Yes, Love your Neighbor, but do it Out Loud

“To the kind yet silent white women who choose to pretend it’s not happening. The ones that offer prayers and hugs and casseroles in the background but say nothing out loud. There is a problem.”

I am a southern girl through and through on some things. By that I mean when it comes to comforting people – food is my go-to solution. Death in the family? Casserole and pie. New baby? Casserole and pie. Tough times? Casserole and pie. New to the neighborhood? Casserole and pie. Food and service are my love languages. There was a time in my life when I had 12 casserole dishes. I’m not kidding. I’ve downgraded to 4 and sometimes I worry I might need more than that. Knowing me well, when I asked what message my Latina bestie would like to tell people after the shooting in El Paso happened, her message above struck a chord.

 Casserole and pie. I'm your girl. 

If I’m being honest, I’m a little scared to post this – for two reasons. The first one, and less important, is that since I’ve become a (mildly) louder online voice and said what I really think about things like white privilege, kneeling, gay pride, and lately, immigrant rights and white supremacy, I’ve gotten some hate from ardent Trump supporters. I’ve been called a moron, an idiot, a libtard. I’ve had to report to Twitter several times for people asking me for my home address, where I work, and other personal information. I NEVER post anything about my kids on Twitter for this reason. Every single one of these people were strangers. And all of them, I repeat, ALL OF THEM, touted their love for Jesus and Christianity on their page. Some even sent me bible verses. That’s another post. But just to frame it - if I, a white woman living in a very privileged bubble for my entire life, am mildly frightened to say what I really think – imagine how people of color feel.

Second, and most important, I don’t want to get this wrong. I’ve tossed the idea of writing this around with my Latina friends for awhile now. I’ve asked for their advice, their input, if it’s even ok if I write it. All them resoundingly said I should. So, it is with their blessing (and editing) that I post it. I firmly believe the time is past for white people to hold the microphone. But I also know that sometimes, our voices are magnified and listened to. If I do anything with the privilege I did not earn and do not deserve, I want to use it to get the message out that more people of color, more minorities, more LGBTQ, more people who aren’t part of the traditional, white, patriarchal structure of this nation SHOULD be listened to. So that’s part of what I'm trying to say - Shut up, listen, and use what you have to amplify others.

Sit with my opening line for a moment. We white women are often the first to show up with kind words, casseroles, school supplies, immediate care when it’s needed. We are care givers. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, we SHOULD do that. Those things are needed. But we shouldn’t stop there. I’ve spent the last several years of my life shutting up and listening. I’ve had hard conversations with friends of color. I’ve intentionally gone to spaces where LGBTQ people were leading. I’ve followed black women, transgender, Hispanic, LGBTQ, Senators, & Representatives online. I’ve joined the Facebook group called “Be The Bridge” led by Latasha Morrison where the rule is if you’re white - you can’t post or comment for three months. It’s been 2 years and I still don’t feel like I know enough to comment. I’ve listened. I’ve learned. I shut up for a minute and realized how much I didn’t know. It’s been transformative to say the least, and it is a journey I will be on for the rest of my life. You know why? Because I’m not a minority. I never have been. And even if I someday am, that doesn’t change the history of this country. White people have had the floor for a very long time. It’s time to be quiet and listen to others. And sometimes for some people, that’s hard. When you’re used to privilege, equality feels a lot like oppression. But it’s not – I PROMISE YOU. I think it’s this fear that is driving the hate in our country. The fear of losing power. It is tearing our country apart and I wish people would just stop and see how much our neighbors, Americans and those who desire to be Americans, are being targeted and made “other”, in an effort to divide us.

My first of many to come Pride Parades. #freemomhugs makes for an awesome day hugging awesome people. 

What’s happening at our border and underneath the veil of ICE is horrific. I have friends here in Katy that are an extension of my family. Just in the last year, we considered going to join a peaceful protest against a migrant facility going up here in Houston. Because of the timing, we would have to take our kids with us. My kids? Not a problem. Her brown kids…. I got scared. First, I said bring their birth certificates. Then I thought about what I just said. WHAT THE F? They are American born children and I just got worried we might need their birth certificates! Honestly, as much as we wanted to, we decided not to go. We do know it can happen. They’ve seen it before. We drove to Brownsville together one summer to visit their family and go to the beach. Going through the border patrol stop on the way back, they reminded us to put away our phones. I didn’t understand why. They explained because if we have our phones out and are texting, they might think we are texting an illegal or a “mule” that is going around the check point on foot. Then, once we stopped, Border Patrol asked about their teenage son in the back seat – BECAUSE HE WAS ASLEEP. He’s a teenager. Teenagers sleep. But the thought was he might have been running across the border all night. Are you freaking kidding me? We passed without major incident, but it was eye opening. These are things I never thought of. All this and we never left the USA. We drove from Houston to Brownsville and back.

So yes, when a white supremacist guy drives from DFW to El Paso to shoot “brown people” I take it personally. That is my family he’s targeting. And it’s not just this family. I have known so many incredible Mexican Americans. When I was a senior in college, I wrote an essay about the family of my friend Gina Martinez. Gina and I have known each other since childhood. We grew up together, I was an attendant in her Quinceanera.  Her grandfather worked with my family for decades. We called him “Mr. Garci” because when we were little, we couldn’t say Garcia. I interviewed Gina’s uncle, and Mr. Garcia’s oldest son, Raul, for a term paper in an immigration class I was taking. Hearing the story of the Garcia family changed my life. In short, Mr. & Mrs. Garcia were in the process of legal entry to the US. Before they could receive their official papers, they were forced to cross the Rio Grande because of political back fall in Mexico when Raul was just a child. It was sheer terror waiting for their official papers, but eventually they received them. They worked as migrant farm workers until they made their way to Brownwood – my hometown. Mr. Garcia cut lawns during the day and cleaned buildings at night. Mrs. Garcia raised their 7 children, kept other people’s children, and cooked amazing delicious food. All 7 of their children are US citizens, completed their education, and grew up to have families and careers.

