I finally did it. It was a long time coming. And necessary. I am always grappling with spiritual and physical health, so it stands to reason that I would begin to examine my mental health.
For many, many years, I have been cognizant of the fact that I am unraveling. It has been a slow, steady, but sure descension into my very present state. Now let me rush to assure you that I am not in danger of hurting myself or someone else. Nor do I have a medical issue that has altered my perception of life. Very simply, I need to connect some dots. My words, not my therapist's.
As my hands have stopped typing, several times, and rested on the keyboard.....I can tell this will be a tricky blog. How much should you tell them? What will become uncomfortable for the reader? Let's see where this goes.
I am an avid reader. My collection of books are typically black authors telling our stories (non fiction) such as Michael Eric Dyson and biographical information about people like Al Sharpton, Aretha Franklin, and Charles M. Blow. My coffee table is also home to literary works about Steve Jobs, Barbara Walters, and Ted Kennedy. I like to know where people come from and how their environment has shaped or influenced them.
For this reason, I also enjoy documentary series that expose the background of singers and/or musicians like "Unsung" and "Behind the Music". I was watching a program about the immensely talented DeBarge family. When I learned that their white father was beating their black mother and the police looked the other way, along with the fact that that same father sexually abused many, if not all of them......let's just say, I understood why so many of them struggled with drug addiction. I had some context to go with their characters.
In the 80's, I loved buying a new album and ripping off the plastic, so I could read the liner notes and dedications. Which studio was used and stories about the location. I did the same with cd's in later years. These opportunities are rare. I think the last time I was able to enjoy this simple pleasure was when my youngest purchased Solange's "A Seat at the Table" for me. In recent years, I have downloaded or streamed music, and for obvious reasons, that makes me sad.
I love a good story and I wish I had a romantic tale about about how I reached the decision. The truth is, it was past time. It was also pivotal that a member of my family has chosen therapy at 4 different stages of her life. A close friend also shared how much it helped her. When I shared that I was toying with the idea, they were both encouraging and supportive.
Recently Michelle Obama discussed undergoing marital counseling in her book "Becoming" and on her book tour. For some, I suppose that was a stamp of approval. It appears that the stigma associated with seeking help via counseling/treatment has been lifted. People are boldly proclaiming that they drink smoothies, enjoy yoga and seek therapy. And you don't have to live in California to participate in all three.
The day I began researching costs, insurance, and therapists in my area, I was full of hope laced with a little trepidation. I had no idea what to expect and when I settled on the provider of my choice, I was at a loss when they posed the following question - "why are you seeking therapy?" Have you ever had a craving for something to eat, but you weren't sure what you wanted? I knew I wanted therapy, I wasn't sure why.
This is still new to me. This week I finished my second session. The same way that I have enjoyed learning about the childhood mishaps, educational blunders, parental covering or lack thereof, sibling rivalry, loves lost and recovered......world views, economic structure, oppression, and the household dynamics that have shaped others, I now am beginning to explore about myself.
I have already learned that there are certain defense mechanisms that I put in place when I was in the 6th grade. They might have been necessary when I was 11 years old, at a brand new school, and bullied for being overweight with crooked teeth. Operating in the same fashion 48 years later - well, it's not as beneficial.
Last night, I walked away from my blog to contemplate how I was going to end it and give my daughter a chance to check the grammar - now that she is working on her PhD, she swears I need help. One of the things I like to do in the evening is stream random, but at the same time relevant, talk shows. I stumbled upon an interview between Trevor Noah from "The Daily Show" and Charlamagne The God from "The Breakfast Club". Guess what the topic was? Yup, mental health.
Charlamagne has written a book titled "Shook One" that details how acknowledging his anxiety led him into therapy. He also deals with how mental health is viewed by the black community. More importantly, a therapist breaks down each chapter in an addendum. I'm looking forward to adding this to my collection.
As we head into 2019, we are sure to be overwhelmed by Facebook resolutions and perhaps the need for self-examination. I believe in the latter. I am committed to searching deep within in the hope that I will be the better for it. I wish the same for you.
http://www.cc.com/video-clips/99hx44/the-daily-show-with-trevor-noah-charlamagne-tha-god---combatting-the-stigma-around-mental-health-in--shook-one----extended-interview
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Saturday, October 6, 2018
What Brought Me #2
Today is my 59th birthday - wow! I thought it would be really cool to publish the second part of my story on such an auspicious occasion versus on the customary 4th. Notice that I am trying to skirt the fact that I missed an entire month of blogging. Ah, life. My life.
In the first part of this two-part series, I talked about the extreme lows of moving 3,000 miles away from home and it really wasn't a pretty read. But I didn't answer the question posed in the first paragraph of that blog. What brought me to Charlotte?
As I mentioned in the former blog, California is home. My father was stationed in the area twice and I had lived there, off and on, for most of my life. Aside from my grandparents’ home in Virginia, it is the environment that represents consistency and stability. At the time, I had siblings, nieces, nephews, my mother, friends, volunteer work, and political peers, and I was well known and trusted. If I can be perfectly honest, my name had a little clout. Why would anyone leave all of that behind?
California is a pretty diverse melting pot. Especially in areas like Los Angeles where more than 220 languages are spoken. In the Northern and Central part, we also embrace our relationships with other minorities in a major way. In 2014, 33.9 million residents were 46.6% white non-Hispanic, 32.3% Latino, 11.1% Asian American or Pacific Islander, 6.4% black non-Hispanic and about 1% Native American. Today, the Hispanic population is now the proud majority sitting at 38%, while the whites sit at 34%. Black people represent 5.9% out of 38 million people.
