postitbreakup

Breakups: 5 ways to keep your sanity (and help heal your heart)

It’s been nine years since the shittiest break-up in the universe was aired on Sex and The City. You remember. In season 6, episode 7, when the dude (Jack Burger) Carrie was just talking to her BFFs about ending it with (unbeknownst to him) beat her to the punch by splitting in the middle of the night, leaving a seven word break-up post-it in the dust. Yea, that break-up.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.”

Sure, it’s fiction, but being a die-hard SATC fan, I felt a little something when Carrie whacked that vase of carnations to the floor after her discovery. A wave of sorrow, anger, frustration, and empathy crept through my bones and I was once again impressed with how the writers of the show were able to hit a nerve.

Most of us have been there. Whether on a post-it (or these days, text message – both are equally gross), email, phone call or *gasp* in person, being told our love-partner wants out is one of the scariest and heart-breaking moments in our lives (surpassed only by the feeling you get when a nurse calls to schedule a timely in-person appointment - because your test results can’t be discussed over the phone – but that’s another level of scary).

Some would say the pain of a break-up is (in some ways) even harder to survive than losing a loved one to death. With loss of life, you have the brutal fact that the person is physically gone from this world – and however painful the process of accepting this fact – it’s that much harder to have the knowledge that your lost love is still walking around. Happy. Without you.

I remember my first heart-wrenching break-up. I was in my late 20s and we had been living Continue reading »

medfr06751

Love (and the Internet) is blind

Everyone knows love is blind. And thanks to the media frenzy surrounding the recent Manti Te’o debacle, it’s safe to say, sometimes it ‘aint that bright. The jury is still out about just what exactly went down with Manti’s story, but it’s safe to say, the bullshit’s hitting the fan.

But is this really “love” we’re talking about – that God-like intangible force that has the power to connect two people through space and time – beyond the firewalls of cyberspace, without so much as a video chat to validate the others’ existence? Dare we question our soul mate’s word?

Surprisingly, many of us don’t.

Thanks to the 2010 documentary Catfish (and subsequent MTV docu-series of the same name) these Internet love hoaxes are becoming more and more public.

In Catfish, a handsome, young photographer Yaniv “Nev” Schulman falls for “Megan”, the hot relative of “Abbey”, whom he met through Facebook. Nev quickly falls for Megan (complete with sexting, sharing photos, etc.), and before he allows his heart to get completely lost in his on-line love haze, he starts to connect the dots. Long story short – the whole thing was bullshit.

But Nev forgives his “love” (whose real name is Angela), and they become friends. Sucker, or compassionate dude who sees the desperation in someone who’ll go to any lengths to find a connection?

As explained in the film, the term Catfish comes from Angela’s husband (yup, she was married), Vince, talking with Nev. He says that when live cod were shipped to Asia from North America, the fish’s inactivity in their tanks resulted in mushy flesh, but fishermen found that putting catfish in the tanks with the cod kept them active. Vince feels that people like Angela are “catfish”, who keep other people active in life.

I have my own “Catfish” story, and not only did I forgive my imposter, I actually dated the guy.

As bloggers, Kevin and I found each other commenting on pages we both followed. We shared the same witty humor and sarcasm, and I was excited by the fact he was a would-be writer like me. We both began searching for each other’s comments just to read what clever things we would say to one another. Commenting quickly morphed into personal emails, which became flirtatious almost immediately.

But Kevin wasn’t Kevin when we met. He portrayed himself as Josh, a handsome, well-respected divorced man from Tennessee with three kids and his own veterinarian practice. Josh and I emailed back and forth for weeks and I quickly fell in love. My friends were concerned because we hadn’t so much as talked on the phone yet. But the romantic in me was on auto-pilot and there was nothing anyone could say or do to stop my heart from soaring. I was mentally picking out china patterns, checking flights to Tennessee and putting myself in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck. I actually saw myself a wife of a veterinarian, rubbing elbows with southern belles at medical conferences, passing out Halloween candy on the front porch of our farmhouse.

Our flirting progressed and my hopes shot through the roof.

