Sorry for the poor formatting- posting from a cafe in New Orleans on my phone with frozen fingers. It feels more like Seattle here today than the south. Brrr….
I wanted to share a guest post I did over on The WritinThe Writing Whispererg Whisperer. Enjoy and stay warm!
Today I had the honor of meeting one of the bloggers whose work I admire.
I was able to put a face with a name.
A voice with the words.
A person with the story.
It’s strange meeting a blogging buddy for the first time. In some ways, you know their most intimate tales. Yet, in other ways, they are complete strangers as you may not know basic facts. It’s like a blind date after reading someone’s diary, flipping through his/her photo albums and having lunch with his/her mom.
I’ve known this woman through her writing for the last year and a half. But her blog doesn’t reveal how her face lights up when she hears a child’s laughter. Her writing doesn’t tell you about the determination and resolve that enters her voice when she speaks of her struggles. Her writing speaks of healing, but her spirit shows it.
We spoke of many things, not the least of which was how blogging has become a part of our lives. The online community part of our circle. It is amazing how writing and sharing allows so many voices to be heard and lets so many more know that they are not alone. We write of universal experiences and truths told through our own experiences. And the sum is certainly greater than the parts.
It’s always a little strange (and scary) tearing down that curtain between my public life and my private. But today, I’m glad I did. I not only have more respect for her and her work than I did before, I hope I also have a new friend (Tiger seconds that!).
Do you ever hear that voice? The one that tells you that you’re not (good/smart/strong/thin/pretty/rich) enough?
The voice that finds your insecurities and broadcasts them back to you?
The voice that makes you question your choices. Your life. Your worth.
Do you ever hear it? Do you listen?
I’ve been listening to it lately.
It started innocently enough. I needed to buy a new pair of sandals to replace a pair that self-destructed. I made a stop at the shoe store on my way to gym. At the store, I took off my gym shoes and peeled off my socks only to discover that the polish on my toenails was chipped and half rubbed off (the natural consequence of spending more time running than on toe painting).
I looked up and noticed that all of the other women in the store were perfectly polished – nails and otherwise.
I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed.
The voice whispered to me that I was not good enough.
I got over it enough to locate a pair of sandals and escape to gym, where I thought I would be safe.
But the voice followed.
It watched the other women in the gym and was quick to point out comparisons.
“Look at that! She can squat 140 pounds. You can’t do that!”
“Oh, look. She’s wearing that cute Athleta outfit you wanted. Too bad you only have your old race t-shirt on.”
“Look at her form on leg lifts! You’ll never be flexible enough to do that.”
Over the next couple weeks, the voice was like a malignant parrot on my shoulder. I’d shake it off for a time, but it kept coming home to roost. It seemed to feel the need to comment on every area of my life:
When a pair of shorts I wore last summer wouldn’t quite make the journey over my hips, “Well, look at that. Getting a little chunky there, are we?”
When one of my students complained about a boring lesson, “Wow, you can’t even make M&Ms entertaining. That’s pretty bad.”
When I looked at my book sales and saw that they had slipped, “What did you expect? It’s not like you’re any good at this.”
When another week went by and I hadn’t finished a piece I started for Huffpo, “You’re just a fraud anyways. Just give up on it.”
Yesterday, after more than a week of this verbal abuse by my own critical mind, I decided I would take some action. I stopped at Walmart on the way to yoga, thinking that some new makeup would do the trick. Maybe eye liner has some magical gag order action. The eyeliner is nice (and much easier to apply than the broken, stubby pencil I had been using that always threatened to leave splinters along with its color) but it didn’t shut up the voice.
That’s because I was allowing the voice to distract me from the true insecurities.
I wasn’t really upset about unpainted toenails or curvier hips.
It’s bigger than that.
The life of a teacher has a rhythm: frantic action in August and September settle into a routine that slowly builds in intensity until it peaks in May. And then we breathe.
Except I’m not content to simply breathe.
I’m not content to simply be a teacher.
I want more.
But I don’t know how.
Last summer, I was singularly focused on finishing the book and getting the wellness coaching business up and running.
I succeeded on both fronts.
This year, I have so much I want to do.
But I also have doubts. Am I wasting my time and energy? Which paths do I explore and which should I ignore?
Last summer, I posted four small bulletin boards above my desk, labeled body (marathon training), book (notes, etc. for writing it), blog (goals and post ideas) and business (goals and info for the coaching). I have not altered the boards much since the summer. As I look through the pages tacked to the squares, I realize that I am accomplished most of what I intended last summer.
So why is it not enough?
Change is scary. Risk is scarier still. My inner critic is telling me to maintain the status quo, to not dare to post bigger goals and intentions. The voice tells me not to try so that I do not risk failure.
Today, I am telling my inner voice to shove it.
I am dedicating today to rebuilding my boards. I am committing to posting bigger goals and aspirations than before. I am pledging to sort through my ideas and clarify my paths. I am promising to use those boards as inspiration and motivation this summer.
