Bellwether

Summer is coming to a close, and I'm nesting.

At the end of June I had burnt out, disenchanted with my jewelry business in particular.  

It took my husband to point out that my physical space was a manifestation of my mental state.  Now, of course, I wish I had taken a picture, but at the time I didn't want to immortalize just how out-of-control my studio space had become. 

So I took July off - completely - to clear out my head.  

August was all about rehabbing my physical space.  When we moved into this house, the front part of the house, the one that would become my studio and store, had a liver-brown nappy carpet, and we swore we would redo the floors in the first two years.

That was eight years ago. 

Refreshed and renewed from my break in July, I was finally ready to tackle the dank-ish space where I spend the majority of the day. 

The first step was to take everything out of both rooms and pile is precariously around the rest of the house... all the furniture and jewelry/Arbonne supplies and displays.  The front part of our house looked like something straight out of an episode of Hoarders.  For over three weeks we wound our way around boxes, furniture piled hither and yon - carving little paths to get to the playroom, our TV room and the kitchen. 

We all wore the shin bruises to prove how old this got, and quickly.

Redoing the floors was supposed to take a week and a half, but as these things do it stretched into two, then three weeks.  

I was grateful for the emotional respite of July, because I was down to my last tiny nerve by the time the floors were declared suitable to move in.  

I spent the last two days feverishly organizing and decorating, vowing NOT to put anything back that I didn't love or need. 

Here is my studio space before (I didn't even take a shot of the whole room because the carpet was so bad): 

This was right after I organized it, back in 2011.  It never looked this neat again.

Here is my studio space now: 

My in-home store also needed a face lift.  Here it is before: 

And now: 

I have written about this before, but in rehab I learned about the expression "messy bed, messy head".  The counselors made us make our beds and tidy up our space every morning before we did anything else .

Of course I scoffed at this idea at the time, but I know now they are dead right.  As my physical space deteriorated, I told myself it was "an organized mess", or that it was a result of my "artistic brain".  There is some truth to both statements, but there is a fine line between artsy and out-of-control.  

As I begin this new year (I always think of September as a new year) I feel such gratitude for my new space - both mental and physical. I am blessed that my "commute" consists of walking down a flight of stairs and into a place that relaxes and soothes me.  

I am going to pay more attention to my physical surroundings, having gained a new appreciation for the fact that they are a bellwether to my overall mental state. 

Ladies and gentlemen - the World Headquarters of Shining Strong/Two Little Birds/One Crafty Mother: 

What Is Your Relationship With Food?

Being out at our beach cottage makes me contemplative.

It's hard not to be - surrounded by water, sun and sand with no electricity.  Everything runs on solar, propane or a generator.  Each night the kids fall into bed exhausted from full days of running around in the fresh air

The nights are getting cooler now, the first wisps of fall are in the air.

I love it.

Fall is like my New Year's.  I'm academically programed, and each September along with the crisp air I start thinking about what this new year is going to bring.

The arrival of that big yellow school bus marks the beginning of the kids' new school year, and return of some structure to my life.

This morning I woke early, wrapped up in a cozy sweater and headed up to the lighthouse next to our cottage.  As the sun's rays poked up over the horizon, pushing away the night's darkness, I thought about new beginnings.

Each day is a chance for a new start.

The lack of structure during the summer can be tough. Especially for stay-at-home Moms.  All too often our needs take a back burner to the constant pace of summer.   It can be a tough time for healthy eating, even though in theory the opposite should be true, what with the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Exercise regimes are interrupted, or put on hold.  Healthy eating is abandoned (with glee, I hope) during vacations and barbeques.

I don't know about you, but summer is typically my most challenging month in terms of self-care.

I can't wait for a fresh start in September.  I can't wait to get back to my routine - my yoga classes, my support groups.

One thing that wasn't as tough for me this summer as in years past is healthier eating.  I've talked about the Arbonne fitness plan here before. It's hard not to talk about it all the time, to be honest.

As many of you know, I hosted and participated in an Arbonne 30 day fitness challenge in the spring, losing 14 lbs and 2 inches off my waist. 

But most importantly, for me it was a jump start to a healthier lifestyle. As the fat melted off my waistline and my energy returned, I was able to flip that Internal Eating Switch from "what does it matter" to "I matter".  Losing weight and looking better is great, don't get me wrong, but this isn't meant to be a get-thin-quick fad diet.  It's an entire system of healthier eating.

It's a gateway to freedom from self-sabotaging thoughts about food, and yourself.

I used to get uncomfortable blogging about Arbonne.  I don't like feeling like I'm using this place to be salesy.  But I have witnessed this plan change lives, and so I'm not apologetic about talking about it here.

Since the spring challenge, my clients who did the 30 day fit kit and then stayed on basic maintenance and stuck with the healthier eating habits have been able to not only maintain their weight loss, but continue to build muscle and gain energy.  Their skin is clearer.  They sleep better.

By digging down and examining their eating habits, they feel back in control of their relationship to food.

Amanda - my best friend since we were ten years old - did the spring challenge.  Her goal was to get control of her sugar and dairy intake (read: ICE CREAM) and stop her late afternoon energy crash.   While she is very active, she isn't an exerciser.  She has always been naturally slim (good genes) but knew there was a healthier, toner, more energetic person waiting to come out.

She has now been on maintenance for almost three months.  I saw her yesterday for the first time in a couple of months.  She is radiant.  Sure, she's ten pounds thinner and toned, but it's more than that.  There is a lightness about her spirit, too. 

When she took those before pictures she could never, ever have imagined letting someone take her picture in a bikini.  And posting it on the INTERNET. (You are such a good sport, Amanda. Thank you)!

This summer I wasn't able to exercise like I wanted to, but being on the Arbonne fitness plan made me feel like I was in control of food, instead of the other way around.  I understand the nature of my relationship to food, now - in particular to sugar.  There isn't any "cheating", only choices.

I'm hosting another 30 Day Fitness Challenge (along with several others in my incredible Arbonne team) starting September 1st.  We chose September because it's a fantastic time for new beginnings.  The return of structure.  The crisp, clear fall days where long walks are a treat.

Put yourself back in the driver's seat when it comes to food.  This 30 day fitness challenge is great for weight loss, to be sure, but it's so much more than that.  It's your new beginning. It's your fresh start.  You are so totally worth it.

For the cost of one week's groceries for the average family of four, you can flip your "what's the point" switch to "I AM THE POINT".

This challenge is open to both existing and new clients, and in order to participate you need to purchase your kit by August 21st.  I know that isn't much time.  That is on purpose.  Don't over think this ... jump in with both feet.  I did, and it's one of the best decisions I ever made.