Then Josh vanished. Talk about heartbroken. So many questions flooded my brain. Was he married? Did he get kicked in the head by one of his four-legged patients and have amnesia? What was going on?

My friends kept me grounded and reminded me that by being a person who’s always been in love with love, it was easy to fall victim to a daydream, wrapping my heart around the world of a man I had never even met. I was mourning the loss of a fantasy.

Little did I know, my perfect fantasy man was lost in his own cloud of daydreams.

Kevin was born a biological female who, like thousands of transgendered people, grew up feeling trapped in their own body – a person whose physical body is not in alignment with their gender identity. In other words, Kevin’s body was female by societal (and medical) standards, but his mind (or gender identity), believed he was a man.

When Kevin was first coming to terms with his transition, he hid behind Josh. He felt more comfortable getting to know people as a man through a fantasy life he created. I learned all of this through an apology email when Josh finally resurfaced (as Kevin) months after he fell off the face of the Internet.  

Are you confused yet?

After I read Kevin’s letter for the hundredth time, I started to feel less pissed off and more compassionate. I felt his anguish when reading about his transition story. I forgave him for pretending to be Josh, just as I had forgiven myself for allowing the fantasy of an Internet crush to evolve. I put myself in his position and asked: what would you do if you were born in the wrong body? Could you have the courage to transition? Eventually compassion trumped contempt and I forgave him completely. Besides, I could relate – sort of.

As a recovering addict and former stripper, I am familiar with feelings of wanting to hide behind someone or something to mask my true self. On stage I was Stephanie, the stripper who loved you. I chatted it up with customers who were lonely and looking for a little company. I gave them a show and they gave me the validation I needed at the time to feel beautiful. Another personal fantasy contract written with our hearts; customers looking for attention, and me, for beauty.

Nights were spent snorting lines of blow and rolling on ecstasy. The first time I slept with a woman I was high. She made me feel beautiful and wanted in a way that just felt – safe. I felt protected and loved in the arms of a friend and was open to exploring the sexual possibilities. While I was venturing to new territory, the rest of my professional world was a catch 22: I stripped because I wanted to feel beautiful, but what I thought was the answer ended up peeling the layers of my beauty away. My fellow dancers were there for me when men were the enemy. Men were the assholes , I was just doing my job.

Kevin and I ended up dating, even moving in together for a couple of years, and although we didn’t make it as a couple (turns out, I’m partial to penis), I consider him to be one of my dearest friends.

We’ve both come a long way since feeling the need to hide behind “Stephanie” and “Josh”, but I totally get why some people do. There’s safety behind our  lap tops. The freedom to become whoever we want to be is just too tempting for some.

I don’t condone living a lie – as it will eventually catch up with you (hi’ya Lance Armstrong), but instead of pointing the finger in judgment and anger, maybe it’s better to chalk the bullshit up to the fact that everyone’s got a story.  Some of them are just really, really fictional.

momcoverears

Does your mother know?

My poor mother.  She had no idea what she was getting when I popped out.

I mean, who wants to learn their youngest daughter – the plucky, free spirited one with so much promise – is a stripper with a drug problem?

I always found the phrase “drug problem” funny.  Isn’t the whole drug-taking behavior a problem? Is there a secret society of  addicts running around town claiming they have a “drug solution”?  Oh that’s right, there is – and their mascot is Denial.

I remember a conversation with my mom on the phone when I relapsed (this time with Xanax) so many years after retiring from the stripper pole. I was in tears, declaring my drug addiction.

“Oh, no dear, you’re not an addict, you just have an addictive personality.”

I was calling collect, from a payphone in rehab.

We shared a laugh; mine was directly at her denial (lovingly), and hers was nervous, and self-assuring.  It was at Continue reading »

strongwoman

The Other Side Of Victim (Featured article in Women For One)

I am thrilled and honored to be featured in Women For One, a global community of women encouraging authenticity and inspiration.

