I find the holidays completely overwhelming. Even though Christmas is my favorite time of the year, I find that with each passing year, my desire to decorate, buy gifts or do much of anything that requires extra work, less and less.

For example. Today at Lowe's there were the most beautiful Christmas trees. Gorgeous, full and real trees. They were only $20 and my first inclination was to buy one. But then I realized this real tree would have to live for another month and the odds of that happening were slim. It looked fabulous today but what would it look like weeks from now?

I walked in the store still tossing around the idea of buying the tree and started to look at the bulbs, the lights, the tinsel and ornaments. Do I go with a color scheme or a traditional one? Even if I bought things on sale, before I knew it, my $20 tree was going to end up being closer to $100.

Not such a bargain anymore.

And what about the gifts?? Money is very tight in my household this year. The economy has served several members of my family a sucker punch and so whatever money there is, it will be spent on needs and not wants.

Who does one give gifts to anyway? Where do you draw the line? Do you only give gifts to your closest family members (who aren't exchanging this year) or to your co-workers, your neighbors and close friends?

And how weird is that when someone you didn't expect to get a gift from gives you one? It makes you look bad when you don't have one to give back. But how can one be prepared for that?

And what about new relationships? Is a person obligated to give a gift to someone they just met just because it's Christmastime?

I'm overwhelmed.

In wanting to do the right thing, and as always, it seems there really isn't a right thing.

So that's where I am. I can't decide on what's right or what's enough and so I freeze and do nothing.

I feel like I can't escape my predicament. There are radio stations in my community that have been playing Christmas carols since after Halloween. Every other commercial on television is about Christmas and how "love" is connected with gift-giving. My colleagues? All anyone can talk about it is Christmas and their latest shopping bargain.

I guess this is why I usually travel. If I'm gone, there's no pressure to decorate. If I'm away, I can send gifts on my behalf rather than have to sit through a painful family gathering that is more show than sincere.

But this year I'm here. My passport will remain put away and I find myself trying to come to some sort of concession about what this holiday season will mean.

It's not about the gifts. Or the decorations. Or the commercials.

But this year it seems to be about choices. Am I strong enough to choose to face the pain of my past and to confront the people in my life that have made my life hell this year? And am I strong enough to do what I want to do, even if others don't approve and live joyously with the consequences?

This year I can't run away.

Maybe finally standing up for myself is that gift I've been waiting for all this time.

tags: attitude, decision making, family, fear, optimism, outlook, overwhelmed

I've always found it interesting how people relate to one another. As humans, we are not solitary creatures. Even individuals who pride themselves on being "loners", usually have friends, other "loners" they hang out with.

Fashion trends are started by someone trying to break the mold and create their own style, and invariably it is copied by someone else, and this ruins the "unique" element of their fashion message.

Everyone wants to stand out, to be recognized and celebrated for their unique talents.

But at the end of the day, few of us want to be alone.

How does one remain unique while at the same time being a part (even if it's only a physical presence) of a crowd?

I would say I have been kidding myself about believing I was the only one who self-injured, but I assure you this is true. The things I have thought and done have, even to me, been so bizarre, to imagine anyone else doing them is a stretch.

But the more I speak out, the more I know I am not alone, and this fact gives me some sense of commraderie. If I'm not the only one, then I can't be as crazy as I feel sometimes.

If there are others like me, then I don't have to struggle in isolation.

There's strength in numbers.

The battle seems easier to win if I believe I'm not the only one in the trenches.

I may not be able to see you or hear you, but I can read your words and get strength from the messages I am sent.

So much of life is a personal struggle. Everyone has their own, and few have time to help others with theirs.

How many times have I offered to be there for another person only to realize I didn't have the strength to live up to that offer?

But it goes both ways.

The offer of help is usually a polite one. Few truly mean what they say and I know it. People offer to be there for me, "night or day", but I know in their hearts they're praying I won't call and I don't.

But the offer was expected, it was made, we're square.

I know they care, they feel good because they've shown they care, but that's all. Both of us know that I won't allow myself to be that vulnerable in their eyes and they won't have a chance to feel like a hero, comforting me at three in the morning as I try to pry myself away from the abyss.

Interesting, the games people play.

But in order to be strong, there have to people you really can call at three in the morning and I am blessed to have a couple of those.