Mr. & Mrs. Garcia had trouble becoming citizens. They knew more about US History than most of us, with Mrs. Garcia helping Mr. Garcia study for the exam. He was so nervous when he took the citizenship test, he would forget the answers in English. Raul told me about time and again driving his dad to take the test and watching him come out with tears in his eyes when he didn’t pass. Watching Until 1984 - when something changed. My dad ran for mayor of Brownwood. Mr. Garcia wanted to be able to vote for him. He took and passed the citizenship test. In his very first election, his very first vote, he voted for my dad. I can’t write that without tears. There is no finer family that I know of – and their story started out as so many we are still hearing today.  There is nothing stronger than the spirit of two people giving everything for the future of their family.

I have many stories I could tell you. Stories from my teenage years of sitting in my friend’s backyard on weekends with his entire family, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers & sisters. We helped his mom make tamales and chips. We were always welcome. My friends here that invited us to join them last year on Christmas Eve. We had just gone through a divorce, but we were having Christmas together with our boys because we thought it was important. They invited us to join because they knew it was a hard year for us. Instead of a sad year looking at what used to be, we were invited to be family. My children learned songs in Spanish and participated in La Posada and had a pinata with their “cousins”. I can’t write that without tearing up either. In our time of need, our Mexican friends made us family. They have always made us family. It was an uncle’s first Christmas with family in 10 years. He had accidentally overstayed his Visa once, and it had taken 10 years and lots of family money to restore his right to visit the US. This was not just any Christmas, it was a very special Christmas to their family and without hesitation, they included us.

I tell you this because when our President uses words like “invaders”, “rapists”, “infestations”, “killers”, “a drain on society“– he is talking about my family. What if he were using those words to describe white women? Or the white men shooting up Walmart? Would you feel the same?

Make no mistake, Hispanics ARE being targeted by the current administration. I am not advocating for open borders, and neither would any of the families mentioned above. We all know that border security is a necessity. What we are protesting is the use of words that dehumanize an entire culture and the forcible separation of families. Comprehensive immigration reform is needed. Even Republican senators like Ted Cruz (if you know me, you know I am not a Tec Cruz fan, so if I’m citing him as an example I mean it) have tried to pass legislation to fund more judges to clear the backlog of asylum cases, provide more funds, training, and materials to Border Patrol, and improve detention centers so that families can stay together. He was resoundingly shot down by Republicans. They wouldn’t even put it to a vote. There are solutions that are in the best interest both of those coming to this country and those living here. We are supposed to be the land of opportunity and contrary to what our President says, I have never met a Hispanic that didn’t seek to make me feel like one of the family.

Words have power. When you have people already flirting with racism and misogyny and you put someone in power that feeds that flame, it is not a surprise that there has been an uptick in violence and crime recently. They feel legitimized and validated. And because words have power that is why, as white women especially, it is so important that we don’t just offer casseroles and prayers when we see other families suffering. Yes, we should do those things. Yes, there is no such thing as other people’s children. We are mothers and natural care givers. But we must also use our words. We need to use them in public spaces, and we need to use them at home with our families and we need use them in letters and phone calls to our law makers and in protests and with our votes.

The time for only casseroles and thoughts and prayers has passed. Do those things. Care for your neighbor. But stand with them and fight with them and call out racism with them. In this most important time in our country, do not be silent. Don’t watch and love the movie CoCo and then refuse to speak out. You don’t get to do that anymore. Either you are fighting with your neighbor, or you are complicit in the racism being targeted against them.

I’ve always admired the Mexican culture. What I know of them, what I’ve seen growing up, is a culture so beautiful and strong in family. I love their language, their holidays, their food, their music, their amazing sense of community. They have never once made me feel like an outsider. I have always been welcomed. I believe it is our time to make sure that they, and all the lovely cultures and lifestyles in our country, also feel welcomed. We can fight for common sense immigration reform and not lose our sense of humanity. We can understand that borders need to be protected and know that separating children from their families is wrong. We can refuse to legitimize an administration that seeks to turn us against one another. We know better. I believe in my heart that we do. The world is made up of one thing – human beings. We have all grown up under our own experiences. We all see the world differently. But we are all part of the world.

What is an American? An American is someone who lives here. An American is someone who loves this country. An American is someone that comes here in search of a better life. An American is all of us. There is not a skin color associated with American. There never has been and there never will be. We are stronger together and THAT is makes America great. Of course, we can improve and learn and grow and change. That is true of any country and the beautiful thing about the USA is that our Constitution was written with the ability for Amendments. We are literally built to change as we grow.

We don’t need to be made great again. Historically, things haven’t always been great for everyone here. But we can be great and will be great going forward – if we can remember that an American means all of us, one big family, and we aren’t defined by color. 

“We may have our differences, but nothing is more important than family.” 