The diversity was something that I was always proud of, but the representation of and for black people was almost non-existent. On the first day of elementary school, I knew for a certainty that my oldest two children, who went to public school, were going to share that they had one or two other black kids in their classroom. When they reached middle school and attended high school, the stories were a little longer because they would share how many they had in each one of their classes but the numbers were still the same. I either heard, "i am the only one in...." or "there are two of us in...." - I became accustomed to the routine.
It was the same, obviously, in my adult life. There was a running joke among my peers about there being only one black person hired at each bank. Most of the circles that I moved in politically and otherwise were totally influenced by and run by Caucasian people. The makeup of the county was one that centered on a few "good ole boys" who made the major decisions for the rest of us.
Now lest I leave you with the idea that I was resolute and passive in my situation, let me hasten to tell you that I have always been an under-dog who relishes a good controversy. There are many organizations that I worked with and for to make sure that the underrepresented were heard. This blog isn't about my influence on my community, so I will not produce any receipts. As my late brother-in-law Ruben used to say, "the truth don't need no defense".
Many of these good ole boys were friends of mine, and some of them were associates. We would have a civil and sometimes heated discourse about the nature of the community. How minorities were perceived and the like. I admit that I often enjoyed antagonizing them because I knew that I knew what I knew. More importantly, I didn't figure that the Lord had me sit at the table just to ask for some crumbs. Sometimes there were phenomenal outcomes, and sometimes I was disappointed and stunned.
One of the organizations that I had been a member of since I was pregnant with my youngest, was the Business and Professional Women of Merced County. I loved those women and we had been to several conferences together and put on many fundraisers and events. At some point, I became the Vice President and was being groomed for the Presidency. I wasn't looking forward to it.
I also had been asked about seeking political office and was seriously considering it. One of my friend's husband was very connected and because of our relationship, I had done some work with the Senator. I also knew the Congressman quite well, and one of his aides and I were really close. God rest her soul. She was a "homie" - a latina and a firecracker. She lived in the hood and was proud of it.
During that same period, I started resenting the social invites where I was the only black person in the room. I started feeling like a fish out of water when I looked around at the familiar players. At this time, there was one other black person who used to be asked to sing at different functions in the area. I had heard her name come up in regard to a political seat as well. No disrespect to sistuh girl, but I was a little more engaged than she was so I always thought I had a better shot. At some point, I told those in my circle, that I would never run against another black person because I wouldn't divide our community that way. I would rather get behind her and help her win. I meant that. As a side note, she sang at my wedding reception - our first dance, as a matter of fact. She is a friend, and I admire her and all of her talents, greatly.
On one particular night, I was at a function that raised money for unwed mothers. It was a pretty posh event that was hosted by some associates yearly. The backyard, where the event was held, was 5x's larger than most houses. A woman ran up to me, clutched her pearls (literally) and said, "oh, I am so glad you finally arrived....now, where would you like to set up?" I had no idea what she was talking about and she could sense that so she said, "aren't you.....?"
You guessed it. She thought I was the black singer. I mean, after all, there is normally only ONE of us at an event and there I was.
For some reason, that was the day. It was the day that I no longer wanted to be affiliated with the groups, charity events, organizations, or the people. It was the day that I decided I would seriously talk to my husband about moving to a different part of the country where people looked like us and had influence and power.
I thought about how great it would be for my youngest to go to school in an environment where she saw people of color affecting change in her community. She knew about my altruism, and like her siblings, I had taken her with me to knock on doors and pass out information. But I wanted her to realize that I was not some strange phenomenon. What she saw and what she didn't get to experience came down to statistics and opportunity.
Like most of you, I have led a full and eventful life. I feel as if I could write at least 3 more series about this topic. The bottom line is that I moved from California to Charlotte for the very same reason that P Diddy is trying to dupe you into drinking Ciroc in his commercial - I did it for the culture.
In the first part of this two-part series, I talked about the extreme lows of moving 3,000 miles away from home and it really wasn't a pretty read. But I didn't answer the question posed in the first paragraph of that blog. What brought me to Charlotte?
As I mentioned in the former blog, California is home. My father was stationed in the area twice and I had lived there, off and on, for most of my life. Aside from my grandparents’ home in Virginia, it is the environment that represents consistency and stability. At the time, I had siblings, nieces, nephews, my mother, friends, volunteer work, and political peers, and I was well known and trusted. If I can be perfectly honest, my name had a little clout. Why would anyone leave all of that behind?
California is a pretty diverse melting pot. Especially in areas like Los Angeles where more than 220 languages are spoken. In the Northern and Central part, we also embrace our relationships with other minorities in a major way. In 2014, 33.9 million residents were 46.6% white non-Hispanic, 32.3% Latino, 11.1% Asian American or Pacific Islander, 6.4% black non-Hispanic and about 1% Native American. Today, the Hispanic population is now the proud majority sitting at 38%, while the whites sit at 34%. Black people represent 5.9% out of 38 million people.
The diversity was something that I was always proud of, but the representation of and for black people was almost non-existent. On the first day of elementary school, I knew for a certainty that my oldest two children, who went to public school, were going to share that they had one or two other black kids in their classroom. When they reached middle school and attended high school, the stories were a little longer because they would share how many they had in each one of their classes but the numbers were still the same. I either heard, "i am the only one in...." or "there are two of us in...." - I became accustomed to the routine.