Sometimes reassurance is all you need to stand up one more time.

Today, I have that reassurance from other people. I know I am not alone. I know I am not crazy. I know others can benefit from my story if I am willing to share it.

If we're all in this together, what have we got to lose?

tags: compassion, friendship, hope, optimism, recovery, self-injury, treatment

One night last week I fell asleep at 5:30 in the evening and slept straight through until the next morning. My dreams were all nightmares: deep-seated fears finally brought to the sub-conscious. In my dreams, it was the first day of school. My classes had 50 kids in them. None of them had materials. I had no books. I'd made no lesson plans. I couldn't get the kids organized and that was the day my administrator walked in to administer my annual evaluation. All of the fears and anxieties I had about starting a new school year manifested themselves in a series of vignettes in which I was basically fed to the wolves. My career was in question and I was left to wonder if I really had what it took to try and change kids' lives one more time.

Dreams are funny things. Most of the time mine are vague and non-descript. People rarely have faces, although I know who they are. But in my "pre-school" dreams, everything is detailed. I can feel textures, see facial expressions, distinguish colors. People appear three-dimensional. Their voices are clear and diverse.

These dreams are the best for me. It's like my mind has finally purged itself of worry. By dealing with it in my dreams, I am no longer left to deal with it in real life. These dreams are exhausting, but I wake feeling rejuvinated and my mind is clear.

Today was the first day of school. All of the things I'd worried about didn't happen.

In fact, as usual, my kids were wonderful.

I don't know what makes me anxious about what I do. Maybe I know oh so well how critically important my role is in these kids' development.

I don't want to let them down.

I don't want to give them a chance to give up on themselves.

And so I worry.

I worry myself sick about doing enough and being the person they need me to be.

My payback?

Seeing them graduate, one at a time, year after year, knowing I had a small part to play in their success.

But the education system is getting more stringent. A great deal of the creative energy and fun I felt for my job is rapidly being taken away by micro-management and government bureaucracy.

To stay optimistic in the light of this reality can be a challenge.

But today was a red-letter day. Today, I stood before more than 150 kids and explained to them my expectations and offered them assurances that each one of them could reach them.

They listened and now I believe we have an understanding with each other.

I love my job.

I love my kids.

I love how my life makes sense when I'm at school learning and growing. And I'm so glad that all of my concerns were unfounded. I always have to worry if "this" will be the year that will break me, and I'm happy to say I think it's missed me one more time.

tags: achivement, expectations, new beginnings, optimism, school, success

For thousands of athletes across the world, today begins a journey many have trained their whole life for. The Olympics represents many things, but for those in the heart of the action, it is a celebration of sacrifice.

Few would have the discipline these athletes do. I don't. I was supposed to get up at 4:30 this morning to go to the gym, but working on two hours of sleep, my snooze button won.

On the one hand, it's hard not to feel like you're not living up to potential when you see these atheletes and their drive. Many will compete with injuries. I on the other hand stay home from work when I've had surgery or broken a bone. Does that make me weak?

What does this say about me? About them? About their incredible ability to "work through the pain"?

For the parents of these athletes, the Olympics represents the culmination of years of out of town practices, fund raising for international competition attendance, forgoing of family vacations to pay for coaching and a sacrifice of many of their own personal dreams in support of those of their child.

Internationally, the Olympics is a spectacle of such maginificence that countries who host this event will spend many years and billions and billions of dollars preparing for it. Hosting the Olympics forever changes the infrastructure of the hosting country. The creation and development of these new roads, stadiums, hotels/restaurants, etc. has meant years of sacrifice and inconvenience for the Chinese as well.

But I imagine the Olympics is like childbirth. Once it's underway, you aren't thinking about the planning or the sacrifice, you're living in the moment and celebrating it's arrival.

I will watch the Olympics because I am in awe of the men and women who are there, doing what I could never do and representing their countries with pride and honor. Regardless of the medals they bring home, just being in China today means they have already won in an event most of us will never even be invited to.

We all are called to make sacrifices and often do so in our daily lives to make our own personal dreams come true. That fact shouldn't be minimized. But how many of us accomplish our dreams with the world watching and celebrating with us?

I don't know any of the athletes personally and probably wouldn't be able to recognize them if they shared my row on an airplane. But my support is needed. I believe that. There is power in numbers and positive energy.