So, yeah, I hear that voice. But today, I’m telling it to shut up. After I paint my toenails, that is:)
(This post makes me think of that old SNL skit with Stewart Smally: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.” 🙂 )
Available on Kindle for only $2.99 for a limited time!I purchased this book after reading an article by the author about having symptoms of PTSD after sudden and unexpected spousal abandonment, something that I was unfortunate enough to experience a few months ago. The article really slow to me and I decided to buy the book to read the author’s story.
The book is beautifully written and extremely engrossing. I couldn’t put it down. Although it is written from a female perspective, I found a lot to relate to as a man. In the end, this book validated my feelings and offered me great hope for the future.
Phoenix rising from the ashes is a myth conveying an inherent message. “LESSONS…” is a true story. It is poignant story, yet the lessons herald inspiration and hope. It is the bona fide story of a real Phoenix who, in the crux of tsunamic devastation, determined to transcend that moment! “LESSONS From the End of a Marriage” is FOR ANY and EVERY ONE who seeks to know that it is possible to sift through cataclysmic debris, and not only rise and walk… YES! You can even run through mud and fire!
The author’s writing style is raw gut honest, laced with sparks of wit and ever-growing wisdom. You’ll find out that it’s ok to crumble, cry, rage, curse… because then you will also find yourself able to laugh, hope, believe, love and live — stronger, better, healthier and more fully alive than before!
Read Lisa Arends story and realize that it is indeed possible to metamorphose tragedy into triumphs!
Read “LESSONS…” and learn more about what Lisa has to offer you! She not only tells a riveting story, she walks her talk and wants nothing more than for you to be encouraged to actualize your full potential. You will see that it is possible to not only survive, you can soar by learning to see life from perspectives that will empower you to live your life with a vibrance and appreciation like never before! And you don’t have to turn into a vampire 🙂
This is an extraordinarily well written book that looks into the mind and heart of a woman whose life topples, but who finds the strength to not only get it back, but learn from it and thrive. One doesn’t have to have a troubled marriage, or a marriage on the brink, to be captivated by this book. I took away many insights that remain with me. GREAT BOOK; GREAT READ.
As a teacher, I am quite familiar with the application of labels. Each summer, prior to ever meeting my new students, I study the rosters. Many of the names have associated labels next to them: ADHD, learning disability, autistic, ESOL, etc. These labels are helpful when these children are nothing more than a list of names. It is a starting point.
When I learn that hypothetical Johnny has ADHD, I use that information when I create my first seating chart. I know that he might be a good choice to run an errand to the front office or to help me hand out papers. I won’t be surprised at an off-topic outburst and I’ll have strategies at hand for how to handle one if it occurs. Before ever meeting Johnny, I can have an idea of some of his characteristics and I can plan ahead to meet his needs. However, it would be completely inappropriate for me to stop there. Johnny may have ADHD but he is not his label. As I get to know him, the label loses its importance. The diagnosis tells me nothing of Johnny’s strengths and weaknesses, his adaptive behaviors, his likes and dislikes or especially his personality.
A label should be an anchor, not a limitation.
Whenever I plan a lesson that introduces a new math concept, I start by anchoring the new material to prior knowledge. When I tell students that the new concept is like something they have seen before, it gives them a place to start. Then, as they learn the new material, they can adjust the expectations laid out by the early comparison.
Labels work that same way – they initiate expectations that should be tempered with experience.
When I tell you I am a teacher, you have a starting point for understanding me. You know that I’ve been to college. You can assume that I’m a people person. Maybe you think of a particular teacher in your past. Then, I tell you I grew up in the 1980s. Maybe that causes a revision of your earlier expectations or maybe it just allows you to flesh things out, as you make decisions about what music I may listen to or how I wear my hair. We can continue that process, with each label adding more information and more clarification. Eventually, you would know me and those labels would be inconsequential. Until you were trying to describe me to someone else, that is.
Labels can help us find understanding.
When I went through my divorce, I grasped at labels to describe my husband. I realized that he was not all of the things I thought he was. He was a stranger. So, like we all do when first getting to know someone, I turned to labels to try to develop a framework to anchor new understanding. My favorite designation for him was sociopath. It explained the callousness and extreme nature of the betrayal. It was a starting point. But not the end. As with all labels, some parts fit and others didn’t. As I worked to get to “know” him again, I revised my views, adding some terms and removing others, until the labels no longer mattered.
I use labels when I write about my story. I temper the word ‘divorce’ with ‘tsunami’ to capture the suddenness of my experience. I use the label ‘trauma’ to convey the overwhelming loss. I recently introduced the term ‘PTSD,’ not as a diagnosis, but as a framework to discuss the anxiety and flashbacks that permeated my existence. Those single words hold pages of information. It is a kind of shorthand – a broad strokes sketch of the entire story.
Labels are like Cliff Notes. We use them as shortcuts as we develop our own understanding or to help someone else develop theirs. Just like Cliff Notes, they are not the entire story, full of detail and nuance. If we stop at labels, we are limiting ourselves and others. We may be blinded by assumptions as we fill in the gaps in our knowledge automatically.
Don’t be afraid to use labels but also be careful not to apply them with superglue. They should be used to anchor understanding, not to limit understanding.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 