It was the same, obviously, in my adult life. There was a running joke among my peers about there being only one black person hired at each bank. Most of the circles that I moved in politically and otherwise were totally influenced by and run by Caucasian people. The makeup of the county was one that centered on a few "good ole boys" who made the major decisions for the rest of us.
Now lest I leave you with the idea that I was resolute and passive in my situation, let me hasten to tell you that I have always been an under-dog who relishes a good controversy. There are many organizations that I worked with and for to make sure that the underrepresented were heard. This blog isn't about my influence on my community, so I will not produce any receipts. As my late brother-in-law Ruben used to say, "the truth don't need no defense".
Many of these good ole boys were friends of mine, and some of them were associates. We would have a civil and sometimes heated discourse about the nature of the community. How minorities were perceived and the like. I admit that I often enjoyed antagonizing them because I knew that I knew what I knew. More importantly, I didn't figure that the Lord had me sit at the table just to ask for some crumbs. Sometimes there were phenomenal outcomes, and sometimes I was disappointed and stunned.
One of the organizations that I had been a member of since I was pregnant with my youngest, was the Business and Professional Women of Merced County. I loved those women and we had been to several conferences together and put on many fundraisers and events. At some point, I became the Vice President and was being groomed for the Presidency. I wasn't looking forward to it.
I also had been asked about seeking political office and was seriously considering it. One of my friend's husband was very connected and because of our relationship, I had done some work with the Senator. I also knew the Congressman quite well, and one of his aides and I were really close. God rest her soul. She was a "homie" - a latina and a firecracker. She lived in the hood and was proud of it.
During that same period, I started resenting the social invites where I was the only black person in the room. I started feeling like a fish out of water when I looked around at the familiar players. At this time, there was one other black person who used to be asked to sing at different functions in the area. I had heard her name come up in regard to a political seat as well. No disrespect to sistuh girl, but I was a little more engaged than she was so I always thought I had a better shot. At some point, I told those in my circle, that I would never run against another black person because I wouldn't divide our community that way. I would rather get behind her and help her win. I meant that. As a side note, she sang at my wedding reception - our first dance, as a matter of fact. She is a friend, and I admire her and all of her talents, greatly.
On one particular night, I was at a function that raised money for unwed mothers. It was a pretty posh event that was hosted by some associates yearly. The backyard, where the event was held, was 5x's larger than most houses. A woman ran up to me, clutched her pearls (literally) and said, "oh, I am so glad you finally arrived....now, where would you like to set up?" I had no idea what she was talking about and she could sense that so she said, "aren't you.....?"
You guessed it. She thought I was the black singer. I mean, after all, there is normally only ONE of us at an event and there I was.
For some reason, that was the day. It was the day that I no longer wanted to be affiliated with the groups, charity events, organizations, or the people. It was the day that I decided I would seriously talk to my husband about moving to a different part of the country where people looked like us and had influence and power.
I thought about how great it would be for my youngest to go to school in an environment where she saw people of color affecting change in her community. She knew about my altruism, and like her siblings, I had taken her with me to knock on doors and pass out information. But I wanted her to realize that I was not some strange phenomenon. What she saw and what she didn't get to experience came down to statistics and opportunity.
Like most of you, I have led a full and eventful life. I feel as if I could write at least 3 more series about this topic. The bottom line is that I moved from California to Charlotte for the very same reason that P Diddy is trying to dupe you into drinking Ciroc in his commercial - I did it for the culture.
Saturday, August 4, 2018
What Brought Me.......#1
The question that most people ask, when they find out that I call California home, is......"what brought you to Charlotte?".....It's a big question with more than one answer.
On August 12, 2008, I left Merced, California in my Kia Sorento, with my best friend (since 9th grade) in the passenger seat. We were headed for Charlotte, North Carolina, and we were excited about traveling over 3,000 miles together. We figured it would give us both a chance to reminisce about our friendship and figure out what this long distance relationship would look like.
Now don't get me wrong. Both of us are military brats that are used to travel and being disconnected from friendships that we may have developed. It wasn't as if we had never been apart from one another. As a matter of fact, I was in the military myself and spent some of my adult life in Germany. This was different.
In 2005, my husband and I began to discuss moving out of California. It was something that I had thought about for a long time, but I wasn't sure where I wanted to live nor did I have a solid plan. I knew I was tired of the community that I lived in (for various reasons) and I felt as if evolution was on the other side of the country.
The more we discussed it, the clearer things became. We did some research on Atlanta, Georgia and ruled it out. Then Richmond, Virginia (I spent some time in the summer, every year, visited my grandparents when I was a child - they lived in Virginia) which was extremely promising. Ultimately, we started thinking about North Carolina.
I was pretty familiar with the Carolinas - my oldest daughter had completed a semester of college in South Carolina and eventually moved to North Carolina. I also traveled to Greensboro every year on business, and I really enjoyed the culture and environment. The more we debated, the more we liked the idea.
In 2006, I traveled to Charlotte with that same best friend and another one of the yayas (a close group of female friends) to look at property and spend time with a realtor. Cleveland had also come out on his own. By 2007, we had purchased a lot and selected our builders. We literally chose all of our interior options and upgrades using the internet and when the color choices weren't definitive, our daughter would go to the showroom and deliver a report. It was an exhilarating, magnificent time!
Then the bomb dropped. The financial crisis of 2008 created the biggest disruption to the U.S. housing market since the Great Depression. Our home in California went from being worth a quarter of a million dollars to having no real value at all. Our plan to sell was now a pipe dream.