If millions and millions of people are saying, "you can do it!", something wonderful has to come from that.

If nothing else, it makes us feel like we are a part of something bigger than ourselves.

Over the next two weeks, history will be made, records broken, dreams crushed or fulfilled. The pressure to do well is something I cannot fathom. Today and each day hereafter, someone will be hoping for the best day of their life---literally.

I'm not an athlete in this sense, but I believe life is a marathon. We wake up, we get moving, we cover some new ground, grow and stop only to pray we have the chance to do it all over again tomorrow.

By celebrating the sacrifices of Olympic athletes, I am partially celebrating my own. True, I don't train eight hours a day, but as a teacher, I help train others. I have had a sacrifice in a multitude of ways to get to where I am today and am a better person for it. For many, the Olympics is the end of dream. I feel like I've diversified more. I've accomplished some dreams and still working on others.

I don't think I've had my BEST day yet.

And this compels me to keep working, to keep fighting, to keep sacrificing.

In the end, the medals will go in a safe deposit box or rest on a mantel somewhere. The person's quest for the Olympics will be reduced to newspaper clippings, photographs, and memories.

I think my dreams are like that too.

It's the hunger and the drive that you remember when you think about dreams. The "I can't believe I had the strength to do that!" feeling that you are left with.

I look at my walls and they are covered with diplomas, awards, certificates. I cried, pulled all-nighters, prayed, competed with a fervor of spirit I haven't felt since in order to get those things. But those are the things I remember. Not the award ceremony per se. Or the television interview or the people I talked to who had come to cheer me on.

No.

I remember the sacrifices I made to get them and that's what makes them valuable and worth hanging on my walls.

Today, the world is celebrating the sacrifices of others, but it's good to take a moment a celebrate our own. These sacrifices are what has shaped us into the people we are.

You can't describe it or put a name to it, but sacrifice changes you. It makes you appreciate what you're truly capable of and how powerful desires of the heart can be.

It's that desire that makes the impossible, possible. But only few people in the world will have the privilege of demonstrating this truth with the eyes of the world watching.

I can't wait!

tags: discipline, olympics, optimism, perfection, sacrifice

Yesterday was my birthday. I don't feel 37 and am not ashamed to say that's how old I am. I feel like I have lived a lot in a short amount of time. Those of you that have read my book know how important that is to me. I've never felt like I was destined to live a long life, and so I feel compelled to cram as much of it as possible into the time I've been given.

I spent my birthday in the Riviera Maya, south of Cancun, Mexico. There is something primal for me being near the ocean: the relentless crash of the waves, the animals (monkeys, iguanas, wild parrots, etc.) and the knowledge that I am walking on land that thousands of years ago, was at the height of the Mayan empire.

Although I've been to this area before, I'd never had a chance to explore the ruins. The friend that I was with didn't want to go, so I loaded up my camera and took off my myself. It was scary. Exhilarating. Incredible. I will remember this birthday for the rest of my life.

As a self-injurer, I spent a lot of my time feeling invisible. There were literally days when I could go from morning to night without speaking to another soul. After awhile, I started to feel like the reason others didn't speak to me is because I wasn't really there.

As part of my recovery, I set out to do things to "prove" my existence. I have traveled the world, met famous people, eaten foods only seen on the travel channel, and given myself permission to live in the moment. By actively seeking out new life experiences, I no longer feel invisible.

It took a lot of courage for my to go the ruins without my friend yesterday. I was the only person on the tour that was alone. There was no one there for me to talk to or take pictures with. In the past, this reality would have given me an excuse to keep to myself.

But not now.

Without a friend to hide behind, I was in a position of meeting new people, exchanging pleasantries with strangers and asking others to take my picture. I put myself in a position to get outside of my comfort zone.

I couldn't be embarrassed to ask a stranger to take my picture. If I wanted to have that memory, I had to ignore the voices that said I was "pathetic" and "without a friend".

Yesterday was my birthday. I chose how to spend it and will have some amazing photographs to remember my courage by.

In 37 years I've done a lot. But there is so much for me to see and do.

Vanessa has a lot of growing to do. I am still learning who she is and what she wants out of life.

But while I'm finding that out, I am vowing to embrace the things that I fear. I am taking a stand for my own happiness.