– Miguel, from Coco

Depression: Periscope Living

I had dinner the other night with a friend that is relatively new to this depression life. Not new to living with depression, but new to understanding it, claiming it, working on it. Its always interesting to hear someone’s take on anything new. In any situation, a pair of fresh eyes can open up a whole new perspective. She had recently started taking anti-depressants, and she said they were helping.

“But I noticed something,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, since I got on the medication, it’s like I’m looking at life through a periscope. In the circle in the middle is normal life. I can see it, participate in in it, and understand the difference between depression and what, in my mind anyway, everyone else was feeling and doing. I can stay there for a while. But I must keep my eyes on the circle. Because just beyond it is the cloud. I can see it too, in my peripheral vision. It’s always there, waiting for me to lose focus on the circle and rush back in.”

“Wow,” I said, sitting back. “That is maybe the most accurate description I’ve ever heard of what depression is like.”

“Does that ever go away?” she asked. “Like, after I’ve been on it awhile, is it easier to stay focused on the periscope view? Or is the fog always there?”

I thought about it. I wanted to lie to her. Tell her it does get easier, more effortless. Some days it feels more effortless. Some days it feels really hard. Some days the fog obscures the circle.

“Not in my experience,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say it does. Anti-depressants don’t make the depression go away, at least not for me. It just makes me more able to recognize it. It clears up the fog, to follow your analogy. I can tell the difference now, and I am better at keeping the fog outside the circle. But it’s always there, and I have to work all the time to keep it outside my view. If I slip, it comes rushing back in and you have to clear it out again.”

“Well,” she said with a note of irony, “That’s fucking exhausting.”

Yes. It is.

I don’t tell you this so you’ll feel sorry for me, or for her, or anyone you know that deals with depression. I don’t want you to think I’m being dramatic or looking for attention. If I have your attention, I’d rather it be for my writing or something I’ve accomplished, not because you feel sorry for me. Depression is not who I am. But it is something I live with. It colors my normal. It always has. I can look back, now that I’ve been through (and continue to do) a lot of therapy and have found a medication that works for me, and see that I probably should have been aware of it all the way back into childhood. It wasn’t something talked about or known about back then. That’s why I write this. Because it’s Mental Health Awareness month and being aware begins with being honest. I have depression. Millions of us do.

Sometimes I have no reason for being down. I’ve always been prone to bouts of emotion. I was told as a child I would grow out of it, but I never did. I internalized that for many years. I thought I just wasn’t growing up like I should, or I was too emotional, or broken, doing it wrong somehow. Sometimes staying in the “normal” periscope takes everything I have. I’m putting on a happy face, for myself and others. Then when it all collapses people are shocked, disappointed, and disbelieving that it has been that hard for that long. Because we don’t talk about it. That isn't to say that people with depression don’t have real reasons for their emotions. We do. We have life’s ups and downs just like everyone else. We have hard marriages, job struggles, insecurities – all the things everyone else in the world deals with. Some of our darker times may come from very real things. But most likely, even when those things happen, we’re better at hiding it. We’re masters at hiding what’s bothering us or that things are hard. We often can’t explain just then why it's hard. How do you explain something you don’t have words for? The fear of being a broken record sometimes keeps us from sharing. No one wants to be the one who always has drama. There have been many times I said nothing, or said I was “fine”, because I’ve already talked about what’s going on. I often feel it must be exhausting to be in my life. From talking to others who battle, I know that’s a common feeling.

So yeah, it’s fucking hard. Sometimes harder than others. Some days it's not as hard. But I’ve come to realize that much of what makes me, well, me, comes from the truth that it isn’t always easy to be me. I have a great sense of empathy. A little more patience when people are struggling. A higher tuned antenna to notice when something is not right. That’s also exhausting by the way, being an empath. We tend to take on others pain and want to fix it. That’s another blog post and another layer of boundary therapy. But I’ve come to learn with age and a crap load of counseling that there isn’t a mistake in the way I was made. The world needs all kinds of people, and those of us who struggle with the “every day” are sometimes the ones that keep the extraordinary alive. We are the ones who never grow out of a good song, the written word, keep our imaginations, keep the colors alive. We write the books and sing the songs and dance the dance and paint the canvas. We love love, and joy, and happiness, and tend to over-celebrate them when they come around. But can you really over-celebrate love? Shouldn’t someone remind the world to be in love with love?

That creativity, that beauty, comes with a price. No one asked us if we wanted depression. And thank the Higher Powers for modern medicine that helps us discern the difference between the fog and the periscope. But I bet if you ask us, any of us, we wouldn’t change the creativity and beauty for the “everyday”. It’s what we know. I always seem to quote Glennon Doyle when I write, because more than any other public figure I follow, she gets it. One of my favorite quotes of hers is “People ask me why I cry so often. I say its for the same reason I laugh so often. I’m paying attention.”

I would not give you back my depression if it meant I would also lose my love of writing. My hard-won honesty that does not have time for bullshit. The way I can tell if someone is hurting. The absolute euphoria that comes from sharing something I created with the world and knowing it helped someone. The way I feel when I love. I wouldn’t trade the highs just to get rid of the lows. I would wager none of us would. We are the creatives. We paint the world and you need us. In some of my darkest times I have produced the words I am the most proud of.

But it’s also nice to be understood. To be given a little extra grace on hard days. To have the freedom to say “I’m going through a rough patch” without fear of labeling or stigmatizing ourselves. And without trying to be fixed. We’re not broken. So that’s why I write this. So, you’ll maybe know a little bit more what it’s like day to day. And for you, reader, that also lives with depression, know you’re not alone. Do the work. Find a therapist, take meds if it helps, and be honest with people who love you. We live in a world that is ever changing and becoming more accepting every day. Don’t lose hope, reach out for the tools available.