At this point, there was no going backwards (construction was well under way) and we were financially responsible for two homes. The story gets better. Cleveland was working for Mclane Pacific (a grocery distributor that operated nationally) and he was offered a position in Concord (20 mins from where our new property was located) - ideal, right? I thought so. There was one problem. They wanted him to start prior to August 12 which meant, he would have to leave California before I did. I was perfectly okay with that - I figured between my Church family, real family and friends, I could get the house packed up and get on the road. He turned down the job.
So, now we are financially responsible for two homes AND my husband doesn't have a job in North Carolina. A dream suddenly seemed like a nightmare. We did end up renting our home prior to leaving California, but we couldn't rent it for what we owed on it, so each month, for many years, we had to make up the difference.
Before we left California, we received a call from the realtor who let us know that construction had been pushed back because of weather conditions and, in addition, there were other homeowners that had priority over us. The conclusion to this story was the latest of several disappointing facts. Our home would not be done by the time we arrived in Charlotte.
Just to make sure you are keeping up with all of the facts, let's cover the highlights. 1. We are responsible for two homes 2. Cleveland's job in North Carolina is no longer available. 3. We have no where to live when we arrive in Charlotte. Are you with me? As people of faith, we obviously didn't believe that it was the end of the world, it just felt like it. Out of respect for your time, let me wrap up this story and put a bow on it.
I arrived in Albemarle, North Carolina (at my daughter's house) on August 16, 2008, late in the evening. My husband pulled in shortly behind me in a U-haul truck with my then, 13-year-old daughter and my son who was on his way to start a new life in Florida, where he currently lives. After meeting with the realtor, the next day, and getting our stuff loaded into a pod, my husband boarded a plane and went back to his old job in California where he stayed for the next year.
I lived in temporary housing in Albemarle (not my daughter's house) and for three months, five days a week, 4 times a day, an hour each way, I traveled back and forth taking my daughter to her new high school in Charlotte. To say that these were trying times would be putting it mildly. I missed my husband, my friends, my family and the familiarity of a life that I had perfected and that was perfect for me.
I went from being socially and politically connected to being severely depressed and having a difficult time communicating with others. At my lowest point, Honoree' came home from school (after we had finally moved in the new house) and asked me if I was going to change clothes today. When I gave her a puzzled look, she said, "mommy you have been wearing those clothes for three days".
During this time, I bent, but I never broke. So when people ask me "what brought you to Charlotte?", I respond with many answers, but without a doubt, the Lord not only brought me, but he kept me.
On August 12, 2008, I left Merced, California in my Kia Sorento, with my best friend (since 9th grade) in the passenger seat. We were headed for Charlotte, North Carolina, and we were excited about traveling over 3,000 miles together. We figured it would give us both a chance to reminisce about our friendship and figure out what this long distance relationship would look like.
Now don't get me wrong. Both of us are military brats that are used to travel and being disconnected from friendships that we may have developed. It wasn't as if we had never been apart from one another. As a matter of fact, I was in the military myself and spent some of my adult life in Germany. This was different.
In 2005, my husband and I began to discuss moving out of California. It was something that I had thought about for a long time, but I wasn't sure where I wanted to live nor did I have a solid plan. I knew I was tired of the community that I lived in (for various reasons) and I felt as if evolution was on the other side of the country.
The more we discussed it, the clearer things became. We did some research on Atlanta, Georgia and ruled it out. Then Richmond, Virginia (I spent some time in the summer, every year, visited my grandparents when I was a child - they lived in Virginia) which was extremely promising. Ultimately, we started thinking about North Carolina.
I was pretty familiar with the Carolinas - my oldest daughter had completed a semester of college in South Carolina and eventually moved to North Carolina. I also traveled to Greensboro every year on business, and I really enjoyed the culture and environment. The more we debated, the more we liked the idea.
In 2006, I traveled to Charlotte with that same best friend and another one of the yayas (a close group of female friends) to look at property and spend time with a realtor. Cleveland had also come out on his own. By 2007, we had purchased a lot and selected our builders. We literally chose all of our interior options and upgrades using the internet and when the color choices weren't definitive, our daughter would go to the showroom and deliver a report. It was an exhilarating, magnificent time!
Then the bomb dropped. The financial crisis of 2008 created the biggest disruption to the U.S. housing market since the Great Depression. Our home in California went from being worth a quarter of a million dollars to having no real value at all. Our plan to sell was now a pipe dream.
At this point, there was no going backwards (construction was well under way) and we were financially responsible for two homes. The story gets better. Cleveland was working for Mclane Pacific (a grocery distributor that operated nationally) and he was offered a position in Concord (20 mins from where our new property was located) - ideal, right? I thought so. There was one problem. They wanted him to start prior to August 12 which meant, he would have to leave California before I did. I was perfectly okay with that - I figured between my Church family, real family and friends, I could get the house packed up and get on the road. He turned down the job.
So, now we are financially responsible for two homes AND my husband doesn't have a job in North Carolina. A dream suddenly seemed like a nightmare. We did end up renting our home prior to leaving California, but we couldn't rent it for what we owed on it, so each month, for many years, we had to make up the difference.
Before we left California, we received a call from the realtor who let us know that construction had been pushed back because of weather conditions and, in addition, there were other homeowners that had priority over us. The conclusion to this story was the latest of several disappointing facts. Our home would not be done by the time we arrived in Charlotte.