As a result, today I feel a little taller, more confident and ready to face the challenges that this next year have for me. Looking back, I could have never imagined what my 36th year would mean. Several dreams that I had 365 days ago have come to fruition. There has been loss. There has been laughter.

But there has been no cutting.

And that is the greatest present of all. I gave it to myself and never knew I was capable.

For the second year in a row, I am not ashamed to show my body. My scars continue to fade and my heart continues to heal. It's a process, but I am slowing becoming the person I always wanted to be.

Is it a shame it's taken me so long to get here?

Not really. Some things cannot be rushed and I am one of those things. For a long time I didn't believe it, but now I know I am worth the wait.

tags: birthday, celebration, memories, obstacles, optimism, recovery, self-injury, treatment, triumph

There is a great article in O Magazine this month.




http://www.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/personal/06/03/o.awful.shut.up/index.html

The premise of the article has to do with living in the past versus learning from the past and how to tell what kind of person you are. Are you telling stories of your painful past in order to offer insight to others? Or, are you re-hashing the pain in an effort to solicit sympathy from others?

This is a hard line to draw in the sand. Anyone who has any feelings at all will offer sympathy to someone who shares a tragic story. But if the person listening to the story feels compelled to change something about themselves, or become introspective for their own growth, then sharing the pain of your past is a good thing.

However, if the sole purpose of bringing up old issues is for others to feel sorry for you, then we have to look at why the person needs that sympathy and evaluate what is being gained by opening up old wounds.

The past is powerful because as time passes by, we are allowed insight that at the time, we lacked.

But this insight should be used for our future gain, not repetitive emotional beat-downs.

Many have asked me what my next book will be about and I can assure you it won't be about self-injury. I cannot tell you how difficult it was to re-visit some of the episodes I wrote about, but in having done so, laid many of them to rest-permanently. I do not speak about these events when I talk to groups, but address the issue in terms that are not nearly so emotional painful.

I don't think I will ever want to write about self-injury the way I did in my book. I had a specific purpose in sharing what I did and I hope that purpose was accomplished. To go back and re-cycle it for another reason wouldn't be effective or healthy.

In the end, we are tasked with letting the past go. We can't change it. So we better learn from it and move on.

Today, we are learning from yesterday.

Tomorrow, we will learn from today.

But living in the past does nothing but rip me off from present happiness and self-esteem.

Are you patroling for pity? Or are you sharing of yourself so that others can become better, strong and wiser people?

The difference between these two answers is life-changing.

tags: compassion, emotional well-being, optimism, past issues, perspective, resolution, sympathy

I work with someone who is the most beautiful woman I've ever met. In ten years I have never seen her have a bad hair day, a blemish, or look like she got ready in a hurry. She loves her job and her life and it shows.

Every time I see her, I think, "wow, she looks so happy."

I wonder what people say when they see me? Most of the time I feel half put together, tired and overwhelmed but eager to start the day.

It wasn't always that way.

And I wonder when things changed.

And I wonder what I need to do to get that sense of joy back into my life.

I want other people to see me and know that I am content, happy and ready to take on the world.

I want my kids to see me each day and know how glad I am to see them and how anxious I am to help them learn something new.

But if I don't sleep well, or are worrying about something, it shows.

I think I've figured out the problem: I've given so much to other people that there hasn't been much left for me.

It's hard to do for yourself when you've been told your whole life how selfish you are. I've never felt selfish and believe I give more of myself, my energy and my talent to others than most people I know.

But what about me?

As summer looms ahead, my focus is changing. This summer will be about me.

I've signed up to be a volunteer at the hospital in my area. I'm excited to go and help brighten the days of others. When I'm doing for others, I'm not worried about me. I need that.

This summer will be a chance for me to write down all of the ideas that I've been storing in my head. I finally feel like I am ready to get another book underway and I know that this process will allow me to free myself of other, painful parts of my past.

This summer will be about re-newing friendships. I've done a horrible job this year of reaching out to the people in my life. For some reason I've chosen solitude over companionship, and I see now what a void I created.

This summer will be about running and feeding the ducks and taking care of my body better. I feel the best when I can exercise on a regular basis and I'm ready for a chance to get back into the groove.

And finally, this summer will be about nurturing my spirit. I am actively seeking out opportunities to "fill my cup" and I know I will be better for it.