It’s fucking exhausting.

I just love saying that because it is the best way to describe it. Sometimes my brain and emotions and heart literally JUST NEED A BREAK. When that happens, I’m learning the best ways for me to cope. I’m learning them all over again because this journey doesn’t end. You will have different things that help at different times in your path. But we can do it. I know that we can.

Periscope living is not for the weak, that’s why I know how very strong we really are.  

Explore. Dream. Discover

              

Three times in my life I threw off the bowlines and jumped on a plane. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve flown other times. But these times, these were trips everyone told me not to take. Trips that scared the begeezus out of many people close to me. Some freaked, others cheered, some shook their heads, some got irrationally angry. It was not easy to silence all those exterior voices and do what I wanted - what I knew I needed in that time.

It is never easy to do that, and I’ve decided it never will be.

 I’m not going to let that stop me anymore.

Those three trips stand out as three of the most freeing, authentic, soul singing moments in my memory.

               First, when I was in college, I flew to LA to stay with a friend. I sat outside their house and listened to the breeze and soaked up the California sun and wrote and wrote and wrote. I drove the Pacific Highway. I went to the beach. I loved it. I wanted to live there. I had no aspirations of being an actress or a famous singer. Maybe I’d sing in a bar here or there or do a karaoke night. Or just write songs and work a day job. I just wanted to be there, to have an adventure, to do something different before the reality of life started. But I didn’t. I would’ve had to go it alone and I was too scared. It’s always been a great regret of mine that I didn’t take that risk when I was young and able to. I wish I’d packed my car and couch surfed until I got my feet under me. I wish I’d thrown off the bow lines. I didn’t, but that trip marks the first time I stepped out in that way, at least initially. Despite everyone and everything around me telling me not to, I went. I’ve never been sorry.

               Second, just after college, I flew to Norway to visit friends and my boyfriend at the time. I got the cheapest plane ticket I could find, which involved not 1, not 2, but 3 plane changes. My luggage got lost somewhere between Chicago and Sweden and I lived in borrowed clothes for half the week I was there. It was magical. I saw the fjords, played in the snow, shopped Karl Johann under twinkling Christmas lights, had an epic New Year’s with friends, spent time with someone I cared about deeply, and got to see a different part of the world. Even the grocery store is an adventure when you’re in another country. I’ve loved Norway ever since. Everything about it. Food, people, language, weather (even the snow), philosophy, holidays – all of it. I didn’t move to Norway. I’ve always wished I’d thrown off the bowlines and at least given it a chance. I listened to those around me and let fear stop me. Things didn’t work out, but I’ve always wished I’d tried harder. But for that moment, despite everyone and everything around me telling me not to, I went. I’ve never been sorry.

               Two months ago, I jumped a plane to London. People who didn’t know me during the California and Norway trips lost their minds. Those who’ve been around longer either shook their head in resignation or cheered me on, but they didn’t try to talk me out of it. Not even my parents - I think even they’ve resigned themselves to the fact that sometimes, I need to do these things. It was everything I thought it would be. I mastered the tube, I ate some of the most delicious food. I pretended I was Julia Roberts and stayed in Nottinghill. I sang the song from my favorite childhood Angela Lansbury movie, Bed knobs & Broomsticks, while walking down Portobello Road. I saw Buckingham, waved hi to William and Kate as I passed Kensington Palace. I had a quiet moment watching children play and laugh on the Princess Diana Memorial Playground and thought there was no better way to honor everyone’s princess. I indulged my inner history nerd and did a Jack the Ripper tour and spent a day in the Tower of London. I got a bird’s eye view from the London Eye. I walked Westminster Abbey and got teary eyed in Poet’s Corner, silently thanking Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and so many others for the words that got me through AP English and the angst of high school. They were among the first that taught me to love poetry. I spent quiet moments in my tiny English garden behind my tiny Nottinghill flat, and walked down the street to make new friends and watch football in the local pub. I tried Sunday roast and bubble and squeak. It was a pilgrimage. It was solace. It was an adventure. For a moment, I threw off the bowlines. I’ll never be sorry.

               I’m not saying I need to escape my life regularly. That’s not the point of hopping a plane, at least not for me. The world is a big place. I’m fascinated by it. People all over live differently than you and me. America, and even Texas, is not the center of the world. The way we live is not the only way to live. The way I worship or eat or commute or talk or think – is not the only way to do those things. It’s important to me to see the world. It’s something I’ve denied myself for a long time. It’s something I plan to show my children when they get just a bit older, because Mama don’t play when it comes to exploring and you better be able to keep up.

It’s a big reason why I work and why I want to be financially sound. So I can give them these opportunities, so they can see parts of the world, both in the US and across the many ponds that separate us. It’s easy to stereotype, it’s easy to be afraid, it’s easy to misunderstand that which we do not know and have not seen. Everywhere I’ve met nice people, helpful people, people just as excited to meet someone from Texas as I am to meet someone from Lebanon working and living in London. I want my boys to see that too, and to know early on that it’s ok to go against the grain, whatever that looks like for them, if they know it’s what they need.