I won't go into all the details here - this post is long enough - but if you are interested send me an email at ellieandsteve@verizon.net and I will send you more information about the fit kit and the challenge.  To learn more you can also go to my Arbonne page by clicking HERE.

It's YOUR time.  You can do this.

Alcoholism's Sister Addiction - FOOD

Last night we did a Bubble Hour episode about denial, and it got me thinking.

We all experience denial in one form or another - arguably on a daily basis. The show talked about how denial is at the root of alcoholism and drug addiction.

But alcohol and drugs are not the only substances that are addictive.

Alcholism's sister addiction is FOOD.

I've been (am) addicted to both.  It took me a long time to get my mind around my food addiction; I didn't consider it an addiction.  We all have to eat, after all, and if I made a poor food choice here and there, so what? It's not like I'm going to crash my car into a tree after too many brownies.

The feelings are the same, though, with both addictions.  When you reach for something outside yourself for comfort, when you have the who-gives-a-damn-anyway attitude about doing something that you know is harming yourself but you just don't care. When you're faced with feelings of self-loathing or remorse after a binge.  When you tell yourself that it's not that bad... that's addiction.

Food addiction is another silent epidemic, and people who struggle with it also struggle with stigma.  Obese people, or overweight people, are met with the same disdainful attitudes, the questions of "well, why don't you just stop?" that alcoholics face.  Have you ever eyed an overweight person in line at McDonald's (the same line you're standing in, by the way) and thought: thank God I'm not her.

I have. Even as my mouth watered in anticipation of a greasy, carb riddled meal. I wasn't that overweight, after all. My denial allowed me to ignore my emotional addiction.  A healthy meal would have sufficed if I was simply hungry.  That McDonald's meal was aimed at something deeper, more insidious, that aching black hole of want.

Three years ago I lost 65 lbs, and got down to a healthy weight for the first time since I gave birth to my daughter.  Then I got cancer and got scary-skinny, and once I was in remission and the feeding tube was removed I had to gain weight.

The party was on.

I ate whatever I wanted to, telling myself that it was important to have that chocolate cake, those Tootsie Rolls, because I needed the calories. I did this until I was over my healthy weight - just how over I chose to ignore.  I denied it away into the corner of my brain where I tuck unwanted truths.

When I couldn't button the pants that had slid on easily for months, I knew I couldn't keep going, that I had to eat better and exercise.

Knowing this was easy; doing something about it wasn't.

I found myself in the throes of a food addiction.  That may seem dramatic, but it's not. Because of my experience getting sober, I recognized the symptoms: obsession, inability to stop myself, rationalizing poor choices.  Physical symptoms when I cut out things like processed sugar.  I would beat myself up, wondering why I wasn't strong enough to just stop.  I'd last a few days, and then have a hard day - or go to a fun event - and the food would just speak to me.  Just like alcohol used to (and still does, sometimes).

I thought I was about 10 lbs over my healthy weight.  When I finally screwed up the courage to step on the scale, I was 20 lbs overweight.  I was crushed, but my brain said "screw it, food is the last treat you have left - you deserve to eat what you want. You had cancer. You can't drink.  Eat whatever you want."

I wasn't ready.

Then the weather got warmer and I pulled out shorts that fit just fine last year.  I couldn't get them over my hips.  I was done.

I realized I couldn't change my eating habits alone.  Just like when I got sober, I needed help.  The first time I lost weight I did it through Jenny Craig, but I couldn't afford that now.  Cancer is expensive.

You may be tired of hearing me talk about Arbonne's fitness program.  I feel like apologizing for talking about it here, like I'm pouring my heart out just to sell something.

But I'm not.  Doing Arbonne's 30 day fitness program, and then getting on a maintenance program, changed my life.  And now I'm seeing it change the life of my clients, my friends, and so I'm not going to apologize for talking about it here.

Because it's not simply a weight loss program.  It's a I-don't-care-enough-to-try fixer.  It helped me flip my self-destructive switch from "who cares" over to "I care".

The first week of this program was hard.  It's as much about what I eliminated from my diet as it is about the healthy things I'm putting in my body, and what I discovered in the first seven days was that I was addicted - and I don't use that word lightly - to sugar and carbs. I had a headache, I was cranky, irritable.  My body screamed for sugar.

That's what I was doing to my body? I marveled.  Consuming sugar and carbs to the point that my body needed them?

That is not an exaggeration.  I know the symptoms of withdrawal, and I had them.  Both physically and emotionally.

The plan put some of the power back in my hands, though, by giving me instructions of what to do (and equally importantly what not to do).  Just like with getting sober, all I had to do was NOT do something (not drink in the case of getting sober, and not eat crap in the case of getting healthy) and follow instructions from people who had walked this path before me.

That first week was tough, but by day 8 the rewards I got from making better choices for seven whole days were enough to keep me going: increased energy, looser clothing, inches starting to come off my waist.   I felt good about myself, my choices.

The feeling of making healthy choices became the reward.  Just like when I got sober. It takes time, and patience, and help, but it's so worth it.

My best friend Amanda just finished the Arbonne 30 day fit program. She did not need to lose a lot of weight (she never has, that skinny little minx) - but she wanted to eat healthier, wean herself off her own sugar (read: ice cream) habit and feel and look like the best version of herself.

She did it. She looks and feels great.  I marvel at how I get to be sober with my best friend - we've known each other for over thirty years - and now we get excited about our new eating habits together, too.  We feel like we're back - as close to those young girls full of hope and energy that we can get for women in our forties.

The irony, too, is that we tried to eat healthier when we were drinking.  We did the Weight Watchers Point system and allotted all our points to wine.  We would never, ever have been able to make a life change like this - for ourselves - when we were drinking.  Back then it wasn't just about the drinking, it was about our ability to hide from ourselves, to simply Not Care.

Caring feels a whole lot better.

Amanda's Results:

The 30 day fitness kit comes with a membership to a wonderful (and private) Facebook community, where we prop each other up, share recipes, tips and advice and share successes.  Because if there is one thing I know for sure it's this:  major life changes are a lot more fun (and successful) when you don't do them alone.

My Results:

If you feel like maybe you're ready to make a change - a real, meaningful lifestyle change for you - whether it's weight loss, detoxing your system, losing (or rearranging) inches, a system for healthier eating or all three - please email me at onecraftyellie@gmail.com. 

You don't have to do this alone.

For those of you who know what I'm talking about with food addiction - who know it's a real thing - I understand.

I'm not trying to be a super model. I just want to be the healthiest me.  One day at a time.

Shame On You, Katie Couric

What's the big deal about Moms who drink?

I want there to be more discussion about this, and not for the reason you may suspect.  Many people think that because I'm an alcoholic, I'm cynical about the press drinking Moms seem to be getting these days.

That's not actually true.

