The Transformation of the Fat Girl


transformation

“If you’ve been fat, you will always feel and see the world as a fat person; you know how difficult it is… It’s the same coming from a working-class background… it never leaves you.”
― Caitlin Moran, Moranthology

Living my life as a fat person has been the hardest of all the challenges I have encountered. Overcoming emotional abuse and the dysfunctions of my childhood pale in comparison to my struggles of self-acceptance and finding a place of self-love that transcends what I look like. My existence has been marked by a shame spiral that circulates between my humiliation over my weight and the weight of the shame that holds me back from tackling my problem. My strategy has been to overcompensate for my largesse by trying to distract people from really seeing me. Humor and intelligence, accomplishments and pleasing are some of the sharpest tools in my bag of tricks. Yet, every day I have looked in the mirror and focused in on my fears about what people would see and how what they see might influence how they perceive me. My goal was always to find a plan to shield them from what I internalized as ugliness. What looks back in the mirror at me is viewed, by me, as an abnormality – a misfit who is unacceptable and, surely, unworthy of love. When I reflect on all the struggles throughout my life and the darkness that has lurked so deep within me, I know the truth is that my weight helps to keep perpetuating the pain and reinforcing the message that I have been running to escape – no one will love me.

This is not a new story for me but, like everything else in my life, it has shifted as my life has evolved. As we work through our challenges and commit to improvements, we have to keep diving deeper to study the roots of our emotional baggage. There are layers of experiences and pain that have resulted in our current selves and, sometimes, what looks to be the source matter is, in fact, just a projection, distracting us from the more painful reality that is out of our reach. My relationship with myself and my journey of self-acceptance has finally led me to here and now I have the space to explore this deep and secluded area of myself. All the work I have done to move past the traumas and deep scarring pain has led me to this place. I know, with certainty, that this is the final frontier and truly the last piece of the puzzle for me. Around the corner, I can see peace and love and acceptance but first I need to confront the darkest core of my soul and unlock the safe where I keep all the shame that plagues me.

Despite all of the unpleasantries that have marked my difficult life, my weight has, hands down, caused me the most pain and has most held me back from being the person I always believed I could be. That simple acknowledgement causes me even more shame and discomfort because it feels like failure. Hiding behind my weight feels like I’m using a lame excuse to cloak and protect myself from the heavy lifting required to live an authentic life. So, when I decided to write this blog, I had to be metaphorically ready to stand in the middle of Times Square, fully naked, with the words “I am fat” tattooed across my stomach. And I had to be comfortable with everything that came along with that. Alright then. Here I stand. And, for the record, I am really not comfortable at all. Give me what you’ve got. I can take it as it is all part of the process.

To be clear, I have travelled a long road to where I am today and I’m confident that I’m close to reaching a destination that feels awfully good but, in order to get through the final leg of this journey and ensure my admittance to the Emerald City, I need to confront the truths of how I got to where I was. I have had to burrow down a bit further to understand the roots of my weight issues. And, most importantly, I have to step out into the light and acknowledge who I have been and who I am becoming today.

I had a deeply traumatic childhood, riddled with emotional abuse and abandonment. Food served as an emotional pacifier for me, providing a salve for my wounds and serving as a stand-in for the love that was so painfully withheld. I can intellectually lay that out on the table and I grieve for that young girl who was so tortured as she sneakily comforted herself with cake and cookies. The most distant element of my battle – the part I struggle to wrap my brain around – is the emotional understanding that would afford me a level of self-acceptance. For me, while the truths behind my addiction to food are abundantly clear, there has been no absorption of this deep in my psyche and I have continued to abuse myself by reinforcing the disappointment and shame. Over the years, I have read stories about people who have lost large amounts of weight, only to swiftly gain the weight back because they never addressed the underlying pain that resulted in them gaining or maintaining their excessive weight. They were incapable of making the mental adjustments necessary to see themselves as anything but the overweight person they were. For me, being fat is what I know. It is, quite frankly, synonymous with me. I cannot imagine a world where I am not a fat person. Yet, for the first time in my 48 years of life, that might be the case.