Just to make sure you are keeping up with all of the facts, let's cover the highlights. 1. We are responsible for two homes 2. Cleveland's job in North Carolina is no longer available. 3. We have no where to live when we arrive in Charlotte. Are you with me? As people of faith, we obviously didn't believe that it was the end of the world, it just felt like it. Out of respect for your time, let me wrap up this story and put a bow on it.
I arrived in Albemarle, North Carolina (at my daughter's house) on August 16, 2008, late in the evening. My husband pulled in shortly behind me in a U-haul truck with my then, 13-year-old daughter and my son who was on his way to start a new life in Florida, where he currently lives. After meeting with the realtor, the next day, and getting our stuff loaded into a pod, my husband boarded a plane and went back to his old job in California where he stayed for the next year.
I lived in temporary housing in Albemarle (not my daughter's house) and for three months, five days a week, 4 times a day, an hour each way, I traveled back and forth taking my daughter to her new high school in Charlotte. To say that these were trying times would be putting it mildly. I missed my husband, my friends, my family and the familiarity of a life that I had perfected and that was perfect for me.
I went from being socially and politically connected to being severely depressed and having a difficult time communicating with others. At my lowest point, Honoree' came home from school (after we had finally moved in the new house) and asked me if I was going to change clothes today. When I gave her a puzzled look, she said, "mommy you have been wearing those clothes for three days".
During this time, I bent, but I never broke. So when people ask me "what brought you to Charlotte?", I respond with many answers, but without a doubt, the Lord not only brought me, but he kept me.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
WAIT AND WEIGHT
Coming up with a monthly blog that I think will enlighten and enlist conversation is very challenging. I start thinking about it at the end of the month and I ask myself, "should I talk about food, celebrities, my businesses, something personal - what should it be......what sounds fascinating?"
Yesterday morning, I woke up and immediately I knew I wanted to talk about the two things that have been heavy on my mind for the last couple of weeks. Wait and Weight. I have struggled with both of them my entire life and, right now, the struggle is super real.
My Mother has a picture of me sitting up (barely) on a blanket and I remember asking her, "why was I so fat?" Her reply, "you ate a lot". Keep in mind, I was about 8 months old and I wasn't going in the kitchen or preparing any meals. By the way, I debated posting the picture but quickly changed my mind. In regard to my lack of patience, I am sure that I have had the issue all of my life. I was probably crying, as a baby, in between bites of oatmeal.
I just don't like to wait. I just don't like my current weight.
It has been a little over 5 weeks since I had the total knee replacement and, although my recovery has gone remarkably well, I can't work out and I am really limited in mobility. Aside from physical therapy, twice a week, I spend a lot of time in the confines of my home. I know that I can't rush the process - it is a matter of time before things will get better. This is what I keep telling myself. It is not working.
While I am mentally practicing patience, I have enjoyed cooking and eating some pretty delicious meals. And, guess what I figured out? Sitting in a restaurant and eating a meal, loaded with my favorite carbs, actually makes me feel better. I believe we know them best as "comfort foods".
All of the unhealthy eating and no exercise has resulted in a 10 pound weight gain. The minute I stepped on the scale, to find out exactly what the damage was, I became anxious. I don't know about you, but my impatience and my anxiety really feed off of each other. My anxiety sounds the alarm and my impatience says, "you better take care of this right now!" Sounds like a mess, right?!
There is a principle that involves balance - some know it as rhythm. You cannot go against it even if you try hard. Pushing too much towards one polarity will ultimately force you to go back to the other one, whether you want it or not. This time, however, perhaps under less favorable circumstances than you would like to experience. For instance, you can work hard for months, or even years, juggling multiple projects and responsibilities, while skillfully balancing on the edge of depletion. But when you don’t regularly incorporate the necessary rest, it will be forced upon you. You will become ill.
The existence of such a rhythm suggests that the best strategy is to become conscious of it and use it intelligently in your life. The key understanding here is the act of balancing between the two sides. No matter which direction you choose and how far you go, you know that you will need to turn back and swing towards the opposite. I actually talk about balance on the wellness page of my website (found on sunishines.com) - knowing and doing are two different things. It takes action.
This week, I am living in a more conscious state. I started a routine of lifting light weights and core exercises. I am not where I want to be. As a matter of fact, 15 minutes into it, I was worn out. And, of course, I am watching my intake. It is only a matter of time before I am back on the hiking trail, in the boxing gym and maybe even going for a nice run.
You will just have to WAIT and see........
Yesterday morning, I woke up and immediately I knew I wanted to talk about the two things that have been heavy on my mind for the last couple of weeks. Wait and Weight. I have struggled with both of them my entire life and, right now, the struggle is super real.
My Mother has a picture of me sitting up (barely) on a blanket and I remember asking her, "why was I so fat?" Her reply, "you ate a lot". Keep in mind, I was about 8 months old and I wasn't going in the kitchen or preparing any meals. By the way, I debated posting the picture but quickly changed my mind. In regard to my lack of patience, I am sure that I have had the issue all of my life. I was probably crying, as a baby, in between bites of oatmeal.
I just don't like to wait. I just don't like my current weight.
It has been a little over 5 weeks since I had the total knee replacement and, although my recovery has gone remarkably well, I can't work out and I am really limited in mobility. Aside from physical therapy, twice a week, I spend a lot of time in the confines of my home. I know that I can't rush the process - it is a matter of time before things will get better. This is what I keep telling myself. It is not working.