My friend Stefanie Wilder-Taylor was on Katie Couric's talk show recently, so of course I watched with interest.  Stefanie is a pioneer in getting the word out about women, moms and drinking, and a pro at handling media appearances (you may have seen her on Good Morning America, Larry King Live and/or 20/20, among others).  She has helped countless women with her brave, funny and approachable spirit, and I'm very grateful she is putting herself out there with such grace.

I'm especially grateful Stefanie is a seasoned media veteran, because I was taken aback by the tone of Katie Couric's interview with Stefanie and other brave Moms coming forward to have a frank discussion about motherhood, drinking and drug use.

Here is a five minute excerpt of Stefanie's portion of the show:

 "Marile Borden is a Boston mom of two who organized a Facebook page called, “Moms Who Need Wine,” which currently has more than 650,500 followers. Stefanie Wilder-Taylor is a mom from Los Angeles who used to enjoy a drink or two at play dates, but gave up alcohol after a big wake-up call."



I recently heard Katie Couric speak at a blogging conference, and I was impressed. She was savvy, down-to-earth, accessible and funny.

I'm not a fan of the talk-show-host Katie. I realize she needs ratings, but I'm chagrined (but not surprised) that to get them she is sharpening her elbows and playing dirty, trying to pit Marile and Stefanie against each other (unsuccessfully, I'm happy to say, because of both of their professionalism and poise) like some Jerry Springer knock-off.

This show was a great opportunity for informed dialogue. Instead we get Katie mimicking swigging wine from a juice-box shaped wine container and badgering BOTH guests.  Katie Couric is trying to create sides in the issue of drinking Moms, and that gets us exactly nowhere.

Despite the middle-school-playground way this show was handled by the Katie Couric show, it raises some important issues.

Is it odd to have a Facebook page called "Moms Who Need Wine" with so many followers?  Is there something wrong with this?

My answer?  Absolutely not.

I would like to believe we live in a world where grown women (and men) can make their own informed, educated decisions about how to handle alcohol responsibly. Does the entire world have to curb their own behaviors because alcoholics exist?  I don't believe so.

Perhaps a better title for "Moms Who Need Wine" would be "Moms Who Want Wine" - but then, of course, it wouldn't be as catchy (or garner as much media attention - props to Marile for the name .. and I'm not being facetious... it's marketing genius).  I have a good friend who writes for their website, and it's not all about drinking.  It's also about the demands, joys, trials and small victories of motherhood.


Other guests on the show included Moms who take Adderall (an ADHD medication), anti-depressants or anti-anxiety drugs, including one Mom who went from Adderall to meth.

These are ALL serious and important issues: anxiety, depression, addiction.  But what was the title of the show?

"Mommy's Little Helper", with the byline: "What Would You Do To Become A Better Mom?"

And we wonder why women are so concerned with stigma?  About any of these issues?

People say they are tired of hearing about whether or not it's okay for Moms to drink.  I'm tired of it, too.  Do we get up in arms if a man (or woman) has a glass of wine or two over a business lunch?  Sure, they may not be as productive or focused when they get back to work, but are they a danger to themselves or others?  Full time Moms (notice I didn't say stay-at-home?) are, to over-simplify a bit, at work all the time.  I don't believe having a glass of wine or two - responsibly - at home or at a play date is any different than anyone having a drink with colleagues.

Can we please stop the media hype on this issue and focus on where the line gets blurred?  When Moms (or anyone, for that matter) get dependent - emotionally or physically - on a drink or a drug to "get them through the day".  When that relaxing glass of wine (or pill) starts to erode your ability to function? Or your peace of mind?

A Mom who is drinking, or taking needed medication, is not automatically putting her kids in danger, and the media hype about this issue only drives the people with a real problem deeper into the shadows.  Katie Couric's line of questioning for each guest seemed to be: "well, couldn't your 'symptoms' just be the normal stresses of life? I feel those things and I'm not popping pills/drinking".

Can we drop the "Better Mom" wars?  Shame on Katie Couric and her producers for exacerbating this Quixotic phenomenon.  Should a Mom with post-partum depression think she should just "buck-up"?  Should a Mom with crippling anxiety feel she's weak if she needs medication to cope?  Should a Mom who likes to have a glass of wine with friends feel judged?

No.

Not anymore than an addict or alcoholic should feel shame about the disease of addiction.  Being a "better Mom" has NOTHING to do with responsible recreational use, anymore than addiction makes someone a bad mom.  Addicts and alcoholics have a disease - we don't set out to ruin our lives or put our children in danger.

Having said that - and this is important - it IS the responsibility of an addict or alcoholic to get help and get well, once the problem is apparent. Any and all measures should be taken - as drastic as needed - to help someone stop abusing drugs and/or alcohol.  A disease does not give anyone the right to shirk getting well.

 So how do you know? How do you figure out if you're heading for trouble with drinking?  From my own experience - and the shared experiences of many other women - there are some things to look out for:

• Drinking every day at around the same time.
• Thinking about your nightly drink(s) earlier in the day.
• Planning activities around drinking/avoiding friends who don't drink "enough" or activities where there won't be any drinking.
• Sneaking sips/glasses.
• Lying about how much you're drinking.
• Drinking alone more than occasionally.
• Feeling shame about your drinking.
• Having memory lapses or "grey-outs" (where you can only remember parts of things).
• Increased anxiety, sleeplessness or irritability when you can't (or don't drink).
• Always finishing your drink, and noticing others' drinking - comparing your drinking to others.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but it is a start. Even one of these symptoms could be an indication that drinking is becoming a problem. There is a school of thought that if you're an alcoholic you can't stop drinking without help, and this may be true.  But there is no harm is helping people understand early warning signs. 

Without informed, judgment-free discourse about difficult topics like depression, anxiety, alcoholism and addiction, we don't have a chance of healing. 

And, please, in the name of all that's sane, can we please leave Perfect Motherhood out of this discussion? 

While we're at it, can we leave it out of ALL discussions?

I'm Not Popular

Wikipedia defines popularity this way: a social phenomena that dictates who or what is best liked.

Simple, right?  No so much.

Like so many other concepts - wealthy or good looking are examples - it is essentially impossible to be popular. Why? Because no matter what there is always someone wealthier, better looking or more popular than you.

I've been mulling over popularity recently, after a conversation with a friend about some cliquish, mean behavior she witnessed.  She wasn't the target - just about everyone else not present in the room was - but it made her fearful because she realized that when she isn't in the room she's probably a target, too. She was fearful, hurt, and mulling over what makes a true friend.

I have many friends. I'm really blessed. I no longer think about popularity, ever, and it used to be something that was more important to me than I like to admit.