I have had a private and dysfunctional relationship with food. Food has been my best friend and worst enemy. I am not one of those people who loves to eat but, instead, I eat to soothe. For me, eating has always been a private affair. I would eat late at night or when no one was looking. Even after I was married, I would quietly slip downstairs after my husband was asleep and pour myself a bowl of cereal or fill a large bowl with ice cream and tiptoe back upstairs, eating the food quietly, hoping my husband would not wake up and find me.  Or, I would wrap a sleeve of cookies into a napkin and pour a glass of milk, feeling my anxiety and sadness slip away as the sugar made its way into my bloodstream. This was my heroin. I could numb myself standing in the darkness of my nighttime kitchen, flooded by the light of the open refrigerator, shoving leftovers into my mouth, silently hating myself with each bite. I would lay in bed at night thinking only of the food that called out to me from downstairs.  I needed to fill the bullet holes left behind from the massive assault I experienced throughout my childhood and young adult years. Food was a bandage that stopped the bleeding but, of course, couldn’t ward off the infection that was inevitable for I never dealt with the underlying disease. What has been hard for me to accept and absorb is that, as I grew older, I was creating more holes by repeating this cycle. No one was hurting me anymore except for me.  Food became my drug of choice and my weight became my weapon of choice.

Alarmingly, my food addiction and associated weight issues became a comfortable place and I used them as a way to distance myself from the rest of the world. Despite my desire to have intimacy and close relationships, I spent my life living life on the fringe, withholding myself from others.  I could more easily tolerate my disruptive upbringing by letting my weight be what distanced me from the rest of the world. Being fat meant that I lived outside of the mainstream and I didn’t have to address the loneliness left from the abandonment and loss of family. When I struggled with dating when I was younger, I would always blame it on my size. All I could see was an ugly girl who grew into an even uglier woman. I believed what my mother and sister told me for years (as an encouragement to lose weight) that no man would ever date me if I was fat. Instead of looking at my emotional dysfunction, I would focus my disappointment on my weight and neatly distance myself from the realities of having to engage in an emotionally mature relationship. While I can never deny that living outside of the lines of conventional beauty is challenging, I never had the emotional maturity to understand that I had the ability to emanate beauty from a different place and could attract love just as easily as my more traditionally attractive friends. Instead, even when I met my husband, I quickly attempted to pawn him off on my more attractive friends because I never believed he could sustain an attraction or love towards me because I didn’t fit the part. I was really fucked up. Focusing on the fat meant I never needed to zero in on the truths that I was too scared to face which was that I wasn’t sure if I could emotionally endure an intimate relationship with anyone.

“Overeating is the addiction of choice of carers, and that’s why it’s come to be regarded as the lowest-ranking of all the addictions. It’s a way of fucking yourself up while still remaining fully functional, because you have to. Fat people aren’t indulging in the “luxury” of their addiction making them useless, chaotic, or a burden. Instead, they are slowly self-destructing in a way that doesn’t inconvenience anyone. And that’s why it’s so often a woman’s addiction of choice. All the quietly eating mums. All the KitKats in office drawers. All the unhappy moments, late at night, caught only in the fridge light.”
― Caitlin Moran, How to Be a Woman

I have often believed that it was some type of miracle that afforded me the opportunity to secure myself a husband and, rather than using that as evidence of my worthiness, my self loathing deepened even more over the years. As a result, I found myself moving further away from a sense of normalcy and deeper into a dark cave of loneliness and depression, padded with humiliation. Over the past 25 years I have gained and lost weight, never achieving any significant results and, like most yo-yo dieters, adding more weight in the end.  I would secretly attend Weight Watchers meetings or try fad diets, never admitting to anyone what I was doing. There was some twisted part of me that believed if I never told anyone that I was on a diet, they wouldn’t notice that I needed to be. While all I saw was fat and all I believed that anyone else ever saw was fat, I worked tirelessly to hide it.  My life was a costume party with me donning disguises to mask the truth. I think I was the only one I was fooling.