I hope that when school begins again people will look at me and and say how happy and healthy I look.

I want my outside to match my inside.

Finally, I am strong enough to make that happen. Amazing!

tags: attitude, confidence, mental health, optimism, outlook, physical health, self-esteem, spirituality

Shame is a learned behavior. When we are born, we are not ashamed or self-conscious. We learn to be and feel that way from others.

In elementary school, there were several things about me that contributed to my feeling shame. One, I was given shame-based messages at home. When my younger brothers were born, I had a hard time learning to share and often expressed my frustration to my mother. "Why would you say such a thing? You shouldn't feel that way. He's your brother!" I would walk away feeling totally invalidated and ashamed that I had my feelings. Why did I feel the way I did? Why couldn't I be a better daughter and sister?

At school, I was made fun of because of many things. One, my naturally curly hair wasn't something to be admired. It seemed like all of the girls around me had perfect "Marsha Brady" hair...smooth and perfect. Their hair was never in knots or had to be pulled back into braids. As an over-achiever, I was teacher's pet. I worked hard to be the best in my classes, but this too wasn't something to be admired according to my peers, and before I knew it, I was the subject of whispered discussions and stares in the hallways. I wasn't athletically inclined and was rarely picked for any team; often I was the last one chosen and ended up being a default team member.

My parents didn't allow me to do many of the things other kids did, and this was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I was more sheltered than my peers and as a result, was rarely in trouble outside of home. But on the other, the idea that I could bring a friend over and play or ask to play at a friend's house without prior planning between our mothers was unheard of. It didn't take long for word to get out that I wasn't someone who should be bothered with an invitation, for anything, because my parents were "strict" and I wouldn't be able to go anyway.

I learned to keep to myself because it seemed that who I was, my feelings and the way I expressed myself just weren't acceptable.

I learned to feel shame and to second-guess everything I said and did as a small child, and this is a behavior I brought with me into adulthood. It has complicated my personal life in ways I cannot express.

Shame is such a pronounced part of my life that I really believed it was like that for everyone.

Not true.

I was talking to another teacher this week about a flight to Asia and how difficult it is for me to sit on a plane so long without moving around.

"Oh, I don't just sit there for 14 hours. I make it a point to get up every couple hours and do exercise in the aisle."

His remark was met with a blank stare.

"Don't people look at you?"

Laughter. "Sure, but do you think I care? I'm not a person that has shame, so I don't care what people think. I need to get up, so I get up. If it makes them uncomfortable or if they think it's weird, that's their problem."

I about fell out.

What a liberating concept!! What would it take for me not to care what others thought? What if I could do what made me happy without feeling bad about it? What if seeking others approval wasn't even on my radar?

In an ironic twist of fate, I happened to pick up a movie at Blockbuster last night. I'd seen it on the shelves for months but after picking it up several times, I'd always put it back for another selection. This time, I picked it up and checked it out.

"Peaceful Warrior" is the true story of a young man training to be an Olympic gymnast. He is in a horrible accident and has to overcome tremendous obstacles in order to compete again. He has a mentor at this time that helps him to see his full potential, regardless of how many others in his life have decided his career as a gymnast is over. It was one of the most inspiring movies I've ever seen.

One of the biggest messages in the movie is the idea that we hold ourselves back from our true potential because of mental "trash": worrying about the past, fretting about the future and missing out on the beauty of the moment. For so many of us, the things we feel shame about are rooted in events of the past. They cannot be changed, but we cannot seem to let them go.

I am on a constant quest to let shame go. I go through periods where I am able to do this quite well and then something will happen that will literally catapult me back into a sea of self-doubt and negative introspection.

Like a warrior, I feel like I am in training. But the battle I am preparing for, is a battle with myself.

Some people seek a life of material wealth. Others seek a life of worldly success.

I seek a life of inner peace. I want to get to a place where I have no regrets. Where I can look at my life and be happy with where I am, who I am with and what I have.

I seek a life without shame. No one can give that to me and that makes it all the more attainable.

There's a lot of power there if I can just find a way to corral it.