The irony is that when I thought about popularity a lot I had very few friends. Now that I don't think about it anymore I have many, many friends. And by friends I mean people who are so interwoven into my life they are like oxygen to me, not people I chat with in the supermarket aisle.

Before, I had a mission to be liked, not just by close friends but all the supermarket aisle people, too. And not just liked, but liked best.

When I was drinking, and in early sobriety (which I think of as my whole first year), being liked was the most important thing to me. I would shape-shift to become who you wanted me to be, virtually guarantying you would think I was great, because I would remind you of you.

I realized that what my friend was witnessing with the Mean Girls (and, yes, they are Mean Girls even though they are middle aged women) was the insatiable urge to be liked best.  One way to be sure you're liked best is to make sure other people aren't liked as much as you.  Putting others down to inflate your own ego is the cheap, easy way to perceived popularity.

It's not real popularity, because as I said above real popularity doesn't exist. Stepping on the heads of others to put your place a little higher is a fleeting thing, because you're surrounded by people who are just waiting for their turn to step on you.

As I look around my life today I'm surrounded by friends that not only wouldn't ever step on me, they would do anything to boost me up. I'm the same way with them.

This doesn't mean we don't disagree, or argue, or feel hurt. That happens, not often, but it does happen.  The beauty is that we mend our rifts, soothe our wounds, and in the process strengthen our bond.

I knew I was finally growing out of my need to be popular when, a few years ago, I ran head-first into a wall of criticism.

There were people out there who didn't like me - me! - the person who had bent over backwards to never hurt a fly and to be kind and giving no matter what!  OH, the righteous indignation, the burning hurt and shame.  Were my critics right? Did I need to change what I say - who I am - to be liked?  

Slowly, and with the help of dear friends in recovery, I learned the kind, gentle person I believed myself to be was a fraud. I was no better than the hurtful people, because I wasn't showing my true self to them. Or, as it turns out, to myself.  I was unfailingly polite, friendly and kind, even as I grit my teeth in the face of horrible behavior.

I learned to be okay with people disagreeing with me, with what I stand for. I stopped taking not being liked personally. I realized people can not like me, and that my life goes on.  My critics make me think. I listen to what they have to say, and try to remain teachable.  As long as they aren't being insulting. I stop listening when insults start. 

They can only step on me if I let them.

Being your true self in all matters is hard. Impossible, really. I get caught up in gossip, sometimes. I fall victim to the 'nobody-likes-me's'.  When I'm with a bunch of people who are gossiping, I don't puff out my chest indignantly and tell them to stop, or cover my ears.  Sometimes I'll walk away, but not always.  Sometimes I even participate.  I tell myself I'm not doing it in a hurtful way, but of course it's almost always hurtful.

I don't get a feeling of superiority from it. I don't do it to be popular, because I've ridden that roller coaster before and I know it leads nowhere.  My goal is to avoid cliquish, gossipy behavior altogether.

There is no reason not to aim high.

It's funny how the Mean People have such pull, though, you know?  How quickly we can be drawn in by their vitriol.  How easily doing the Right Thing feels prudish, dorky, awkward.

Being in recovery has ruined my ability to be petty, though. Not that I never do it, but I can't do it with impunity anymore. I try to surround myself with people who are secure enough in themselves that they don't step on others to raise their own position. For the most part, I'm successful.  But I live in the world, and Mean Happens.

All I can do is cultivate an awareness of my motives, and strive to be a better person in the future, even as I know I won't ever do it perfectly.

Killing The Question Mark

I am sitting in my jewelry studio, which looks like a tornado went through it, although as I always say "It's an organized mess".  I know where everything is, and if someone came in and cleaned it up I'd be lost. 

I think that's just the way my artist brain works; it thrives on jumbles. Jumbles of thoughts, ideas, colors, textures, priorities, designs - the list could go on and on.

For the first time, ever, I'm owning my artistry. I have always said what I do with a question mark at the end, like "I make jewelry?" or "I write a blog?".   

I'm done with that. I have dreams, dammit, and that question mark is in the way.  Part of this new found existential enthusiasm is because of Brene Brown's book Daring Greatly - you all know I love me some Brene Brown - and I'm understanding, finally, that the key to  my artistry IS my vulnerability. What I produce, whether it is writing, jewelry or creating outlets for sober people to share community it comes from my heart.  And sometimes, I admit, it makes me feel very naked.  Or, more accurately, it makes my soul feel naked, and that's scary.  

And a blessing. So much of my life was spent people pleasing, or numbing out, or trying to force you to like me by being who I thought you wanted me to be. 

I am literally incapable of doing that anymore, and that is a miracle and a gift.  

I still struggle with Ego.  Maybe that's a good thing; the people I know who don't struggle at all with their Ego aren't very likable. I'm so afraid of coming across as an egomaniac that I run the other way and get all question-marky about my creativity, my business, my dreams.  

I fall into old patterns all the time.  Next week my mom and I are going to the Massachusetts Conference for Women.  Brene Brown will be a speaker (along with a world-class lineup, including Deepak Chopra as keynote speaker).  But I'm there mostly there to hear Brene speak. I even made my Mom read her book. 

I was chatting on the phone with my Mom the other day and she encouraged me to have a copy of my new book Let Me Get This Straight  to give to Brene in case I have the opportunity to get a signed book from her, or shake her hand, or something.  As she was suggesting this, I was shaking my head on the other end of the line.  No way, I thought. There is no way I could do that. It's egotistical and she must get inundated with books all the time and I could never, ever have the guts to promote myself like that. 

My Mom waited a polite beat, and said, "You just made me read this book about Daring Greatly and you won't do this?"  

I laughed. Of course she's right.   "At least have a business card ready to hand to her if you run into her in the ladies' room," she said. 

I had a screaming case of the "who do I think I am"s.  Why do I do that?  Why do so many of us do that?  Scott Stratton, who wrote the book Unmarketing , and who I heard speak at a conference once, has a great line: "do you know who I think I am?" 

I have the opposite problem, but I'm working on it.

It took every ounce of guts I had to promote my book, and to keep talking about it to people.  I really, really want to put a question mark at the end: "I put together a book?"  

But I won't.  I'm learning from some awesome, strong successful women around me - who also sometimes struggle to own their talent, their creativity - to kill the question mark.  We have to prop each other up sometimes.  Because I can see their talent shining from a mile away, and it breaks my heart when I see them down on themselves, and I do my best to set them straight.  Thankfully, they return the favor, too.

My good friend Jessica Bern (the truly amazingly funny and talented co-creator of Two Funny Brains and an internet series currently in production called BlogThat) ordered some jewelry from me the other day, and I sent her the price and then said, "Is that okay?"

Here is her response:  "that is fine although do not ask another customer if your price is "okay" again. You hear me? Your price is your price. If they don't want to pay, fuck em."

THAT is a good friend. 