I endured myriad struggles. I could never really shop with my friends.  I’d go to stores and pretend that nothing was of interest to me and then secretly shop on my own. I could never admit that I was relegated to the plus size departments. Shame. No one could ever know my size. Shame. Perhaps the most humiliating experience came when I should have felt most beautiful. After I was engaged, my girlfriends wanted to shop with me for my wedding dress and all I could think was how dreadful that seemed. I couldn’t bear them knowing the truth about my size. I was dying on the inside as the seamstress took my measurements and announced to the group that I would need a size 18 dress. There was no place for me to hide and I averted their eyes in fear that they would judge me. It has taken me a long time to understand that my real fear was that they would stop loving me because I secretly believed that my weight was to blame for my family’s lack of acceptance of who I was. So much bigness wrapped up in that small little word. FAT.

When I was pregnant, I struggled to find maternity clothes in my size. I found plus size shops and purchased whatever I could find to fit my rapidly growing body. I was disappointed to not have the cute outfits I saw my friends wearing and tried to create looks that would emulate theirs. During my pregnancies I couldn’t wait until my stomach got so large that there was no question as to whether or not I was just that fat or, in fact, I had a baby in my belly. I never experienced that exuberance of “popping” like so many of my girlfriends did.  Well, I knew that I had popped but it was months before anyone could see the protrusion of my uterus beyond my otherwise thick belly.

“We fatties have a bond, dude. It’s like a secret society. We got all kinds of shit you don’t know about. Handshakes, special fat people dances-we got these secret fugging lairs in the center of the earth and we go down there in the middle of the night when all the skinny kids are sleeping and eat cake and friend chicken and shit. Why d’you think Hollis is still sleeping, kafir? Because we were up all night in the secret lair injecting butter frosting into our veins. …A fatty trusts another fatty.
― John Green, An Abundance of Katherines

To further cover myself, I often avoided hanging around other fat people, choosing instead to surround myself with the most attractive people I could find. I had this twisted perception that I would stand out less as the one fat person in the group because I would be overshadowed by all the beautiful people. It felt like I could become invisible in this group. This served to be an even more painful version of torture because it was a constant reminder of how much I was not like those around me. All I focused on was what people looked like and I berated myself for not being able to look “normal.” I moved so far away from the core of who I am and neglected the parts of me that most needed my love. The recording in my mind was repeating hatred and disgust, pushing me further and further down. And, even worse, my existence became even more solitary because I never had anyone with whom to share my struggle. When I was finally ready to confront my truth, I realized that no one around me really understood my challenges or could relate to what I was going through. I had distanced myself from anyone who looked like me and stood alone. No one I knew understood what it meant to have this branding from early in their life. No one shared my identity that was marked by only one characteristic – FAT. When I was finally ready to broach the subject, I didn’t know how to openly discuss my feelings about my size. So, the first time I publicly confronted these emotions was about two years ago in my blog. To an anonymous audience, I revealed the secret truth about how I looked at myself and, for the first time, acknowledged how much my weight influenced how I traveled in the world.

In the beginning of 2011, I hit bottom. I am not sure how much I weighed at the time but I know I had ballooned past 280 lbs. (When I weighed myself for the first time after I started working out, that became my starting point. Yet, I’m fairly certain I hit a mark closer to 300 lbs., which is painful to even acknowledge today). I recognized that something had to change but I was so very lost. I’ve shared before that, sort of by accident, I began a journey of transformation. The universe led me to what I needed right then and I first found a pathway to fitness. At the time, while I had no diagnosable illnesses such as diabetes or hypertension, I could barely walk down the stairs in the morning because of the pain in my knees and my feet. I struggled to get myself out of bed in the morning because even sitting up was difficult and walking up a flight of stairs was overwhelming. I was in denial and frightened about my future. On a drunken dare, I began kickboxing, finding the courage somewhere deep inside me to make myself vulnerable and show up in a way very different than I had ever done before. Fitness and exercise became a fundamental part of my life for the first time ever. But the underlying issues were never addressed. Within a year, I had lost 50 lbs. and started to see myself in a whole new way. My body began morphing into something different but I was still emotionally eating. I was like so many of the people that I read about. And, sure enough, about a year later, after an injury, I was not able to exercise regularly and the weight started piling back on. And within another year, I had gained back 25 lbs. of the weight I had worked so hard to lose. I was free-falling back towards a place I swore I would never return to. After feeling such great accomplishment, I was awash in a new level of embarrassment and disappointment in myself.