An excerpt:

There’s nothing in life that prepares you for being a statistic. You can’t rehearse feeling used. To truly know the role of victim is to become one – and feel it from deep within. Yet, even as victims, we need not be marginalized by circumstance. We are not sub-totals of our horror stories, but rather, the embodiment of having survived them.

There is a delicate balance of strength and suffering that, unless you’ve lived through it, is impossible to understand.

So we share our experiences, seeking only compassion and understanding, with the hope others will find the strength to shine through their own personal darkness.

It takes tremendous courage to live in our truth, no matter how many times we’ve tried to hide from it. There is freedom in our refusal to allow the weight of helplessness cloud our love of self. For it is there where we feel safe, nestled in the knowledge we are not alone.

~ ~ ~

Please read the full article at Women For One, and share with anyone you know who has been a victim of sexual abuse – who you feel may be encouraged, would feel less alone with their own story, or is trying to heal.

With love and gratitude,

twosisters

Mea Culpa: Confessions of a Baby Sister

A fancy, edited version is featured on Salon.
.
No bride expects her maid of honor to be high on drugs on the big day – especially when it’s her younger sister in the supporting role.
.
After church, photographs, and the limousine ride, we arrived at the reception. Between greeting the guests, gift giving and more photo sessions, I found a pocket of time to slip away to meet my dealer in the hotel lobby.
.
Armed with a half gram of cocaine, I locked myself in the bathroom stall. Lifting my strapless, floor-length bridesmaid dress, I straddled the back of the toilet with my dyed-to-match pastel pumps. I held my over-teased, Aquanet sprayed hair with one hand, and snorted through a rolled up dollar bill with the other.
.
Within seconds, my heartbeat kicked up a notch, and the music echoing through the hall began to thump a little louder. The subtle vibration of the metal stall reminded me where I was, but I wasn’t in a hurry. As long as I heard music, I knew I had time.
.
A couple more lines, pantyhose adjustment, and lip-gloss reapplication later, and I was ready to head back. Before reaching the door, I cursed the fluorescent lighting framing the mirror, surveyed my nostrils, and wiped away any evidence of my secret.
.
Stepping closer toward the ballroom, I couldn’t escape thoughts of my upcoming toast.  I was brewing with cocaine confidence, but still had no idea what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something.
.
At 18, I had little life experience, so mom served up a crash course in maid of honor etiquette the night before the wedding. My toast was to be light-hearted and personal – a trip down relationship lane about my sister and new brother-in-law.
.
“Just share a nice story about them.”
.
The problem was, I didn’t really have any stories, nice or otherwise. Short of all the pre-wedding hullabaloo, my sister and I barely spoke.
.
“Okay” I agreed.
.
The ballroom was packed. When my time came to toast the happy couple, my eyes wrestled with the spotlight, and landed on Continue reading »
Who's Your Daddy: A Stripper's View On Fathers

Who’s Your Daddy: A Stripper’s View On Fathers

.
“I mean they don’t grade fathers, but if your daughter is a stripper you f*cked up.” - Chris Rock
 .
If you’ve never placed a bet in your life, it’s a pretty safe one to assume most strippers have issues.
 .
Every g-string diva has a story, and I can only speak for mine, which is your garden variety text book tale of father abandonment, followed by step-father abuse. This isn’t to say I’m playing The Victim in my personal Lifetime Movie of the Week, nor do I seek pity from you readers. It just was what it was. I played with the cards I was dealt, and kept rolling the dice.
 .
Every Father’s Day, I find myself in awe of my male friends who not only take on their parental role, they actually engage in the lives of their children. I know men who coach soccer, volunteer at swimming practice, sell Girl Scout cookies in the office, and organize Boy Scout Camping weekends. One of my buddies is so involved with his two boys he can’t help but beam with pride in every Facebook photo he posts. You can see it in their eyes; the savoring of every moment caught on camera, moments that fly so fast, it makes you wonder where the time went.
.
Time, for a father is precious. I know some dads who put in 14 hour days at the office, when not traveling the globe for their career. The moments they have with their children fall by the waist side, becoming casualties in their war with the clock.
.
Balancing Life with children, for any parent is tough – but as a sole breadwinnng father – it can seem damn near impossible. It’s no wonder some men throw in the towel and bail. Only the strong survive, and only the selfless remain.
.
I may never have the experiences of father-daughter dances, or feel the strength and security slipping under his covers after a nightmare, but I get immense joy in knowing there are fathers out there who are getting it right.
.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A little something I wrote, for a card I made for a friend:

.