Daring Greatly is HARD, because you have to be ready for "No", or to have your expectations not met, or to feel small or less than is some way.  The reward, though, is the feeling that you're out there swinging, no matter what.  And that you can't force anyone to do anything for you - like buy your book, read your blog, buy your jewelry - if they don't want to.  It would be nice to have that kind of control over people, but I'm just not that powerful.

My precious Ego gets me into a lot of trouble.

So I'm bringing a business card (I won't have a copy of my book yet - or as my Mom put it "If God wants Brene Brown to have a copy of your book it will arrive before December 6th") to the conference and going to the restroom a lot.  You know, in case she's in there.   

Dreams have been launched from odder places, I'm sure.

No Hopeful Flourish In This Post. Otherwise Known As Progress.

The steroids they give me to prevent an adverse reaction to one of my chemo cocktails gives me so much energy that I finally know what it feels like to be Type A+++.  I don't know if I should be jealous or offer condolences.

It's 11:30pm and I'm nowhere near sleep.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the petulant little five year old who stomps up and down the hallways of my brain braying thoughts like a deranged donkey.  She won't leave me alone. Writing sometimes quiets her, so I'm giving it a try.

Today was a double-whammy day; both chemo and radiation treatments mean a full day at the hospital.   I had blood work, a consult with the chemo nurse, radiation treatment, then back up to the oncology department for the chemo administration, which takes about three to three and a half hours.

Long days like this mean that our fabulous new sitter, I'll call her Laura, will be stepping in to be me for the day.   She will meet Finn off the bus, be there when Greta gets home from a play date, help with homework, take Finn  to karate, feed snacks and start dinner.  She is a true God-send, more than capable, and the kids (and Steve and I) adore her.  It will be a dark day in this household when she goes back to college later this month.

As I'm snapped into the immobilization mask, preparing for my 7th radiation treatment, I glance at the clock, and realize they are probably getting Finn into his karate uniform and getting ready to head off to class.  I lie there, pinned to the table like a science experiment, and let little sad waves flow over me.

Treatment is forcing me to let go in so many ways.  Sometimes I go gracefully.  Other times, not so much.

Did Greta have fun at her play date today? Did she start her homework?  How was the first day back from vacation?   My minds spins as the radiation beams hum and hiss in my ear. I treasure the first moments home; that's when I get most of my tidbits of information.  By the time I drag myself in the door at close to 8pm I barely have time for a hello before it's their bedtime.

They are totally okay; Laura is cool and fun, but firmly in charge. I can tell they get a rush being with her. I'm  happy for them - for us -  but my heart still breaks a little.

Damn cancer.

Bedtime arrives, at least on paper - I'm not tired at all - but I dutifully climb into bed and wait for sleep.  My legs feel jangly, odd.  My thoughts refuse to stay in the moment, pinging far ahead into scary, unchartered waters. Then the pendulum swings back to the weekend.  I fought and railed against my dual diseases- alcoholism and cancer - for most of this past weekend.  I was ungainly, volatile, jealous, resentful, victimized.  I was angry.  You'd never know it to look at me in public, but behind closed doors I was not a pretty sight.

I'm terrible at falling apart, because I let it go too long before I realize I'm over the edge.  Then it's all snotty-cries and bubbling resentment and self-pity.

Eventually, I beat myself up enough and ask for help. But not before paying a price with my sanity, with the balance in my family, with a little piece of my soul.  I'm like an ogre, and I know it, and I can't get out of my own way.

I finally, stubbornly, reluctantly and with more than a little shame, reached out and got the help I needed.  I went to a meeting, and spent a lot of time on my knees in my room surrendering over and over and over.

Today, the clouds parted a bit.  Today I feel emotionally shaky, but in touch with what's really going on inside me.  Today the gratitude is back, weakly waving her hand and whispering, "remember me?"

I have to remember, though, this is just today. Twenty-four hours.  Tomorrow I have to get up and do it again - surrender, ask for help, touch the truth, give the ogre - I dunno - a hug?  A primal scream?  I don't think she's going away anywhere soon, and I have a lot of work to do.

It's hard for me to write here about the ugliness. Not because I want to appear perfect - not even close. It's because the ugliness scares me so much I don't really even have access to it.  I prefer to live in gratitude, serenity and peace. It's so much nicer there.  But the ugliness is there, simmering beneath the surface, and if I don't respect it, talk about it - even acknowledge it - it corrodes my spirit, my sanity and my sobriety.

The ugliness makes me feel very, very vulnerable. And vulnerable is hard.

Parenting and Teenage Drinking - What Would You Do?

We are very open with our kids about alcohol.

We explained to them that I have an allergy to alcohol; at their ages this is the best way to explain a concept as complicated as alcoholism.  Greta has asked if she has an allergy to alcohol, too, and we told her that we can't know yet, but that alcohol allergies are hereditary, and she will have to be more careful than most about drinking. 

We also explained that drinking at a young age increases her chances that she will have a problem with alcohol later in life. A recent study indicates that people who reported starting to drink before the age of 15 were four times more likely to also report meeting the criteria for alcohol dependence at some point in their lives.

Her response was to say "Well, then, I'm never going to drink alcohol. If someone asks me I'm going to say NO THANK YOU!"

If only it were that simple.

The statistics about teenage drinking are hair-raising.  72% of teenagers in the US admit to using alcohol at least once, and 2 out of 5 teenagers say they drank alcohol within the last month.   Studies also show that when teenagers drink, they tend to binge drink - consuming 4 or more drinks at a time.

As parents, we all want to believe our teenager would be one of the 28% of teens who don't try alcohol. We do our best to teach our children to make smart choices, we advise them of the dangers of drinking.  We consider good grades or a stellar athletic track record as indicators that our kid couldn't possibly be drinking.  But the statistics are frightening, and even if our own kids are trying to make smart choices, chances are they have friends who aren't.

We all remember the power of peer pressure, of wanting desperately to fit in.  Smart choices have a way of fading into the background in the face of peer pressure. 

I can see it in my mind's eye - Greta and some teenage friends hanging out in a parking lot after a movie, or having an innocent get together at a friend's house. Suddenly a bottle appears from someone's pocket, and gets passed around.  When the bottle lands in her hands, I would love to believe that all our education and open communication would lead her to say 'No thank you,' like her 9 year old brain believes she would.  I would also like to believe she would remember the dangers - elevated for her - and pass the bottle along without taking a sip.  I know she would want to make the right choice, but would she?  

I remember my first sip of alcohol, how it calmed my nerves, made me feel whole, comfortable in my own skin.  For someone who struggled with anxiety her whole life, alcohol was like a magic elixir.  Greta has anxiety, too, particularly in social situations, and my gut churns to think about how her resolve not to drink may fall to pieces when she feels alcohol's magic effects.