Like most of us, I have watched people on television or read magazine articles about people who have managed to have success with extreme weight loss. I’ve always paid attention to these stories looking to identify their secret. What changed for them? How did they finally find the willpower and discipline to change their lives? What I realized is that no one can ever explain the shift that takes place in your brain when you are ready to change your life. It just happens and you know it. And then you have to be ready to endure it. No one rolls out the red carpet for you, enabling you to strut your way to transformation. You don’t reach the end of the line, walking past the black rope in a new body. You trip and fall and get back up and cry and struggle and breakthrough lots of pain. And then, if you have managed to endure all of that and still have the discipline to stay the course, you might actually make it to the other side. In the late winter of 2015, the switch flipped in my head. I can’t exactly say why and I am not sure I will ever truly understand. Perhaps I was simply ready and had found the strength to look at myself for real for the first time. What I do know is that on March 1st I committed myself to being open and honest about the deep pain associated with my relationship with food and my self-loathing and I knew I was ready to really change my life. I started an emotional and physiological cleanse. I chronicled the journey in my blog, publicly sharing my battle with my weight and holding myself accountable to whomever might have been along for the ride. I started unpacking some very heavy bags and couldn’t help but notice the shifts occurring. The heavy weights that had been buried so deeply inside me were starting to melt away and, with them, the fat on the outside of my body disappeared too. After three weeks, I had shed 15 lbs. and, within months, I was down nearly 30.  I felt different and began to see glimmers of sunshine that had never made its way to my eyes before. In August, after maintaining my weight for a while, I decided to cleanse again, as if to exorcise any remaining demons. And, another 15 lbs. were gone. And then more. Today, I hit a milestone of 70 lbs. lost. I can actually see the end of this road in sight.

After my first cleanse ended in March, I sat with my best friend and shared small pieces of my struggle with him. It was the first time I had spoken so openly about my weight with him and he listened intently, aware that this was a breakthrough. In all of our deep discussions about the various elements of our lives, we had never touched this and he didn’t dare ask because, instinctively, he knew it was a place I was not ready to visit. This time, I told him that I was ready to tackle my issues head on and was committed to take control of my weight and find a place of self-acceptance, wherever that might be. I knew I would know it when I saw it. About a month ago, I sat in therapy and told my therapist (who, by the way, also acknowledged that I had not been very open about my weight battles) that I no longer feared that I would regain this weight. I implicitly knew that something had shifted inside me. I am no longer hiding. This shit is all out on the table. It doesn’t feel great but I know it is where I need to be.

This transformation process has been rough and emotionally challenging. Seeing my body become something I am not familiar with has been both wonderful and disruptive. I struggle to see what others see and often try to imagine how someone who meets me for the first time perceives me. I don’t think the first thing people see is the fat girl anymore. In fact, while I still have a ways to go before I will stop thinking of myself as overweight (and before the medical charts will stop referring to me as obese), I am not entirely certain that the rest of the world sees me as the fat person I once believed I was. My friend explained to me that he thinks I have rewritten my script so dramatically and have made so many other emotional and internal changes that how I show up is so very different than how my old self did. I am not hiding nor pretending to be someone else. I am living out loud and proudly strutting my peacock feathers. I feel bold and beautiful and, most of all, proud and confident. My arms are jiggly, my belly is saggy, my neck is wrinkly and my thighs will forever touch but I feel so good about myself. After covering my body for years when working out, I am now wearing tank tops and funky bottoms. I am coming out of the shadows and confidently showing up, less concerned about what others see. I want everyone to know my story. I need everyone to know my truth. My wish is that it will help another person come out of hiding and feel comfortable enough to confront their own truth.