From the outside looking in

From a girl who never knew

The strength in knowing he’s on your side

The feeling of being true

 

The safety in blind faith

Knowing he’s got your back

That he’ll pick you up, help dust you off

When you sometimes fall off track

 

Bedtime stories, pancake mornings

Singing songs off key

Cannon ball days, and popcorn nights

Every moment, golden memories

 

From the outside looking in

From a friend who knows your heart

I wish you the happiest of Father’s Days

From Goodnight Moon’s to shooting stars

- Christine Macdonald 2012

So tell me: How are you celebrating Father’s Day this Sunday?

Bullying badges of honor

Bullying badges of honor

We gathered outside for some fresh air around midnight. Exhausted from the rush, but grateful for our tips, we enjoyed the cool breeze and a well deserved after work cocktail. The restaurant was always busy on Saturday nights, but because of Gay Pride weekend, the place was crazier than ever.

There were five of us, me being the only straight one. We sipped our drinks and shared stories, a lovely way to end a busy night’s work.

I don’t remember how many there were, or even what kind of car they were in. I just remember feeling their hatred as they whipped raw eggs at us from the street. The light turned green and they were off. I was baffled, thinking how random the attack was. Then one of my friends spoke as he wiped off the yolk, which was dripping down the front of his oxford shirt.

“This is what we go through every year.”

My head shaking, I extended my arms. We stood there, holding each other in front of the restaurant. Neither one of us said Continue reading »

Vacation Part One: Expectations, Honesty, Chemistry, Reality

Vacation Part One: Expectations, Honesty, Chemistry, Reality

There’s something about going on vacation that makes us feel like we’re nine years old again. Butterflies spin in our bellies, as we cross off each passing day building up to our departure. As the vacation countdown continues, we make last-minute trips to the drug store, check the weather forecast, and begin mentally packing our bags.

When our travel day finally arrives, we happily navigate space in our carry on luggage between the four pairs of must-have shoes, figure-flattering tops and our favorite pair of jeans – all the while, our minds fueled by excitement, begin to wonder:

  • What type of adventure will this be?
  • Who will I meet?
  • Will I learn anything?
  • Will I face any fears, or discover new ones?
  • Just where will the Universe take me?

It’s the very reason we take time for ourselves, away from our everyday lives. An escape from the mundane. To feel like that nine-year old; so carefree and open to limitless possibilities and opportunities.

Whether you’re on a Disney cruise with your family, a mountain hiking excursion with friends, or flying off to Hawaii with the love of your life, all vacations have ways of taking you outside yourself, on little adventures. The best ones take you outside your comfort zone.

The Universe really does have its master plan, and going off your personal grid of everyday routine is an excellent way to ride the wave. Some of the most amazing life opportunities occur as a result of stepping outside of who we are.  We learn valuable lessons about ourselves when we let go of who we think we should be.

Although I’m a pretty heavy thinker (ok, dreamer), I’ve never been much of a planner. Outside of knowing how I’m getting somewhere and which hotel I choose, my usual agenda is that I have no agenda. This behavior serves me well, but as I learned  on my most recent vacation – when other people are involved, and there’s not much structure to plans outside the “play by ear” motto, excitement flirts with expectations, which can turn in to deflated feelings when things don’t pan out like you hoped.

Part of my vacation was meeting up with an old man-friend. He’s completely wrong for me on almost every level, but we respect our differences and don’t judge. Nobody chooses chemistry; all we can do is choose to react or detract when it hits. When it comes to Patrick, the lightening bolt hit in the form of effortless conversation, a ton of laughter, and me trying not to step on his shoes as he spun me on the dance floor. A stripper with the moves, I was. A two-steppin’ twirly girl, notsomuch.