It’s not always convenient or the smartest thing financially to do. But if it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Whether it be hopping a plane or camping out under a sky down the road, or even as simple as a cup of afternoon tea in a different café than Starbucks, take some time to be alone in your head and figure out what it is that sets your soul on fire. Knowing that, and honoring it, at least for me, makes me a better person in my every day life. Feeding my soul and my heart is something I let go of for a long time. It took me until 41 to realize that throwing off the bowlines can be a good thing. If you do it right, you’ll never be sorry.

The knowledge I hold the closest is that these three times represent when I most listened to myself. It’s hard to drown out the voices of others, especially when they are coming from well-meaning people that love you. But the truth is only you know you. And if you don’t know you….well, explore, dream, and discover yourself. No one else cares about your dreams as much as you do. Shouldn’t you know what those dreams are?

My niece made a video of my trip to London for me with a special surprise - a well wish from my favorite Todrick Hall!! 

Happy Trails 😊

Don't Forget to Breathe

Anyone else feel me on this meme? 

There’s a lot of buzz about motherhood and self care these days, and I would bet money this is how most of us feel most of the time.

“You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

“Put the oxygen mask on yourself first.”

In theory these are true and wise, and we should all do them by instinct. But motherhood and life and adulting, well, they’re hard. The brain does weird things when you fall into survival mode and start to feel overwhelmed. At least for me, self care is always the first thing to go. Losing self care is quickly followed by my self-confidence and the ability to hear my own voice. Lately I’ve been thinking about these things a lot, probably because of Mother’s Day and all the posts about taking the day off or treating yourself, and the many blogs about motherhood. I think most women are familiar with this spiral, but we don’t talk about it. We make comments that motherhood is hard, we laugh about it and share a glass of wine. But often we don’t acknowledge the real and raw idea of what it looks and feels like when it happens.

So, let me give you a hypothetical example of what this downward spiral might look like:

               “It’s the end of the school year and there is something extra to remember for both your kids, every single day on top of the usual craziness. Colorful sock day, tie dye day, teacher appreciation week, bring a flower day, send an extra snack day, donate a book day, celebrations of learning, school musicals, end of the year projects, and all the while your child has completely checked out and is in full on summer mode (and to be honest, so are you). When you forget one of these things, your child tells you that he was the “only one” in the class that didn’t participate, and that goes straight to your heart. It stings. You tell yourself it’s not a big deal but that little kernel of mom guilt sneaks in and does a number on you. You’ve also had a tough week budget-wise and there are other big emotion items on your mind. Everyone knows a woman’s brain never stops, so you’ve been mentally chewing on these things well into the night. You’re tired. So you snap at your 8-year-old for whining about “being out of everything” when you’re just trying to get through the week. The mom guilt increases.

               In addition, it’s allergy season and you feel an ear infection coming on. Instead of going to the Ear Nose and Throat doctor like you know should, you go to the General Practitioner and just see the nurse because you’re in a hurry. The kids have practice and you need to get ready to go out of town for your blossoming jewelry business, quite frankly, you don’t have time to drive into town. You ignore the obvious signs this is not going to go well. Over the weekend you end up having your friend drive you to urgent care with a ruptured ear drum. Now your body is tired, and fighting an infection, and you’re in pain, and you feel very sorry for yourself. You start to question yourself in situations where you’re normally very confident. You become needy and looking for outside reassurance, when in actuality you’re competent and secure in who you are. One night you finally lose your shit and announce you need to take a walk. You’re literally stomping around the block, and your brain is fuming and furious at everyone and everything and telling you your entire life is just a house of cards. Without warning you’re crying and talking to yourself like a crazy person because you realized, as you stomped along, you WEREN’T EVEN BREATHING. You take in a great lungful of air and realize your self care meter has fallen so low, you’ve forgotten to breathe.”

I mean, this is all hypothetical, of course. I’m just saying. If you’re not careful, it could happen.

               Why do we do this to ourselves?  Why does it have to get to the point where we can’t breathe before we realize we aren’t checking in with ourselves? I’m the first to tell my friends they need to take some time and take care of themselves. But I rarely remember that for myself until I’ve spiraled all the way down. I don’t know why we do, and I don’t know how to stop it from happening. But I’ll tell you what I decided to do different immediately. Rachel’s six steps back to sanity I call it.

1.      From the wise advice of a friend, I came home and sat down to my computer and did the thing that gives me life and centers me more than anything. I wrote.  I wrote and wrote and wrote and pretty soon had typed up thousands of words over pages and pages of single space type. A lot of it was ugly - emotions I didn’t know I was holding in that I most likely will never show the world. But I can’t keep them inside of me or they will eat me alive. I hadn’t written just for myself in so long. I’m trying to make it a regular practice now. Whatever the thing is that centers you, do that first. Get all the ugly out, all the emotions, all the pain, all the worry. Find what lets you release those feelings and thoughts so they don’t stay inside you rotting.

2.      The night of the walk I texted a friend and simply said, “I’m not ok”. We talked, and she told me to write because a good friend knows what your thing is. The next day I went to my counselor and cried for an hour. With both of their help I was able to name my emotions and look at them one by one, and  figure out a plan to deal with them. I had to remember I’m not alone, and even if I sound like a broken record, the people that love me will still listen. That’s what we do for our people. And if you need some professional help, please get it. Most counselors will work with you on a sliding scale. I know because every single time I’ve gone to counseling they’ve worked with me. There is no shame in asking for help. Counselors can give you tools to help you. Sometimes we need both friends and professionals, and that is 100% ok.  Don’t try to do things alone when you know damn good and well you can’t. Lean on your support system, let people love and help you. Relationships are something I pride myself in maintaining and nurturing, but I often forget to let people do that for me, too. I also want to say that I think everyone, like, everyone, should go to counseling at least once in their lives. We all have baggage we carry, and a good counselor can change your life.  