If I can do what I am feeling the way I do, imagine what I'll be able to do if I really can get to a place where shame is no longer an issue?

tags: achievement, harmony, hope, mental energy, optimism, past, regret, shame, strategy, success

When I was in the sixth grade, I attended an open-concept school. This meant that the school was designed like a bicycle spoke, with no doors and moveable walls. In the center of the spoke stood the library, and shooting out from it in all directions, were classrooms housing students in all subjects, in all grade levels. There were no desks, only tables, that students shared as pairs.

I was new to this school and new to the gifted and talented program. I was anxious to start a new year but anxious about who would be my table mate and if they would like me or not.

Several weeks passed before I met my table mate. I'd heard her name several times from the other kids, but she was never in school. "It's back", I'd hear them whisper. "Have you seen her lately?" they'd ask at the lockers. I heard a lot about Anna before I saw her. From what I could gather, she sounded like a nice person, and I couldn't wait to make her acquaintance.

Before Thanksgiving that year, Anna returned to school. She had no hair and relied on crutches or a wheelchair to get around. Leukemia had robbed her of her youth, but she wore a grin that spread from ear to ear.

I had never met anyone so sick yet so positive. Anna looked like death, but her outlook was contagious. You couldn't help but feel good being in her presence. She had a zest for life and talked constantly about the things she couldn't wait to eat again, try and do.

She came to class only a handful of days before the chair beside me was empty again. For days the chair just sat there, waiting for a person that wasn't going to come. Finally, the principal came in and talked to my class.

"Anna has taken a turn for the worst and won't be coming back to school. She asked to see all of you and so tomorrow, you will be going to see her at the Children's Hospital. Here are your permission slips and a note explaining the situation to your parents. Please bring a sack lunch and be here promptly to load the bus."

I was excited about seeing Anna. I knew the hospital was nowhere to be and I hoped that our visiting her would cheer her up and inspire her to come back to school. I chose my outfit carefully. After all, we were her "cheer up" committee!

But the second I saw her, my spirits fell. The Anna I'd gotten to know and love in only a brief time, looked like she was quickly losing her fight. I worked hard to keep my tears back. I couldn't imagine how someone so young could look so old.

I will cherish forever my day with Anna, as it was our last. Word came by the following morning that after we'd left, Anna slipped away and never woke up.

This was the first time I'd lost anyone and I didn't know how to handle it. I couldn't understand how someone like Anna could lose her fight when criminals could live "forever"? How could Anna's parents go on knowing they would never see their little girl get married or have children of her own? How could they not see a school bus and hate it because their child wasn't on it? And how could I deal with seeing an empty chair beside me for the rest of the year, knowing that Anna, with her fighting spirit, wanted to be in it more than anything else in the world?

It has been almost 30 years now since Anna died, but I think about her a lot. I wonder if I have made good use of the life I was given, and if, in her infinite wisdom, she would appreciate how I've worked to keep her memory alive.

I believe all things happen for a reason. For me, Anna's life was something to celebrate. She could have been negative, but she wasn't. She could have felt sorry for herself, but she didn't. She could have worried her life away, anticipating a death she surely knew was coming, but she didn't, and I believe to have the courage to dream in the face of incredible odds says a lot about her character.

I want to be more like Anna. I want to be able to better deal with the challenges life throws my way. I want to be someone who focuses on the positive, not who dwells on the negative, and I want to die knowing that the people I loved most in the world, saw me for who I was and not what I looked like.

To a sixth grader, Anna had a wisdom that far exceeded her years. I miss her and hope that one day we have the chance to sit side by side once again so I can tell her what as a 11-year old I never could: you are my hero, now and for always.

tags: cancer, death, friendship, inspiration, loneliness, loss, motivation, optimism

One of the most unfortunate things in this life is our inability to choose our family. We are born into an environment that none of us has control over, and even though it is the most important job in the world, no one is trained on how to be a good parent.

I see examples everyday of children who were thrust into an environment that is harmful to their emotional and physical well-being. Because they are not taken care of by their families, these children are left wanting, craving the emotional validation and physical security that parents should be able to provide.

Having your family's approval and support means the world. Without it, one is left to wonder if they have what it takes to make it in the world.

As a self-injurer, my family was a constant source of emotional turmoil for me and as a result, was then and continues to be a huge trigger. Harsh words from the right person can tear me down faster than a thousand from a stranger.