There are few people who get me – even less who share the same humor, love of music and panache for dancing (even if I shake my booty like I’m still on stage, and he spins the ladies around like the awesome entertainer he is). We both dance like no one’s watching, but secretly hope they do. We love adoration and attention, which makes us a great pair of friends who know how to work a room. Then there’s the sexual chemistry. We were cloaked in it from the start. To say Patrick has that certain je ne sais quoi, is an understatement. To believe I’d use a trite French term of endearment, and actually hear my voice attempt the accent, is Patrick knowing me.

The year we met, I was in a new town and just getting my feet wet back in the dating world. It had been a while since I felt such a powerful connection with someone, but powerful it was. Something greater than myself made me pounce him in mid sentence as we were walking. After Patrick’s priceless look of shock and my confident “oh, like you weren’t thinking about doing that?” reply, the floodgates opened and for the next few hours, it was tongue-o-polooza. All these years later, I still regard the night I met Patrick at that concert to be one of the best times I ever had.

Contrary to what you may think, as a stripper, I was still a lady – so there was no horizontal hokey pokey that night. Which I think, laid (pardon the pun) the foundation for an amazing friendship in the years that followed.

But here’s the thing about chemistry – it finds you. Every time Patrick popped back in my life, there it was. Like an old lover coming back for more. As time went on, each encounter we shared, via the phone, email or smoke signals, we untied the constraints of our lives and made time for one another to just be. We enjoy each other so much, but the reality of our lives is that between work, travel schedules, geography and anything else you can think of, a traditional relationship, with us will never be. Which, makes it even more exciting, naturally.

The Universe definitely has a sense of humor. Little bitch.

The planets must have been aligned in our favor during my recent vacation, because for the first time in ages, Patrick and I would be in the same town. Giddy with excitement, I was. And as time drew closer to our rendezvous, we began to talk about things we’d do, people we’d want to meet, and how exciting it was that we’d have three whole days together. The only snafu in this plan – was that it was starting to be a plan.

Patrick travels the globe for his career, and the reason he was in the same town as me was really a happy coincidence. I kept telling him I would roll with it, and he kept saying any second he was free, he’d find me. Sounds perfect, if the seconds he were free actually weren’t so few and far between.

The day I arrived was magic. Like no time had passed, we picked up where we left off years ago, and settled in to our fabulousness. A great start to our little adventure.

The next day, reality hit. After not hearing from Patrick except to learn via text, I should make plans without him – I was deflated, angry, hurt and confused.

Little did I know, I was knee-deep in an extremely valuable life lesson.

In all the build up of our reunion, I lost myself in the expectation of having something that really wasn’t meant to be. It’s like my nine-year-old self arriving at Disneyland, only to learn my favorite ride is closed for repair. As kids, we’d get upset, but it’s not going to stop us from enjoying the rest of what Disneyland has to offer!

After the let down of not seeing Patrick that night, I took a moment to process the reality of the situation, remembering it wasn’t about me at all. I was angry at the circumstance. But I still needed to let him know how I felt.

The reason I love Patrick to pieces, is that I can be a total girl sometimes and he doesn’t judge or use it against me. Boys want to fix it, but sometimes Girls just want to be heard. I knew Patrick couldn’t fix his situation, so I hesitated telling him how disappointed I was with this trip not turning out as we hoped. I knew he would feel pressured, but in order for me to move past this setback, I had to get it out. So I did. And he did. And later, when his work was finished, he found the time to see me.

“I’m okay.” I said with a hug hello.

“I know you’re not, but that’s okay.” He laughed nervously, as if to wonder how long I was going to give him shit.

We shared some laughs, and after a while, it was water under the bridge. The next few hours were spent laughing, dancing, meeting great people and riding our chemistry wave.  Saying good-bye to Patrick is never fun, because we never know when our paths will cross again. But I left him this time with so much gratitude and love for what I learned.

So much of what we take on in the form of disappointment or grief is based on how we build things up in our minds. My time with Patrick was not what we talked about, or how I imagined, but that didn’t take away from any of the moments we did share. As always, those little nuggets of time together are one for the books (or, Blog).