3.      I went to work out and stopped eating crap. I know I don’t do well on gluten and dairy, and that I shouldn’t have wine every night. But when the stress creeps in, I want comfort food. For me, that’s carbs and wine. My body loves to remind me every time that this is a really stupid idea and I will kick myself later. But in the moment, when you’re not listening to your voice and can’t hear it anyway, that waffle looks pretty comforting. Physical movement, sweat, being with other people, all those things make you feel better, look better, and be more confident. No, I didn’t want to. I still have a damn ear infection and I couldn’t do any of the up and down moves or hear very well, but it was a balm to my tired body and hurting soul. I only get one life and I’m not getting any younger. So, I went to my boot camp and though it was really hard, I felt more like me than I had in a week. Self care is not only mental. It’s also physical. When we eat what we should and exercise and CARE for the body we’re given, it makes stress easier to manage. Take the time to physically take care of yourself.

4.      I meditated. I like to do simple, short guided meditations.  I also like to walk and just think. On a normal day, one where I’m breathing, a walk is centering. Being outside with the sun on my skin and music in my ears is one of the more cathartic things in life for me. Basically, I was QUIET IN MY BRAIN. It’s not easy for women to do. And lo and behold, I could hear myself again. I remembered my voice, and my wants, and my opinions. I remembered I like myself and most of the time believe in myself. I am capable of what life throws at me. I am strong, I am a grown-up,  damnit, and I can do this mothering and life and adulting thing. I can do it well, and I can consciously create it to look the way I want it to look. Spend time in the quiet. In your own head, with your own thoughts, listening to your own voice. You’ll be surprised what you will hear.

5.      Finally, I gave myself a good mental slap across the face. I do not believe in being a victim. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in crying, or that I won’t ever get overwhelmed again. I will. But at the end of it, sometimes a good self ass kicking is just the thing to breathe in deep and get moving again. I told myself I was being an idiot (but with love and patience and humor and a long-suffering sigh) because I know me. I’m not an idiot. I am confident, I am capable, and it serves no one for me to forget that. Sometimes, a good long look in the mirror and being sick of hearing yourself whine is just what you need. Get up, put some lipstick on, and go back out there. 

6.      Do something fun, just because you love it. This particular timing worked out well for me because months ago I bought tickets to see Todrick Hall’s Forbidden Tour with my niece as an 18^th birthday present. I know I seem to overstate it, but that performance was life giving. It lit up my smile and was 100% a happy place. The music, the people in the crowd, the whole vibe of believing yourself and celebrating other peoples’ Shine just reminded me the world can be very beautiful. You just have to remember to stop and look. Don’t be afraid to just celebrate life and have a good time. Find artists, musicians, writers, adventurers, anyone that creates and just enjoy the beauty of their creation. Oh, and there’s another blog post coming about Todrick soon. 

   I’m writing all this down because when I forget to breathe again, and I will, I can refer to this and hopefully remember these 6 things, and shorten the cycle back to myself. Maybe someone else needs a reminder too. Also, since it’s Mother’s Day and we hear a lot about taking the day off and “self care”, it’s been in the forefront of my Facebook feed and my mind. Self care is not a bubble bath, although sometimes those are super helpful. Self care, to quote something I read, is creating a life you don’t regularly need to escape from. It’s taking time for you, and the things you love, from the beginning. It’s making yourself strong mentally and physically, so you can put your best foot forward. It’s remembering that you are worthy of the same love, care and attention you give to the rest of your people. When I do that, I can be a better mom and my kids see me prioritizing my health and happiness too. Someday, when they are adults, I hope they will remember that and do the same for themselves. Making yourself a priority does not mean putting yourself ahead of those you love in your life, it’s simply making sure you’re breathing too. It’s putting on your oxygen mask first, so you also put theirs on. If I’m the best version of me, then I’m the best mom and friend and woman I can be. And that’s something I want to be, Every time and All the Time.

Paleo, MOLO, and the Path

Two years ago last month, I joined a wellness competition in my boot camp group. It’s called MOLO, which stand for Mother’s Love. It wasn’t the first time I’d signed up for it, and I admit I did it reluctantly. But my friend had recently bought the boot camp franchise, and I’m a supportive friend, so there I was. Part of the challenge was setting goals for yourself. Typical ones would be to mark increased strength, reasonable weight loss, specific healthier eating habits, etc. But you see I’d done all those before. Twice for this specific competition and I dropped out both times and went into the big black hole of “I suck cause I always fail so I’m not gonna try anymore.” I’ve lost and gained a lot of weight in my life. It gets old being on that see saw. But, in an effort to try again and be a supportive friend (mostly to be a supportive friend), I valiantly tried to set realistic goals. In a conversation with my friend, I commented that it’d be nice if I could just finish one of these damn things. She said, “Then make that your goal.”

"What? "

“Make that your goal. Don’t quit.”

"That’s it?"

“That’s it. Sure, you have other goals. But none of them happen if you don’t show up. So make that your goal. Your only goal. Don’t quit.”