I also know I am powerless over what happens, to a large degree.  I can educate, encourage her to communicate with us about drinking, spell out the consequences from drinking in startling clarity.  But how can I put more power into her hands to make the right choice, to help her fend off peer pressure?

It's a fine line between trust and facing a stark reality:  most teens drink.

Technology, of course, is coming up with new devices to address the growing problem of teenage drinking.  Sober Link is such a device; a wireless blood alcohol level monitor that a teen can blow into from anywhere, and it wirelessly and immediately provides parents with their child's blood alcohol level and location.   My immediate reaction upon hearing about this was at a visceral level:  I trust my child, she will make smart choices.  I won't need something like that.   But then I watched the video below, and thought about it some more:




I thought about the scenario in the parking lot, of the bottle being passed around.  If Greta wanted to make a smart choice, but felt pressured to drink, having this device in her pocket would give her an out, would empower her to say she can't drink.  

It feels draconian, on some level, but it doesn't have to be. I do trust my children, and I wouldn't give her a device like this one because I don't trust her, I would give it to her to empower her to make the right choice, if she wanted to. 

At nine years old, Greta is eager to listen and receptive to our advice. I hope she stays this way through the difficult teen years, but I hear stories of how communication changes - and not for the better - when kids hit their teenage (and even pre-teen years).  I recognize that I can't stop her from drinking, if she's determined to try.  Kids make mistakes, they make wrong choices, and oftentimes we learn more from our mistakes than from our successes.  But the stakes are so high with teenage drinking; one wrong choice can have disastrous consequences. 