The balance of my vacation was spent with two of the most amazing women I know. We worked together 20 years ago as strippers in Waikiki, and, as usual, our stripper reunion was packed with all sorts of Awesome. Countless bottles of wine, going through old photos, sharing memories and making new ones. I will elaborate in a post tomorrow, but to give you a taste, I’ll say that I received a text while sitting at the airport that read: “I keep cracking up every once in a while thinking of you dancing naked with chicken nuggets”.

Stay tuned…

The Shoulds, The Dad, and The Ugly

The Shoulds, The Dad, and The Ugly

Like most of us, I’ve spent way too much time “shoulding” myself. There’s such a negative connotation to “should”. It leaves us in a constant state of disappointment. We go from “I should’ve said or done this”, to “I should have known better”, instead of a more positive thought like “next time I will try to”, or “now that I’ve learned something, I will…”.

I found myself in the throws of should this weekend. This was a doozy, as it was related to communicating with my [biological] father.

Ever since I posted about forgiveness, I’ve been thinking about my dad. I never speak of him, because the long and short of it is, he left when I was two.

There were the occasional weekend visits when he still lived on the island, but after a while, he just faded out, like the ending of a movie that leaves you wondering “what just happened?”

The things I remember about dad are the very things I’ve inherited. Irony is nothing, if not entertaining. Our humor is dry, and can be somewhat corny. We both live and breathe music, and to this day, when I hear a Simon and Garfunkel song (especially, “At the Zoo“), I think of dad. When speaking of my skin disorder, I’ve often said “I have my best feature (my eyes) surrounded by my worst (my skin)” – both traits are from him.

It’s been 25 years since I’ve seen him, and although I live quite publicly, I’m certain dad wasn’t privy to my story.  When mom emailed this weekend letting my sister and I know he wanted to reconnect, I was overcome with a desire to cleanse my Continue reading »

The only way out is through

The only way out is through

Growing pains suck, but knowing that we’re actually growing, and not wallowing, helps.

I recently found this gem that I’d like to share with you.

Here’s to us. Let’s continue to obtain the tools which help us make better choices.

~ ~ ~
.

A time comes in your life when you finally get it …

When in the midst of all your fears and insanity you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out – ENOUGH!

Enough fighting and crying or struggling to hold on. And, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum, your sobs begin to subside, you shudder once or twice, you blink back your tears and through a mantle of wet lashes you begin to look at the world through new eyes. This is your awakening. You realize that it’s time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change or for happiness, safety and security to come galloping over the next horizon. You come to terms with the fact that he is not Prince Charming and you are not Cinderella and that in the real world there aren’t always fairy tale endings (or beginnings for that matter) and that any guarantee of “happily ever after” must begin with you and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are….and that’s OK. (They are entitled to their own views and opinions. And you learn the importance of loving and championing yourself and in the process a sense of new found confidence is born of self-approval. You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you (or didn’t do for you) and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected. You learn that people don’t always say what they mean or mean what they say and that not everyone will always be there for you and that it’s not always about you.

So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself and in the process a sense of safety & security is born of self-reliance. You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties and in the process a sense of peace & contentment is born of forgiveness. You realize that much of the way you view yourself, and the world around you, is as a result of all the messages and opinions that have been ingrained into your psyche. And you begin to sift through all the crap you’ve been fed about how you should behave, how you should look and how much you should weigh, what you should wear and where you should shop and what you should drive, how and where you should live and what you should do for a living. Who you should sleep with, who you should marry and what you should expect of a marriage, the importance of having and raising children or what you owe your parents.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view And you begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for. You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you’ve outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with and in the process you learn to go with your instincts. You learn that it is truly in giving that we receive.

And that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a “consumer” looking for your next fix.

You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a by gone era but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.

You learn that you don’t know everything; it’s not your job to save the world and that you can’t teach a pig to sing. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake. Then you learn about love. Romantic love and familial love. How to love, how much to give in love, when to stop giving and when to walk away. You learn not to project your needs or your feelings onto a relationship.