So that's what I did. And I have tears in my eyes writing this, because I did it. For the first time in a whole lot of years, I didn’t quit. It wasn’t always pretty, but I showed up. Not only did I not quit, I was one of three finalists and voted by my peers as “The Heart of MOLO.” I’m still so super proud of that it’s ridiculous. Sometimes you have to start with small goals to make big accomplishments.

MOLO 2017 (both these women with me are badasses. My friend Erica on the right is a working (Geologist!) single mom and you can set your clock by her. If there's evening bootcamp, she's there with her adorable daughter. To the left is my amazing friend Jenny, who was our 2017 MOLO winner!!! She's a mother to 5 and #6 is on the way, and she's a wonderful friend, listener, and work out partner)

I wish I could say from that moment forward I’ve been hardcore on this journey, but predictably I went back into a hole and ghosted out of class for awhile. In and out, but not super consistent. However I did use that tiny spark to start taking control of my health. I have Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, pregnancy induced hypertension that I still have 5 years after my last pregnancy, I couldn’t lose weight to save my life, my hair was falling out, I had terrible itchy spots all over me, and depression. I felt like I was walking through molasses all day every day until I fell into bed….and couldn’t sleep. Basically I was super fun to be around. But that theme of “Don’t quit” kind of became a mantra. I started reading on my own. I started asking questions. I stopped believing that “my lab reports were good” and there was nothing more I could do. I started trusting my own voice. Just a little bit, but enough to set me on the path. I knew this couldn’t be my best life and I was determined to make someone listen to me.

A lot of journeys start with good friends telling you the truth, just like mine did. And good friends will keep you on the path. I had another friend call me out on my depression and tell me to go back on anti-depressants. I didn’t want to, but since most days I felt like I was going to cry, scream, or potentially bodily harm someone, it seemed like a logical solution.  I started with my OB-GYN (a woman), and my new GP (a woman), and we found one that works for me.  Huge difference. It’s like being awake in the sun vs. walking through the darkness of depression.  It’s about being able to step outside of your emotions and decide what’s valid and what isn’t. Listen people, there’s nothing wrong with an anti-depressant. If it helps you lead your best life, you take it. It cleared my head and gave me what I needed to keep going.

I read a lot of books about my condition and diet that affects it. I’d recommend “The Root Cause” by Dr.Isabella Wentz. Keep your pen and paper and dictionary handy, because it is a medical tome. But slog through it if you have Hashimoto’s. She was huge in teaching me what tests I needed to ask for and what supplements to investigate. I read The Paleo Solution by Robb Wolf (twice) and Whole 30 by Melissa Hartwig. You’d think at this point, I’d say I went full Paleo.

Nope.

Despite knowing how I SHOULD eat, I didn’t. I would for a week or two and then go back. Dairy and bread are a siren song, am I right? I wasn’t ready. And though I’m an intelligent and capable woman, I guess I had to wait until someone told me I HAD to. That was coming.

During all these small gains, this 1 step forward, 2 steps back dance I was doing, my brother Bert encouraged, listened, called me out, and answered the same questions about a million times. He’s a strength and conditioning coach and personal trainer at Efficient Exercise. Functional movement and healthy living are his obsession. I shamelessly admit that I lean on him too much. But he loves to research anything about exercise so I’ll just chalk it up to keeping him on his toes. I value his opinion and knowledge, and patience. He told me more than once, “it’s your body, you strengthen it.” Like, stop waiting for someone to save me. The nerve. 

He told me all along to go to a functional medicine doctor. I didn’t do it because those folks are expensive. I wasn’t ready to make that kind of investment, and drastic diet changes that I knew would come with that. However, by chance at a routine chiropractor appointment, as I mentioned how gross I still felt, the chiro told me his wife was a blood nutritionist. Eureka! I made an appointment. With a bloodnutrionist functional medicine doctor (also a woman) - Dr. Kim Tran.

After testing what felt like the entire volume of blood in my body, and starting an army of supplements, she looked me in the eye and said “You need to live a Paleo lifestyle. No dairy, no gluten, extremely limited sugar.” I knew it was coming. I just had to get there in my own time. By this point, nearly 4 years after being diagnosed with Hashimoto’s, I was so miserable I didn’t care. Take away whatever you want, just make me feel better. Within a month, life changed in the best ways. In 2 weeks, the “ugh I’m tired I want cheese/bread/coffee” hangover was over. It was pretty mild honestly, I know that’s not the case for everyone. In a month, I had more energy. In 6 weeks, with tweaks to the dosage of some of my supplements, my hair stopped falling out. The benefits just kept piling up. This began my real journey with Paleo and clean eating food. I did a 2 week gut healing cleanse. I did Whole 30. I am working toward finding my food freedom. I am finding balance and deciding, moment by moment, what’s worth it to me and what isn’t. Most desserts aren’t worth it. Wine usually is, but not nearly as much as it used to be. It’s a road I’ll probably always be traveling and what is worth it will change over time. I think that’s what Melissa Hartwig means when she posts about “Food Freedom”. It’s working for me anyway, I’ve lost 2 pant sizes!  I still have an endocrinologist and I probably always will. I need synthetic hormones, but with his direction I’ve switched to one with a gluten free casing to increase my absorbency. But now, he’s a member of the team (and the only man), not the whole team. Last week, for the first time in 4 years, he said I looked fantastic. His words were “Young lady, you have never looked better, and your blood work is the best I’ve ever seen it. Whatever you’re doing, keep it doing it." I cried walking out of his office. Because you know what? I feel like myself for the first time in a very, very long time.