And, something really remarkable happened to me last week. While, for most, it will not seem all that amazing or noteworthy, for me it was a truly incredible experience. I was out shopping with a friend and we walked into Banana Republic where I saw a jacket I liked. I tried it on, out in the open of the store, and it fit perfectly. I calmly walked up to the register to get in line to pay and, on the inside, I was doing a victory dance. Right there in the regular people’s department I found a jacket I loved. Just a plain old size Large. That was pretty cool. For the first time I can honestly say that I like being Large.

BARE


bareIt has been a few weeks since I have had the time to do a Five-Minute Friday post but I am up for the task today.  I went to Lisa-Jo Baker’s blog today and found the word for today: BARE.  It stirred me so I am going for it.  Remember, I have just five minutes and no editing.

GO

I feel bare with this blog.  I have bared my soul for everyone to see and I don’t necessarily get the same in return.  People I know, people I do not know, have information about me that I willingly share but it leaves me naked and vulnerable.  I want to be vulnerable because with it comes power.  Being comfortable with being vulnerable gives me strength in so many other areas of my life.  I am not afraid of being vulnerable because I know there is nothing that anyone can take from me that I am not prepared to give up willingly.  And, for a very long time, I have done just that.  No more.

Today, I ran into a friend in Starbucks and she looked at me and I know she saw someone different.  I have stripped myself bare.  I have shed my outer layer that protected me from the brutality that might have hurt me before.  She saw my nakedness and it gave her joy.  She saw the light that so often was muffled beneath the layers of fear.

Later today, I went to my barre class.  I wore very little clothing because I get so warm with all those intense ballet moves and pulsing of my muscles.  I looked at my body, the bareness of it, and I loved it.  I was not afraid of the folds, the bulges, the imperfections that often made me turn away from the mirror.  I stared at myself, my bare self and I felt whole and complete and abundant and could barely contain myself.

STOP

VULNERABILITY – PART 3


Trapped_inside_my_mind_by_rebecki[1]“So many bad things have happened to them that they can’t trust the good things. They have to shove them away before someone can get it back.”  ― Wally Lamb

One of the things I most value about my life right now is the fact that I have surrounded myself with some really deep thinkers.  I have opened myself up to others who are willing to tilt their head, step back, walk around a little and dig a bit deeper to get a different perspective on themselves and others.  They are bold and brave and daring enough to go below the surface, knowing that drowning is always a possibility.

One of those people is my friend Kim who I met through the coaching group I started at the beginning of the year.  Kim is an outlier.  She walked into the group with her hard shell firmly intact.  No smiles, no warmth, no gratuitous platitudes to set the tone.  She simply made her way to her chair, locked and loaded, and observed.  In return, I never felt any pressure, any need to step up my game.  I soaked her up and, in full consciousness, made the decision to pull her in.

I am intrigued by people like Kim.  I am fascinated by those who have complexities and layers that allow me to go diving deeper and deeper.  Those that require me to fill up my oxygen tank for I know I will be down for a while.  The individuals who allow me to explore them in order to explore myself are the ones who catch me in their nets.  They engage me, provoke me, inspire me, frustrate me, challenge me and, ultimately, move me.  They change my life.  Always.  Unfailingly.

The first day of our coaching group chills ran up and down my spine when Kim spoke.  That is not a very common experience for me but one that I know to pay attention to.  It was not the sound of her voice, the cadence of her speech or, quite frankly, even the words.  It was the soul behind it that I was reacting to.  I implicitly understood her and my brain was sending me clear messages telling me to pay attention.  And I did.  And I continue to.  Yesterday, Kim, a reluctant but brilliant blogger, published a post that convinced me that she has a wire tap into my brain.