You learn that you will not be more beautiful, more intelligent, more lovable or important because of the man on your arm or the child that bears your name.

You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be. You stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes.

You learn that just as people grow and change so it is with love ..and you learn that you don’t have the right to demand love on your terms …just to make you happy.

And, you learn that alone does not mean lonely … And you look in the mirror and come to terms with the fact that you will never be a size 5 or a perfect 10 and you stop trying to compete with the image inside your head and agonizing over how you “stack up.”

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over and ignoring your needs. You learn that feelings of entitlement are perfectly OK … and that it is your right to want things and to ask for the things that you want …and that sometimes it is necessary to make demands. You come to the realization that you deserve to be treated with love, kindness, sensitivity and respect and you won’t settle for less. And, you allow only the one who cherishes you to glorify you with his touch ..and in the process you internalize the meaning of self-respect.

And you learn that your body really is your temple. And you begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin eating a balanced diet, drinking more water and taking more time to exercise.

You learn that fatigue diminishes the spirit and can create doubt and fear.

So you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play. You learn, that for the most part, in life you get what you believe you deserve … and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different from working toward making it happen.

More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone and that it’s OK to risk asking for help.

You learn that the only thing you must truly fear is the great robber baron of all time. FEAR itself. You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your terms.

And you learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom. You learn that life isn’t always fair, you don’t always get what you think you deserve and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people. On these occasions you learn not to personalize things. You learn that God isn’t punishing you or failing to answer your prayers. It’s just life happening.

And you learn to deal with evil in its most primal state – the ego. You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.

You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls. You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about; a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never ever settle for less than your heart’s desire.

And you hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind.

And you make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.

Finally, with courage in your heart and with God by your side you take a stand, you take a deep breath and you begin to design the life you want to live as best as you can.

- Author unknown

Truth, mom and love

I had an interesting talk with mom yesterday. She had some feelings about the piece I wrote on my bout with depression and how I described my childhood.

“Raped at age thirteen, drugs by fourteen, a skin deformity by fifteen, promiscuity to feel   beautiful, left home at seventeen and on and on. Absentee father, abusive step-father, a mother who drank.”

A mother who drank. I knew it was going to cause a reaction. But I did not leave it out, because in order to know how I arrived at certain places, you need you know where I came from.

My truth comes from a long line of people who prefer to keep things hidden. And that’s okay – for them. I, on the other hand, prefer to leave no stone unturned. It helps pave the path for my healing if I can wipe away the old foundation and build a new road for myself.
.
I wouldn’t be the resilient, sharp cookie I am today had it not been for my mother. She did the best with what she knew and, as a wife abandoned by her husband (my father) and recipient of years of abuse (my step-father), she dealt with things the only way she knew how. My mother grew up with a mom who drank. It makes perfect sense that she did too. I am an addict. I caught on real quickly (much to the horror of my mother) and took the self-medication-train to destruction, complete with stripper pole and g-string.
It is what it is.
There are no grudges or pointed fingers. I accept full responsibility with my actions and am writing a book to tell all about it. Although she may not understand the reasons why, she supports me beyond measure.

I still smell her perfume when I curl up in bed at night and can’t sleep. I still hear her whisper “talk to God, sweetheart” and it makes me smile until I dream.

I know someone up there must be listening. My mother and I are survivors. Through everything we’ve been through together, we are stronger than ever and we share a special bond – the type of bond created by a mother and daughter who have not only seen the light, but held each other in the dark.

.

Driving me back

Driving me back

 

There is something about road trips alone that bring reflection. I drove a little under four hours today. That’s a lot of thinking. This story is 100% true and a result of that.

1995 – Waikiki

“I don’t want to live any more.”

One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand.

Three seconds of silence filled the line before Ben spoke.

“You’re talking crazy.” He was searching for my smile.

“I have a knife. It’s in my hand.” Hearing the words whispered from my quivering lips still didn’t convince me it was real.

“You really have a knife? I’m coming over. Promise me you aren’t going to do anything.”