While I am mentally practicing patience, I have enjoyed cooking and eating some pretty delicious meals. And, guess what I figured out? Sitting in a restaurant and eating a meal, loaded with my favorite carbs, actually makes me feel better. I believe we know them best as "comfort foods".
All of the unhealthy eating and no exercise has resulted in a 10 pound weight gain. The minute I stepped on the scale, to find out exactly what the damage was, I became anxious. I don't know about you, but my impatience and my anxiety really feed off of each other. My anxiety sounds the alarm and my impatience says, "you better take care of this right now!" Sounds like a mess, right?!
There is a principle that involves balance - some know it as rhythm. You cannot go against it even if you try hard. Pushing too much towards one polarity will ultimately force you to go back to the other one, whether you want it or not. This time, however, perhaps under less favorable circumstances than you would like to experience. For instance, you can work hard for months, or even years, juggling multiple projects and responsibilities, while skillfully balancing on the edge of depletion. But when you don’t regularly incorporate the necessary rest, it will be forced upon you. You will become ill.
The existence of such a rhythm suggests that the best strategy is to become conscious of it and use it intelligently in your life. The key understanding here is the act of balancing between the two sides. No matter which direction you choose and how far you go, you know that you will need to turn back and swing towards the opposite. I actually talk about balance on the wellness page of my website (found on sunishines.com) - knowing and doing are two different things. It takes action.
This week, I am living in a more conscious state. I started a routine of lifting light weights and core exercises. I am not where I want to be. As a matter of fact, 15 minutes into it, I was worn out. And, of course, I am watching my intake. It is only a matter of time before I am back on the hiking trail, in the boxing gym and maybe even going for a nice run.
You will just have to WAIT and see........
Monday, June 4, 2018
Who Needs Surgery?
June is here which means we are halfway through 2018. Anybody, other than me, marveling about just how quickly time seems to be passing? I mean seriously? Didn't we just have Christmas dinner and weren't we JUST complaining about how cold it was? Time. The older I get the more cognizant I am that nothing stays the same and change is going to happen with or without our permission.
Speaking of which. I am two weeks post op from a total knee replacement! Tomorrow I will have the staples taken out and get a better idea of what the rest of my rehabilitation looks like. I have a zillion questions.
I have a limited amount of mobility and I have never felt so dependent in all of my life. My functionality is limited to working with my physical therapists, hobbling about on the lower level of my house (which frankly leaves me feeling like i just finished a work out), moving from the sofa to the recliner and back again. Ultimately, I head upstairs to bed. This routine is basically on repeat.
How well do you know me? On a scale of 1 - 10 with 1 being "I am grateful for the chill time" and 10 being "I am about to go crazy" - where am I? Ding, Ding, Ding!!! You got it. I am really trippin' out over here! LOL Just serious!
I injured my knee in Basic Training over 30 years ago. Since that time, it has grown progressively worse. I abused it even further when I decided to take up running in my 50's. I was told by my Chiropractor on many visits that I was doing the kind of damage that could only be reversed by surgery, but I kept running regardless.
Ultimately, after a torn meniscus surgery in 2014, I was forced to give up the running. And, I knew that the total arthroplasty was in my near future. I held off for as long as I could.
By the time I made the decision, I could no longer stand up straight and my knee was ALWAYS swollen. There were several exercises, at the boxing gym, that I had to modify. I was in severe pain if I sat for longer than 20 minutes. I could no longer wear any type of heel which really wrecked my flow.
Then. I fell. I was in Miami Florida at a conference with 25,000 people at the American Airlines Arena. Yes, the spot where the Miami Heat play. I had walked down several flights of stairs so that I could grab something to eat. No problem. When I began my ascent, my knee buckled and I hit my head on the stairs. My food flew everywhere along with my purse. It was all bad. One of the security guards insisted that I had to go and see a medic but I knew that, no matter who I saw for treatment, they had nothing for my extremely bruised ego.
Slowly but surely, I had gone from someone who had extreme confidence in her ability to maneuver to someone who was cautious about every step. My mom used to talk about the way that I walked into a room and it always made me laugh. I was not conscious of it, it was just me.
So, I returned from the conference knowing that I would have the surgery as soon as I could. I got a referral from my acupuncturist and I immediately fell in love with my Doctor. The pre-op was two hours. Surgery was done in less than two. I spent a total of 3 days in the hospital.
My oldest daughter was a life saver. Her and my husband held me down, big-time! My youngest came toward the end of the first week and stayed until recently. They both agreed that if my son was here, neither of them would have been allowed near me. Thank God for family, right?
This is what I know. You can not fix what is wrong without going through some agony. This is true for relationships, financial hardships, weight control and ________________(fill in the blank). The agony may be physical or it could be mental. In my case, it is both. Physical Therapy is agonizing. Not being able to hop in my car and drive to the store is frustrating. It's temporary.
What are you willing to work on now so that you can be in a better position, tomorrow? I can already stand up straight. My knee is no longer curved inward and I am looking forward to further progression.
Speaking of which. I am two weeks post op from a total knee replacement! Tomorrow I will have the staples taken out and get a better idea of what the rest of my rehabilitation looks like. I have a zillion questions.
I have a limited amount of mobility and I have never felt so dependent in all of my life. My functionality is limited to working with my physical therapists, hobbling about on the lower level of my house (which frankly leaves me feeling like i just finished a work out), moving from the sofa to the recliner and back again. Ultimately, I head upstairs to bed. This routine is basically on repeat.