What do you think?  Would you give your teenager a device like this?  If you wouldn't, why not?  How do you talk to your kids about drinking, and at what age do you/did you start? 

~~~~~

Full disclosure:  this is a sponsored post.  I get a lot of requests for sponsored posts, but decline them because they aren't topically relevant to my blog, or of interest to my readers.  I am fascinated by how technology can help (or hurt) teenage drinking, so I jumped at the opportunity to talk about this more.

One Year Later - Operation Get Healthy

A year ago this week, I embarked on my weight loss journey.   

At that time, I blogged about how I had been waiting to care enough for all the work and dedication it takes to lose weight.  That day came one morning on the first warm day in early April, as I opened a drawer full of shorts and tee shirts that no longer fit me, and pulled on my old ratty sweatpants, disgusted with myself.

I knew I was overweight; I thought I had about 20 lbs or so to lose.   Like with so many things in life, I wasn't seeing what I didn't want to see:  I had over 50 lbs to lose to get to a healthy weight.   When I stood on the scale at my first Jenny Craig visit and saw how much I weighed, I cried. 

When I set a weight loss goal of 55 lbs, however, I laughed.   I couldn't imagine losing that much weight.  I told my Jenny Craig consultant I would be thrilled to lose half that much.

I sit here one year later and 63 lbs lighter, and now I'm in a different kind of denial; I can't remember what it felt like to be heavy.   That version of me seems really far away now.

My daughter had her annual physical last week, and when they weighed her the nurse looked at me and said, "Greta weighs 63 lbs!  A wonderful, healthy weight for a girl her size."

It stopped me dead in my tracks.  I had lost the equivalent of my eight year old daughter.  For kicks I tried to pick her up, and I couldn't fathom having that much extra weight on my frame.

Just like with sobriety, it's important for me to remember, though, because the devil lies in the forgetting.    I don't think much about dieting anymore, just like I don't think much about having a drink anymore.   When the urge for a drink comes, one of the first things I do is conjure up a memory I'd rather forget, something that reminds me what drinking did to me.

And just like with drinking, I got into trouble with food gradually, over time, ignoring the little alarm bells that would sound ever so faintly in my head from time to time, like when I shopped for pants and had to go up a size.  I told myself it was just a temporary fix until I could get that extra 20 lbs off.  I did that until it was 60 lbs, not 20, that I had to lose.

And just like sobriety, I couldn't think about the end game.  Losing that much weight seemed impossible.   Just like never drinking again seemed impossible in the early days of recovery.   Thinking about the rest of my life without alcohol sent me into despair, so I didn't think about my whole lifetime.  I only thought about that hour, or that day.   Little by little the hours and days turned into months, and before I knew it I was on my way.

The same thing was true with food; I couldn't imagine a lifetime of watching my weight, so I took it one meal at a time.   It was hard - very hard - in the beginning.   Just like with quitting drinking, I avoided restaurants, parties, social occasions that would tempt me.   What I hated was that feeling of 'other than' - watching people stuff their faces with food while I nibbled on a carrot stick made me feel different, alone.   It made me downright angry. 

Unlike alcohol, though, I couldn't quit food altogether, so I had to learn to respect it.   More than that, I had to learn to respect myself, my body, my health.   My well being had to be an important enough reason not to cheat.   And unlike alcohol, my life wouldn't fall apart if I snuck an extra cookie or two.  I had to be enough of a reason to do the right thing.  

Once I made it through the first month or so, the rewards started coming.  I could dash up the stairs and not be winded.   I could pull on shorts that hadn't fit me in years.   I could get up in the morning and throw on a tee shirt without having to tie a sweatshirt around my waist to hide my bulk.    When I was tempted, and I was tempted a lot, I would think about how temporary the gratification of eating is - how fleetingly it provides comfort, and then all I would be left with was the deflated, empty feeling of letting myself down.    Somehow, I had become enough of a reason not to cheat.    It felt wonderful.

Now I don't think about food that much.   I eat regular food in healthy portions; I work out two or three times per week.   I go to restaurants and eat a salad.   I skip dessert, opting for a bite or two of one of the kids' desserts instead.   Those two bites?   They taste amazing.    

For snacks I eat fruits and veggies and I actually like them.  For dessert I'll have a sugar free popsicle, or strawberries with a dollop of whipped cream.    It's just how I am now; I don't really have to think about it much.

I never, ever thought that day would come. Ever.  Just like with sobriety, I couldn't have imagined how good I'd feel, once I got over the pain of adjusting.    Now feeling good is its own reward.   And it's more than enough.

Last April doesn't feel like very long ago.  At the time, when they told me it would take at least nine months to lose the weight, I was crushed.   Nine MONTHS?    It seemed like forever.   Now it feels like it went by in the blink of an eye.   Life's funny like that.

I will always have to watch what I eat.   I'm finally okay with that.  The hard things in life are hard for a reason, because the rewards exceed my wildest expectations.   Every time.

So if you're struggling with food, if you're waiting to care, how about now?  Don't think about the end game.   Just think about today.   Put yourself first.  

You're worth it.

In Which I Ask: Would You Want Help?

After my most recent post, I received a lot of emails, and some very insightful comments, about what the rules are (or should be) for knowing when, if and how to help someone who is struggling with addiction.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this topic for days.   I've rolled scenarios over and over in my mind, wondering if there is a common thread, a way to help people know what to do when faced with a situation with a stranger or friend who clearly needs help.    I'm not going to touch on what to do when a loved one is struggling.   That is a discussion for another time, and different guidelines apply (in my opinion).

To summarize, in my last post I described a woman I saw in line at a convenience store at 9:15am buying a gallon of cheap white wine.  She was shaking, obviously struggling (but not visibly drunk) and as I went to my car I saw her crying into her hands with the brown bag containing the wine sitting in her lap.    I didn't reach out to help her, although the thought crossed my mind.    I have been sending a lot of prayers her way since.

Many of you wanted to know why?  Why didn't I reach out?   (These questions were asked out of genuine curiosity, and not in a confrontational way.)   People sent emails outlining situations they have been in themselves, and wondering when, or if, they should offer to help.   Or at least point out the problem.

I started thinking about denial, about how hard it is to crack through the wall of lies and rationalizations we use to hang on to behavior that we know, somewhere deep inside, is becoming corrosive in our lives.

It's not just alcohol or drugs that invade our sense of balance and peace.  Many, many people have some thing they cling to that they want to keep hidden from the world, and many times they keep it hidden from themselves as well ... also known as denial.   People use food, shopping, gambling, marital affairs and other self-destructive behaviors as a trapdoor out of reality.  

For many people - women in particular - the problem is food, or issues around food.   Perhaps you struggle with anorexia or bulimia, or you are a secret eater, binging on food at night when nobody is looking.    Food, like alcohol or drugs, provides the illusion of relief from reality, pulls you out of yourself, at least temporarily.   But after the binge, or purge, you are left only with disappointment and self-loathing, thinking: I've done it again.   In this sense, it is very similar to drug or alcohol abuse.

Or perhaps the opposite is true:  you deprive yourself of food to maintain the illusion of control over your life, or to strive for that unachievable perfect body.

Food issues are the best example to use when we're talking about how - or if - to reach out and help someone, because it's something more people can relate to.  If you're struggling with food issues, how would you feel if someone approached you, without being asked, and offered to help?   Like alcohol and drugs, food problems can become obvious to the outside world.   You gain weight (or with anorexia you become alarmingly thin).   If a stranger approached you in a store, as you stood in line with armfuls of snacks, and asked you if you were okay, or handed you a card for Overeaters Anonymous, how would that make you feel?   If a friend kindly asked you if you were okay, because she noticed you were gaining (or losing) too much weight, how would you react?

Would you feel grateful for the kindness of that stranger (or friend)?  Would it crack through your denial, making you finally see what you have been trying not to see:  that your weight (up or down) has become a problem?

Would you feel anger, humiliation and resentment?   Would it drive you deeper into hiding?   Would you think about addressing your food problems head on, or would you simply take more precautions to keep it secret?

Would it prompt you to get help?

I ask these questions with genuine curiosity.   I don't ask them facetiously, or with a sense of what the actual answer is; I'm trying to paint a picture more people can relate to.    I really want to know:   how would it make you feel?

This analogy falls apart on one important level; you can't eat too many tacos and then get into your car and kill yourself or someone else.    When someone is obviously drunk or high and getting behind the wheel of a car, more immediate action is called for.   

But what about the slower degradation of your health, your sense of self-worth, of peace?   

Where is the line?

As I look back over the past three and a half years of recovery, I can't think of a single example of a time I reached out to someone who didn't ask for the help that has been successful.    Because alcohol abuse is more common than people realize, I see examples of people - some of them friends - that I know are in danger of losing themselves to addiction.   The problem is that they don't see it yet.   It is very, very hard to make someone see something in themselves that they have spent years trying not to see.   

Even when people are asking for help many times what they really want is for the bad consequences of their behavior stop, some secret shortcut to being able to keep drinking without the destructiveness.   The same thing applies to food addictions.   Just look at all the "magic cures" for obesity out there:  eat all you want and lose weight!   

Real change only starts to happen when the person surrenders to their problem and understands the destructive behavior (eating, drinking, drugs, starving, gambling, compulsive shopping, etc.) has to stop for any kind of recovery to begin.

So what can you do?    It doesn't feel like much, but you can be ready if and when the time comes and the person wants help.   You can listen without judgment, and act with love.  You can offer your undying support if the person agrees to get help, and you can retract your support if they don't get help.     You can get them talking, help them put a voice to their truth, and listen without reproach.


I want to know what you think.   How would you respond to the scenario I described above?   Have you been in a similar situation with a stranger or friend?  What did you do?   How did it work out? 

This is such an important discussion to have, and the more we share the more we will all learn.

You can comment anonymously, if you'd like.  But please let me know what you think.

Food Relapse

I had a little food relapse.

For those of you who are new to the story, last April I launched Operation Get Healthy, and over the course of six months I lost 67 lbs.   I went to Jenny Craig for help with the eating, and I talked about it with friends, and here, for help with the mental part of losing weight.

I hit my goal weight last October.   I kept going to Jenny Craig for weekly weigh-ins and consultations, for help with maintenance and to keep me on track.    By early December I was totally weaned off their food and on my own.    Starting right after Christmas, I began cancelling or postponing my weekly appointments - I was busy, I was doing fine on my own, blah blah blah.

When I finally slunk in to see my Jenny Craig consultant two weeks ago, I didn't know what the scale would say.  I felt good, I felt on track, but my head has been known to tell me a lot of things that aren't exactly true.

I weighed the exact same amount - to the ounce - that I weighed back in November.

"You've mastered maintenance!" my consultant raved.    "You're doing great!"

I skipped out of the appointment feeling on top of the world.   I made it through the holidays, two months of snowstorms and sick kids, and one blogging conference and I didn't gain an ounce.  

I'll admit it - the words I'm cured came to mind.

I don't remember the me that weighed almost seventy pounds more than I do now.  I forget how getting dressed felt in the morning when I was down to two clothing options:  stretchy pants or sweatpants.     I don't think about how much I hated evenings out because nothing ever fit well.   I dreaded spring, because that meant I had to wear - gulp - shorts.   And after spring came summer and swimsuits.   I started Operation Get Healthy last April because I just couldn't face one more summer as a heavy person.   Clothes were something I wore to cover up my body, and I was so tired of buying outfits simply because they fit, not because I liked the style.      

Just like with recovery from alcoholism, I'm in recovery from food, too.   It is dangerous for me to forget this fact, to think that I'm the size I am now due to anything but vigilance, hard work and more than a little self love.

My consultant's proclamation - well meaning though it was - had the unintended side effect of making me think food wasn't a problem for me anymore.  I've mastered it, I thought.   I'm cured. 

I felt finished.    I forgot that there is no finish line.   Just like with sobriety, I am someone who will need to be vigilant about food for the rest of my life.

It started with a trip to Target to get Valentine's for the kids' classrooms.   Next to the little paper valentines were bins and bins of chocolates.  Oh, I should get some for the kids, I thought.  I threw two bags of Dove Bliss chocolates (my favorite, not the kids' favorite) into the shopping cart.   That should have been clue number one.

When I got home, I didn't package the chocolates into cute little Valentine's bags for the kids.   I stuffed them into an overlooked porcelain jar in our kitchen, in a place nobody but me would ever look.   That should have been clue number two.  

On Valentine's Day, I gave each kid a card.   I didn't say a word to anyone about the chocolate.

The day after Valentine's Day I went to give myself a little after-dinner treat.     There were only six chocolates left from the original two bags.  I thought:  Oh, Steve must be eating these, too.  

As I unwrapped a chocolate to pop into my mouth, the truth finally broke through.    Nobody is eating these but you, Ellie.    You bought them in secret, hid them so nobody else would eat them, and now you're lying to yourself.   

Stunned, I threw all the rest of the chocolate away, and vowed not to mention this to anyone. 

The next morning, I fearfully stepped on the scale.   I don't generally weigh myself at home.   I don't want to get obsessive about the number (in either direction).    I want to be motivated by a healthy lifestyle rather than a number on a scale.   But I had to know what my chocolate relapse had done to my weight.    I didn't know how I'd feel if I had gained weight, but I had to know.

I hadn't gained any weight, thankfully, but I was still good and scared.   I wasn't scared that I ate some chocolate.   What scared me was how easily I slipped into old behaviors of sneaking and lying about it.   Not lying to anyone else, but lying to myself.   That is what denial is:  lying to yourself.

The only path away from denial that I have ever found to work is to open my mouth and speak my truth.  So instead of sweeping The Chocolate Incident under the rug, I'm talking about it.   Even typing these words, I feel better.   I can put the whole thing into perspective, honor the things I do well and forgive myself for my mistakes.  

Left to my own resources, here's what my head would tell me:   you've already blown it, so have another chocolate.   Start again on Monday.    And I know from past experience that Monday would come and go and I wouldn't start over, because I would be so deeply into that cycle of lying to myself that I wouldn't see it.   

There is no Starting Over.   There is no Finish Line.     It's just the way I am now:   I am someone who will always need to be conscious of what I eat.      Aware.    Not owned by it, or consumed by it, but simply AWARE.

Operation Get Healthy has now officially become Operation Awareness. 

It's An Inside Job

New Year's Resolutions are, in my opinion, a complete waste of time. 

I don't mean to be all bah-humbug-y about trying to improve your life in some way - I'm all for it, but let's be realistic about change. 

Real change?  Major change?   You can't force it, or hop on some New Year's bandwagon with your 'I'm gonna make a new me!' battle cry.    Real change is slow, subtle, and more often than not something in your life has to be so out of balance, painfully out of whack, in order to induce change that will be meaningful.

Think back on last year.  Do you remember your resolutions?   Did you stick with them?   If so, for how long? 

I heard on the radio yesterday that the three most common resolutions are, in reverse order:  3) lose weight   2) spend less money and 1) drink less.

Mostly, New Year's Resolutions are geared towards doing less of something.   We are an indulgent society.  We are programmed to want more, but the things we want more of tend to make us obese, addicted and in debt.

There are lots of things we need more of in our lives:   compassion, down-time, gratitude, peace of mind, kindness, laughter.

Instead of a resolution that revolves around self, try one that revolves around others.   Try complimenting a stranger, calling an old friend, reaching out to someone who needs help.   Donate your time to a charity.   Read an extra book to your kids at night.  

Find at least one thing every day that spreads some love and compassion into the world.   Even when faced with negativity, spread kindness.    Someone cuts you off in line?  A cashier is rude?  The server is late bringing your food?  

You have choices on how you react to things:  indignation and annoyance are the more obvious choices, of course.   Patience and compassion, however, break the cycle of negativity, bring you peace of mind, and are paid forward in beautiful ways.

There is a lovely concept in Buddhism, that every person you meet, every person you know, is a teacher.   Each interaction you have with someone has a ripple effect:  if it's angry or negative, it spreads negativity and anger out into the world.  If it's gentle and compassionate, it spreads peace and compassion into the world.

The people who upset you, treat you poorly or make you angry?  They are teachers, too.   If someone makes you mad, look into yourself:  what is it about what they said or did that resonates so deeply with you?   Did they strike a sensitive chord?  If so, why?   Is there something in your life you have been trying not to see?

If everyone did one compassionate thing every day, for no reason at all, think about how much brighter the world would be.