“No. Don’t.”

Please hurry.

“I’m fine.”

I’m not.

“Fuck, Christine, shut the fuck up. I am on my way. I’m hanging up now so be ready to buzz me up in five minutes.”

Four, one-thousand.

“Fuck. Say something Christine.” I knew he was serious because he was calling me by my first name. Stephanie was somewhere lost inside me and he knew it.

“Ok.”

Please hurry.

After Ben talked me off the ledge of despair, he attempted to make me laugh. I managed a smile and through my shame of dramatic disposition, I leaned over and opened my arms.

Ben and I shared an embrace. There was nothing romantic or sexual about it; with Ben my love always shone under the neon lights of Platonic Party Friend. But after this episode, he was a brother.

Unlike every other male friend I hung out with, Ben and I never had sex. We kissed once high on ecstasy and shared a nervous laugh in the others’ mouth. It was awkward.

My clinical depression took me places I never imagined. I used to hide from the world in my apartment, unplug the phone and ingest massive amounts of drugs. I plotted my death. Envisioned who would show up at my funeral. What would they say? What music would they play at the wake and more importantly, what would they be wearing?

When I finally felt like actually following through with my fantasy, I reached out. I connected my phone to the wall and dialed up Ben before I even knew what I was doing.

***

After leaving the island and losing touch with just about everybody from those days, I sought help. I spoke of Ben frequently in my sessions.

Deep down I knew I never wanted to die. I simply didn’t know how to live.

Fast-forward almost twenty years and thanks to the marvels of technology, Ben and I have reconnected.

This post is a love letter. My way of saying thank you to Ben. He helped save my life before I knew I was capable of doing it myself. Thank you, sweet Ben. My knight in shining friend.

Quote Me Wednesday

Quote Me Wednesday

Let’s break up the work week.

Time to share one of your favorite quotes. It could be from a movie, poem, song or even something you wrote.

I’ll start with one I wrote earlier on my Twitter page:

“It’s never too late to have a happy childhood” ~ Tom Robbins

Your turn

Coullda, Shoullda, Woullda

Coullda, Shoullda, Woullda

.

How many of us think I coullda, shoullda, woullda?

Some will say they never do.I know it’s fashionable to play the no regrets card. I get it. I understand that who we are today is directly related to our choices in the past, no matter how poor some were.

When it comes to regrets I have some doozies, but I don’t focus on the past. What is now, is alive and filled with promise. What echoes behind me are lessons and memories woven within my spirit and strength of character.

We may not always be proud of our history, but we all share a common bond of owning it. So the next time you find yourself saying coullda, shoullda, woullda, give yourself permission to let it go. I am learning to do that.

You can’t open up new doors if you carry around old keys.

Goodbye letter

Goodbye letter

 

Dear Richard,

For thirty seven years, you have been the only father figure in my life. Good, bad and ugly, you were the man I looked to when I needed one. I have learned to forgive and love you, but I never really liked you. And now you are dying.

I am glad we spoke today. You welcomed my call like a surprise blindfold of hands and our smiles shared an uncomfortable moment of gratitude and love.

Although groggy and weak, your voice took me back to a place that is difficult to return, and I am surprised how strong a woman I’ve become.

Knowing you will not leave the hospital and hearing how scared you are is like seeing an accident on the highway and helpless to to anything about it. I feel for my mom, who has never left your side and wish I were home to hold her hand.

Since I was four, you have never said “I love you” to me. I understand. You were never showed how to love and I know this is the source of your negative energy.

Right before we hung up the phone, I told you “I know you will feel uncomfortable hearing this, but I do love you”. I could hear your smile as my tears tickled my cheeks, knowing that would be the last time I would hear your voice. There was a soft, quiet moment on the line. I held my breath as you wrapped my words around your heart.

Not knowing what you would say, I heard your smile and you replied, “Well that’s nice to hear”. I know what you meant, and I’ll take it.

Sleep well. I will take care of mom and we will rejoice in knowing you are in a place where you can finally open your heart and give love. We know you have it in you.