How well do you know me? On a scale of 1 - 10 with 1 being "I am grateful for the chill time" and 10 being "I am about to go crazy" - where am I? Ding, Ding, Ding!!! You got it. I am really trippin' out over here! LOL Just serious!
I injured my knee in Basic Training over 30 years ago. Since that time, it has grown progressively worse. I abused it even further when I decided to take up running in my 50's. I was told by my Chiropractor on many visits that I was doing the kind of damage that could only be reversed by surgery, but I kept running regardless.
Ultimately, after a torn meniscus surgery in 2014, I was forced to give up the running. And, I knew that the total arthroplasty was in my near future. I held off for as long as I could.
By the time I made the decision, I could no longer stand up straight and my knee was ALWAYS swollen. There were several exercises, at the boxing gym, that I had to modify. I was in severe pain if I sat for longer than 20 minutes. I could no longer wear any type of heel which really wrecked my flow.
Then. I fell. I was in Miami Florida at a conference with 25,000 people at the American Airlines Arena. Yes, the spot where the Miami Heat play. I had walked down several flights of stairs so that I could grab something to eat. No problem. When I began my ascent, my knee buckled and I hit my head on the stairs. My food flew everywhere along with my purse. It was all bad. One of the security guards insisted that I had to go and see a medic but I knew that, no matter who I saw for treatment, they had nothing for my extremely bruised ego.
Slowly but surely, I had gone from someone who had extreme confidence in her ability to maneuver to someone who was cautious about every step. My mom used to talk about the way that I walked into a room and it always made me laugh. I was not conscious of it, it was just me.
So, I returned from the conference knowing that I would have the surgery as soon as I could. I got a referral from my acupuncturist and I immediately fell in love with my Doctor. The pre-op was two hours. Surgery was done in less than two. I spent a total of 3 days in the hospital.
My oldest daughter was a life saver. Her and my husband held me down, big-time! My youngest came toward the end of the first week and stayed until recently. They both agreed that if my son was here, neither of them would have been allowed near me. Thank God for family, right?
This is what I know. You can not fix what is wrong without going through some agony. This is true for relationships, financial hardships, weight control and ________________(fill in the blank). The agony may be physical or it could be mental. In my case, it is both. Physical Therapy is agonizing. Not being able to hop in my car and drive to the store is frustrating. It's temporary.
What are you willing to work on now so that you can be in a better position, tomorrow? I can already stand up straight. My knee is no longer curved inward and I am looking forward to further progression.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Friends!
At 12:20 this morning, I arrived back in Charlotte, after spending a week in Vegas, with 6 phenomenal women. Now typically when I am talking about women that I admire and cherish, they are my best friends, my sisters. In this case, I am speaking of the yaya's - a beloved group of friends that I have known for eons. Our group total is actually 9, counting myself, but we have a hard time getting everyone to be available for everything. Our aim is always heavy participation.
One of these women I have known for 44 years, while another, it has only been 12. And, the latter did not become a formal part of the group until I had moved away. Speaking of which...being absolutely transparent, that was difficult for me. To add another member to an already cemented group was...it was tough and I was pretty resistant to the idea.
You see, I take my relationships very seriously. I don't say the word "friend" easily or casually and, I most certainly wouldn't want you to be a part of this coveted group of women without you being vetted quite heavily. That is probably why it happened after I left. My friends know me pretty well.
The original group of yaya's stemmed from a close relationship that I had with one of them. We mutually knew or worked with two of the others. I brought my best friend into the mix and eventually added another chick that I knew. We rounded the group up to 8 when we added a friend of my original friend and another woman who was a BPW (Business and Professional Women) affiliate of ours. And, the last member? She is a friend of the original friend's, friend. I eluded to how that happened above. Although, I did threaten to revoke her membership this past week. True Story. Confused?
We are literally a diverse group of women that have varying taste in politics, music, parenting styles, denominations and, who we choose to partner with. We respect each other even if we do not always agree on how the person approaches life. We range from business owners to dog sitters to retirees. We did not start out with our formal title nor did we make ourselves official for many, many years. We slowly, but surely, grew into something pretty spectacular.
We have been there for one another on the worst days and we have been there to celebrate the moments that have mattered the most. We take care of each other and we set each other straight. I have been the maid of honor AND the matron of honor to the same woman in this group. True story! We put our money together for the good of the collective and we don't think twice about it.
We have partied hard on land and on sea. We have woken up in each others homes and, sometimes in each others beds, on more occasions than I can count. No, it wasn't an accident. We share ideas and recipes - uh, only 4 of us have done this because the others don't really cook. And now that one of them discovered "doordash", she really doesn't go in the kitchen. I digress. We are the yaya's. You know, one for all and all for one? That's us.
It is not always rosy and divine. As a matter of fact, we can "get into it" on the regular. Of course, based on personality, some of us can get into it more than others. We have our passive aggressive "lay in the cut" types.....and then, you have me. *insert sigh. What can I say, I like to put things out in the open. Sue me.
I thought about this blog while I was with these precious friends of mine. I knew I wanted to write about how much they mean to me and, I wanted to share who we are to each other. I also was hoping that the reader could relate based on similar relationships. People who will love you no matter the transgression. People who will stand up for you when you are right and shut you down when you are wrong. People who will teach you something that you may never have considered and will allow you to do the same. I am grateful to God for mine.
So, I leave you with this - in the early 80's, an ole skool rap group, who went by the name of Whoduni, made these lyrics famous:
Friends
How many of us have them?
Friends
Ones we can depend on
Friends
How many of us have them?