For months now I have been struggling to source the root of some very destructive anxiety.  It has been surfacing and meddling with my well-being.  Reluctantly,  I looked at it, invited it in and then, ultimately, begged for it to leave, to no avail.  My recent bout with the anxiety has taken many shapes and forms.  It has ranged from generalized stress, sadness, loneliness, fear, abandonment all the way to irrational conclusions about some critical aspects of my life.  It has had my mind working overtime, set it into overdrive and catapulted me into the air, soaring into the darkness with no parachute, no soft landing in sight.  The most frustrating aspect to this anxiety is that I have been working so hard to pull myself up and allow myself to be more open, to embrace vulnerability and experience a deeper level of intimacy with others in my life.  And, in retrospect, I fear that this vulnerability that I so willfully incorporated into my life has turned on me.  I suspect that allowing myself to walk around without my shield, my protective armor, I exposed myself to the elements and put myself in the direct line of fire.

It’s a complex balance for me.  Vulnerability allows me to experience the fullness of my life.  It allows me to feel my emotions deep in my bones.  It offers me connection points with others that I so desperately crave.  I feel courageous and energized by my ventures down avenues that would have previously been closed off for me.  On the other hand, being vulnerable removes the safety mechanisms I have spent decades building, keeping me safe from my own feelings, my own very fractured psyche.  My shell has allowed me to lock away all that is scary, hurtful, dangerous.  It has given me a way to live what I believed to be a meaningful life without being constantly derailed by my own self.  It has provided me with a pathway that kept the wolves at bay rather than having to run, always looking behind me to determine how far I needed to go, how fast I needed to move for safety.  Well, that all seems great but, of course, all of this is smoke and mirrors.

It’s all bullshit.

At the end of the day, there is no way to straddle the fence.  Either you are in or you are out.  You can’t be vulnerable and hang on to your armor.  You can’t really experience those emotions while quickly suppressing them, shoving them down when they disrupt your balance, sending you toppling over.   Those are the moments that count.  Failure is the pathway to success.  Falling is the only way to learn how to get up.  For me, the missing link in all of this is trust.  The connective tissue between vulnerability and solace is the trust that when you do get hurt, when you stumble, when you screw up in a way that seems so fatefully unrepairable, that you will be able to pull yourself up, stand tall and all will still be intact around you.  You will still be breathing, you will still be able to stand, you will still be loved.

I struggle to trust.  I don’t have faith.  And therein lies my battle.  Trust is my demon, the monkey on my back.  I can look you in the eye, hear your words, feel comforted by your love and then turn around, walk a few steps and it all slips away.  Then, slowly, I implode.  I begin the dreadful descent, watching helplessly as I fall, deeper and deeper, afraid to ask for help, never calling for a strong hand to pull me up.  How can I?  I do not have the trust that you won’t extend your arm and then pull it away just as I reach for your grasp.  Contrarily, how can I expect others to dive deep with me if they do not believe that I trust them?  What guarantees am I offering if I am ready to bolt at any instant, fueled by my belief that all relationships are transitory?  While I do not believe that I serve up my cold, stone, hardness for most to see, the ones that matter the most get a bird’s-eye view when I am free-falling into the abyss of mistrust and anxiety.

So, I say this.  I need to be vulnerable.  I need to experience all that life has to offer.  I need to keep my heart exposed to capture those incredible moments that come along only when you are open and willing to accept them.  Sure, that is actually the easy part.  I can do that.  It is the moments that follow, when the after-glow begins to dim, when the darkness sets in that really matters.  In those times, when there are no fireworks displays, when all I have is the distant memory of the meaningful moments, can I simply be buoyed by the trust that it was all real and not simply a shooting star to be seen just a few times in life?  Can I have faith that not everyone is going to hurt me the way I was so traumatically hurt during some of the most critical years of my life?  Will I be able to believe that I am worthy of being loved, consistently and completely?  Am I brave enough to stare my mistrust in the face and send it away rather than welcoming it in because it is a familiar face.  I know what it likes to drink and eat.  It is an easy guest.  Until it shows it true self.  Once we move beyond the pleasantries, mistrust will decimate me.  It sets out to destroy every piece of my foundation.  It takes its jackhammer and loudly and painfully drills holes through my core.  Its disrupts my footing and drops me into the hole.  Do I have the strength and courage to look it in the eye and tell it that I need to make new friends?  It is time for us to part ways?  Will I be able to see the sheep in wolf’s clothing that appears before me looking like comfort and solace, familiarity and understanding?  I know that is the true test of bravery and of willingness to change.