Last but not least, find your squad. Life is hard, even harder without your people. I have my tribe here in Katy, I have my college tribe all over the country, I have my bootcamp family, I have my actual family, I have a health journey/weight loss online support group, I have some people in my “at large” family that don’t know they’re family (Melissa Hartwig, Danielle Walker, and Glennon Doyle I’m looking at you) and I finally, after much searching and bitching and refusing to give up, have an incredible team of doctors. All of these people encourage me to be my best self. They pick me up when I fail, they celebrate when I yell at them like a little kid that just learned to ride a bike (“Hey! Everybody LOOK! I can do a proper walking lunge!”), they encourage me when I’m down, they call me out when I’m being stupid or in a self pity spin out. Their words remind me to be bold in my self-belief, to try again, that I’m worth it, that I’m making progress, that they’re proud of me. It’s huge. Life is not meant to be lived alone. If you don’t have a tribe, find the nearest Baby Boot Camp and be brave and go say hi. It will change your life. Read people’s words that inspire you, and then turn around and inspire someone else with what you learned. Be brave. Everyone is scared. Everyone started somewhere and was a beginner once, or twice, or three times. This is the 3^rd time I’ve been on a health journey, but this is the first time I knew it was for life, and its mostly because as Melissa Hartwig says “I consciously created that shit”. Build your own life, find people to live it with that see and love you for who you are. Real friends walk the path with you and they fill it with so much more joy.

My Katy Tribe on my 40th birthday. Back (L to R) Tricia, Jennifer, Victoria, me, Deya. Front row (L to R) April, Katie, and Katie's mini-me, Amy). Arrow pointing to the owner of Baby Boot Camp Katy & Richmond, Victoria. 

My college tribe on Spring Break L to R: Kristen, Jessica, me, Jennifer, and Ej, (missing Jackie & Tara)

My brother and Melissa Hartwig (creator of Whole30) at SXSW 2018

My point in writing this is not to tell you that you should immediately go Paleo (but you should). It’s to tell you not to give up. It took me 4 years to find my path. Eight years if you track it back to my first pregnancy. I lost the weight after it, but I didn’t find balance. It took not accepting “you’re fine” as a good enough answer. I don’t want to be fine. I only get one life. I don’t want to spend it walking through molasses. So in an effort to line it all up - Here’s what’s happened in the 2 years since I decided in that MOLO competition not to quit on myself.

My hair isn’t falling out and has grown 4 inches.

I attend boot camp class at least 4 times a week and I walk or elliptical when I don’t.

I sleep better.

My skin has cleared up

I actually have core strength.

I can do a one legged pushup on my toes (this is not intrinsic but I’m super proud of it so I’m throwing it in)

I’ve lost weight (that is only important because it makes me healthier and feel good in my clothes and shopping is FUN again)

I started writing again, because my brain and my soul are awake for the first time in a long                  time

I turned 40 and I’m ok with that, because I’m living a better life.

I like the food I eat, I learned a whole new way to cook, and I don’t miss dairy or gluten (or coffee actually but that was an unintended side effect of Whole 30). I don’t miss them at all. I’m never going back.

My overall health is a work in progress. I have a battery of tests every 120 days with the blood nutritionist. But little by little my gut is healing, my inflammation markers are down, and even the inflammation in my thyroid is down. Hashimoto’s will never be healed, but the inflammation can be. And side note – it wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be, and worth every penny.

I started my own business that I've been dreaming about for 5 years. I am an ambassador with Noonday Collection, a fair trade company that partners with jewelry and accessory artisans in 13 underserved countries across the globe to increase their marketplace here in the U.S. We work together to lift up other women, families, and communities across the globe. 

Most importantly, I remembered who I am and that I’m worth it.

So if you’re on a health journey, or you wish you could be on one, listen to your voice. No one knows your body like you do. Don’t accept “you’re fine” - but realize that you have to do the work too. It’s not about taking another prescription sometimes, though they have their place. It’s about not quitting on yourself. One small step at a time. I still modify almost everything in boot camp and I probably always will. I’m 40, I have early onset arthritis in my knees, I will always have an autoimmune condition, and it’s easy to feel that mom guilt that keeps me from paying proper attention to my needs. But one small step at a time, I’m staying on the path. And the path is everything.

This year in February, as we always do, we had another MOLO. This year my first goal was “Don’t Quit”.

It always will be. It’s become my life mantra.

But I also set goals that I’d hold a 2 minute forearm plank, I’d level up my weights and resistance bands, and I’d be able to do bicep curls on one leg. I crushed them all. I also got voted an “Inspirational MOLO Mom” by my peers.  That means everything to me. If I can do it, you can do it too. I am going to continue to set goals, and continue on the path, and continue to seek balance and health and joy. Because the journey is never complete as long as we’re here on this earth right? That’s the fun part.

My MOLO 2018 award

Some comments from my MOLO nominations 2018

Me & my littlest mini-me that time we were featured for Baby Boot Camp Katy & Richmond 

One of my new favorite motivationals.

Here’s what’s on my mirror, so I see it every day:

“Discipline Defined is remembering what you want.” – Sabrina Kindell

“Consciously Create It” – Melissa Hartwig

“If we don’t stay lit, we’ll blow out” – P!nk

“The Path is Everything” – Bert Massey

Last, but not least, here's me before I decided I was worth it vs. me now, walking every day to be who I want to be. Inside and out.

You're worth it too. 

"It's never too late to be what you might have been" - George Eliot