, I felt for the knife and slipped it out of my waist band while walking as quickly as I could without running up the hill.   No matter how fast I walked, he was catching up with me. I tried to keep to the middle of the path and act as though I was glancing around so I could catch him in my peripheral vision. My heart was racing so fast, and the incline was enough, that I knew he'd be close enough to touch me if I didn't DO something.  But what?  Keeping my thumb on the knob that flips the knife open, I walked quickly over to the side of the path and angled myself so I could see him while acting liked I'd stopped to look down into the valley where the museum sat.  It felt like forever, but was in reality only a few seconds before he walked past.   He walked stiffly, not moving his arms, his upper body held tightly.  He never glanced over, but it felt purposeful.  I let him walk enough several hundred yards ahead of me before I stepped onto the path and walked a safe distance behind him.  

Suddenly, the bubble burst, and sound returned again.  There were people coming down the path.  A man walking alone, another walking a dog.  It felt like the hitch in time snapped back in place, and I watched him for a couple of minute until he walked, stiffly, out of sight not acknowledging either man who passed him.  People nod and smile to one another out there, but he stared straight ahead.  I veered off and eventually doubled back.  I had a very long walk back to my car, and for that half an hour this introverted girl wished she'd run into someone she knew.  I wasn't afraid anymore.  I'd made sure he was gone before turning around, but it just felt like such a long way back.

I thought the strangeness of the day was over until I was sitting at my computer this evening. Katlyn was in her room, and the boys hadn't made it home yet.  Outside the windows I could hear a chorus of howling and barking.  We have coyotes in the woods surrounding us, and it's normal to hear them at times when the windows are open.  Tonight the sounds were so loud that I opened the back door and stood listening to what sounded like every dog in the vicinity joining in with a pack of coyotes that had to be very close by.  It went on and on raising goosebumps on my arms.  A little while later, the boys came in and Wesley said three large coyotes were standing in the cul-de-sac in front of our house.  Just standing there -- until he pulled up and they trotted off into the woods.  They could hear them moving in the trees next to the house as they walked up our driveway. 

Maybe I brought home a bit of residual something from my walk today, maybe not.  Maybe none of the little things from the last three days are connected to the awful feeling I had today, maybe they are.  I didn't fully process how truly awful it was until I recounted it to Wes and Caleb tonight.  It feels oily, like film stuck to my skin.  

I'll think about it while I go nurse the ugly bruise that showed up on my leg this morning and wonder how that happened overnight.  Maybe that's not connected either.  *shrugs*  Maybe it is ...