~~~~~

Now that this blog is a year and a half old, I can look back to see where I was exactly a year ago.    Last year I did a post about how I don't do New Year's Resolutions.    I didn't know it then, but I was four months away from embarking on a weight-loss journey that would change my life.

In that post, I wrote this:

One of the most meaningful things I have learned in recovery is all the promises and resolutions in the world won't help if I'm not being honest with myself. I would focus my resolutions on the simpler stuff, like cutting out sweets, instead of facing my own hard truths.

So instead of resolutions, I take a hard look at myself and ask some honest questions. What is it about myself I don't want to face? What am I trying not to know about myself?

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see what was happening there.   I was in pre-contemplation about losing weight, and I didn't even know it.   There was something about myself that I didn't want to see:  I was overweight.  Significantly overweight.

By resolving to face some inner truths - honestly, but gently - the moment eventually arrived one chilly April morning where I put on my ratty old sweatpants - my stretchy-waisted-fat-pants - and one clear, concise thought popped into my head:   enough. 

Had I resolved to lose weight for New Year's, I don't think it would have worked.   Without the gift of desperation, once the new-ness of my resolution lost its sheen, I would have gone back to my old habits.   Running around telling people I was going to lose weight would have been all about impressing other people, or trying to get external pressure make me follow up on my goal.    Real change - change born of desperation and a smidgen of self-love - is deeply personal, and it can only come from the inside out.

By turning my eyes gently inward, faced a hard truth about myself - without the pressure of thinking I had to do something about it right then - I gave my mind and spirit time to be ready.   It opened my heart and mind to hearing that one word - enough - when I was finally ready to take action.

Give yourself a gift this New Year's:  look kindly but honestly at yourself.  Is there something you want to change, but fear gets in the way?    Look yourself in the mirror and admit out loud what it is that makes you afraid.   Just say the words.   

You can't program change into the calendar every January 1st.   It comes in its own time.  All you have to do is face the hard truth and then keep your mind and heart open.