Friends
Before we go any further, lets be
Friends
Is a word we use everyday
Most the time we use it in the wrong way
Now you can look the word up, again and again
But the dictionary doesn't know the meaning of friends
And if you ask me, you know, I couldn't be much help
Because A friend is somebody you judge for yourself
Some are ok, and they treat you real cool
But some mistake kindness for bein a fool
We like to be with some, because they're funny
Others come around when they need some money
Some you grew up with, around the way
And you're still real close too this very day
Homeboys through the Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall
And then there's some we wish we never knew at all
And this list goes on, again and again
But these are the people that we call friends
One of these women I have known for 44 years, while another, it has only been 12. And, the latter did not become a formal part of the group until I had moved away. Speaking of which...being absolutely transparent, that was difficult for me. To add another member to an already cemented group was...it was tough and I was pretty resistant to the idea.
You see, I take my relationships very seriously. I don't say the word "friend" easily or casually and, I most certainly wouldn't want you to be a part of this coveted group of women without you being vetted quite heavily. That is probably why it happened after I left. My friends know me pretty well.
The original group of yaya's stemmed from a close relationship that I had with one of them. We mutually knew or worked with two of the others. I brought my best friend into the mix and eventually added another chick that I knew. We rounded the group up to 8 when we added a friend of my original friend and another woman who was a BPW (Business and Professional Women) affiliate of ours. And, the last member? She is a friend of the original friend's, friend. I eluded to how that happened above. Although, I did threaten to revoke her membership this past week. True Story. Confused?
We are literally a diverse group of women that have varying taste in politics, music, parenting styles, denominations and, who we choose to partner with. We respect each other even if we do not always agree on how the person approaches life. We range from business owners to dog sitters to retirees. We did not start out with our formal title nor did we make ourselves official for many, many years. We slowly, but surely, grew into something pretty spectacular.
We have been there for one another on the worst days and we have been there to celebrate the moments that have mattered the most. We take care of each other and we set each other straight. I have been the maid of honor AND the matron of honor to the same woman in this group. True story! We put our money together for the good of the collective and we don't think twice about it.
We have partied hard on land and on sea. We have woken up in each others homes and, sometimes in each others beds, on more occasions than I can count. No, it wasn't an accident. We share ideas and recipes - uh, only 4 of us have done this because the others don't really cook. And now that one of them discovered "doordash", she really doesn't go in the kitchen. I digress. We are the yaya's. You know, one for all and all for one? That's us.
It is not always rosy and divine. As a matter of fact, we can "get into it" on the regular. Of course, based on personality, some of us can get into it more than others. We have our passive aggressive "lay in the cut" types.....and then, you have me. *insert sigh. What can I say, I like to put things out in the open. Sue me.
I thought about this blog while I was with these precious friends of mine. I knew I wanted to write about how much they mean to me and, I wanted to share who we are to each other. I also was hoping that the reader could relate based on similar relationships. People who will love you no matter the transgression. People who will stand up for you when you are right and shut you down when you are wrong. People who will teach you something that you may never have considered and will allow you to do the same. I am grateful to God for mine.
So, I leave you with this - in the early 80's, an ole skool rap group, who went by the name of Whoduni, made these lyrics famous:
Friends
How many of us have them?
Friends
Ones we can depend on
Friends
How many of us have them?
Friends
Before we go any further, lets be
Friends
Is a word we use everyday
Most the time we use it in the wrong way
Now you can look the word up, again and again
But the dictionary doesn't know the meaning of friends
And if you ask me, you know, I couldn't be much help
Because A friend is somebody you judge for yourself
Some are ok, and they treat you real cool
But some mistake kindness for bein a fool
We like to be with some, because they're funny
Others come around when they need some money
Some you grew up with, around the way
And you're still real close too this very day
Homeboys through the Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall
And then there's some we wish we never knew at all
And this list goes on, again and again
But these are the people that we call friends
Monday, April 30, 2018
My first blog, ever!!!
I have been thinking about this first blog ever since I started revising my website. As a matter of fact, this is the third entry I have made and hopefully, I won't delete it.
I want every blog I post to have relevance and I also want it to resonate with the majority. Do you think I feel any pressure? Just a little, huh? Well, I finally let myself off the hook by recognizing that some of you will relate, some of you will dismiss and some of you will read it because we are related and then you will dismiss it. You'll catch that one on the way home.
Seriously - these blogs are going to run the gamut on every subject imaginable. For my first entry, I want to lead with an article written by a guy that I have a lot of respect for. Recently he posted something that really struck me. I dug it so much that I immediately posted it on one of my social media pages.
It's a whole new world, people. You might as well get ready.......
I want to settle this “the millennial's are entitled” conversation. They aren’t entitled - they want to do what matters.
In the past - the opportunities we have today didn’t exist. Many times we worked to just survive financially even if we worked ourselves to death. Today it’s different. Today there’s limitless ways to earn a living and do it in a way that you love. We finally have hit a day and age where your passion can be your life - you wake up excited - you don’t care about retirement BC loving what you do means you never want to stop. Today we have the ability to earn a living and love the work we do!
This is the first generation that is questioning the status quo because they have more options than any previous generation before them. They refuse to work just to earn a paycheck. To me - much respect. I applaud them. I encourage them to keep fighting that fight. After all - they have the options (btw so do all generations now if you open your mind) - so why not do what matters!? I think gen x and baby boomers may want to take a page from their play book.
-Ryan Stack - gen X
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