By writing my book, I revealed my "Achilles Heel" to the world. I made myself vulnerable so that others would see that they weren't the only ones to think and do some of the things they did.

But what happens when those closest to you use that vulnerability as ammunition to hurt you?

I have written about the huge decision that looms before me. I struggle with it still. At what point do I do what is best for myself and separate myself from those in my life who hurt me? Or, do I continue in the relationship, dysfunctional though it may be, out of an obligation since they are family?

The internet is a wonderful thing. Whereas in years past hurtful things were said over the phone or in person, now they can be sent through the Web and printed. I have file folders of e-mails that have been sent to me through the years from members of my family who didn't have the courage (or time?) to spout their venom to me in person.

Today, the file folders grew by one.

The message today helped to solidify my resolve in making my decision. As the years pass and the relationship continues to unravel, I realize I am in a position of power for the first time in my life. As a child I could not end this relationship or fight for my own well-being. Now I can and am.

I feel empowered today. The message I was sent was done so with the intention of upsetting me so badly that it would elicit a response.

It did. The delete button.

Realize that YOU too have power in your life. We may not be able to choose our family, but we can choose how much we allow them to hurt us.

If you are in a situation where you are not being nurtured, where your spirit is being torn down, know you are not alone. There will come a time when each of us will be in a position of power and can decide what is best for us.

Bide that time.

Savor that power.

A relationship cannot be one-sided. It requires mutual support, interaction and grace. Without it, nothing can survive.

Today, I am choosing my own well-being. I no longer have to let others opinions of me dictate my behavior or choices. In trying to please everyone, I have pleased no one, including myself.

How great it feels to be in control for once!!

tags: control, family, optimism, personal issues, well-being

One of my friend's mother is in her eighties. I have a chance to see her once a year or so and thoroughly enjoy hearing about her life experiences. During our last conversation, she said, "I hope you live as long as I have and get to see how rich life truly is."

I've thought a lot about this comment. I have never seen myself living that long and to consider such a thing has given me pause.

I try to imagine what the world might look like fifty years from now. What will people be driving? What will they be wearing? What will the world look like? Is there really a place for me in it? And if so, what in the world might I be doing?

I've never wanted to grow old. I can't stand the isolation and dependency that living a long life lends itself too. I can't imagine outliving my family or friends or relying on others for my basic needs.

In my mind, I've always known I wasn't going to live that long anyway, so why worry about it.

But after the comment, I feel like I've had to at least think about the possibility out of respect for the person who cared enough to share the sentiment.

Growing up, we lived next door to a spinster. She had the most amazing roses and each afternoon walking home from school, I would wave to her and say hello. Her house was like a museum, and on rare occasions when I was invited over, it was with strict instructions not to touch anything. A voracious reader, she and her sister (a widow), went through stacks and stacks of books on a regular basis. When I think of National Geographics or Reader's Digest Condensed books, I think of her.

She is now over ninety and still lives on her own. She has a nurse that stays with her, and up until recently, still drove and worked outside of the home. In our last visit, she complained of "aches and pains", but she was as mentally sharp now as she ever was.

Her sister was a different story. Disease and medical ailments have robbed her of her physical and mental health. Nearing ninety-five, she is unable to do anything by herself. There are moments of lucidity, and then the cloud returns and she is no longer able to remember who you are or how she knew you.

In my mind, these are the only two options I have. How I would love to live to a ripe old age if I could be sure that my wits and sense of humor would remain. But the larger possibility is the contrary and that is almost too much for me to wrap my mind around.

There are no guarantees in life. If there were, perhaps we would all be more confident in the choices we made. But for now, we are left with the unknown and it is unsettling at best.

I have tremendous respect for the elderly. I love seeing an old person with a cell phone, knowing that in their lifetime, they have seen an invention go from a partyline to something portable. To see an old person is a "fast" car is something I relish. Henry Ford would be proud indeed!

But I guess for me it comes down to quality over quantity. I would much rather live a shorter, fuller life, than a longer and painfully slow deteriorating one.

I know I will have consequences for the way I have treated my body. I feel them already! But I hope that it continues to stay with me. I need my body to carry me through the next stages of my life, how many more of them there may be.

And I hope that I am able to stop and see how rich life is even if I don't live to be eighty. If I am able to do that, then I am blessed indeed.

tags: death, dreams, future, health, life, optimism