I have been walking around for months, for years, for a lifetime with a steel cage protecting me from the rest of the world.  When things get tough, I pack myself up and move on.  I rarely unlock the doors and let myself step outside to see what the air feels like, smells like.  From my distant perch behind the bars, I assess every situation and test the water using a long stick rather than my own fleshy toe.  The heat can never scald me because I will never get close enough to be damaged.  Yet, I am setting fires all around me, scorching my flesh.  In my locked cage, I am cutting and bleeding, safe from the danger that lies outside.  When I see smoke in the distance, I know it is time to escape but somehow I seem to miss the heat that it is right under me.

I wonder what it looks like to look inside my prison.  Can you see through the walls?  Is there a cement enclosure or am I sitting in a glass house?  Are my endeavors obvious to all who care to observe or have I discreetly masked my masochistic tendencies?  When I am in full battle with the demon of mistrust, I lose all perspective.  I have no idea what is obvious and what is happening so loudly inside my mind.  When I am kicking and punching, struggling to stay afoot, I lose all peripheral vision.

Yesterday, when I read Kim’s post, I could feel her own battle.  I heard her inner voice comforting her, telling her it was ok to be guarded, to be locked down and I felt her overwhelming desire to set herself free, to find a new pathway.  That moved me.  It hit me in the face like a wayward baseball, soaring at 100 miles per hour.  It made contact, right between my eyes, shattering my skull and opening up a new space – a space ready to be filled with love and gratitude.  A space desperate to absorb the love and support that sits waiting for me.  I can see it.  I can really see it.  But I am afraid to touch.  I am afraid to reach out and embrace it.

Because, what if….

CONTROLLED CHAOS


chaos quoteI have the great fortune of leading a coaching group with some remarkable women.  Every week I sit with them and watch as they push hard past some dark and ugly obstacles that a mere mortal might ignore, looking the other way as they continue on their journey, disregarding the muck that is dragging behind them.  Every week when I worry that perhaps I am pushing them too hard, asking them to reach too deep inside themselves, they show me the power of human connection and the depth of strength we all have lying inside us.  It inspires me.  It moves me.  It is the most delicious delicacy I can consume.  I try to stop time and keep the clock from ticking past the hour, wanting one more story to emerge, looking for another opportunity to connect dots and see discomfort turn to empowerment.

Today was the most challenging day we have had.  Even more difficult than the first day we sat together, with everyone squirming just a little bit in their seats, not sure how they were going to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.  Some of us knew each other, some were complete strangers.  Others were familiar faces but, there we sat, seven women all parked at the side of the road ready for a brief respite to revisit their personal maps, willing to consider that a detour might be in order but no one really sure if they had enough gas in their tank to tolerate some roads where they could not anticipate the distance or the destination.  With a promise to keep them safe and a prayer that we all had the strength to bring our full selves to the table, we jumped in, hazmat suits at the ready, and prepared our journey deep into the depths of ourselves.  Of course, I was the only one who sort of knew where we might be going but, in truth, part of the fun of facilitating these groups is never truly knowing where you might end up or what obstacles might jump out in front of you.  Perhaps I am like a storm chaser.  I want to get inside that tornado.  I want to understand the velocity of the cyclone.  I want data to help better predict the next storm.  Will i ever abolish the storms from existence?  Not likely but, each time, I have better preparation and more fortitude to tolerate the winds and debris and lots of reserves to deal with the aftermath.

Each week we go just a few meters deeper.  Every week we fill our air tanks so we can submerge just a bit more and let ourselves linger under the water before we need to push up and catch our breath.  I try to guide the women to learn how to pass their tanks between them so they can support one another if one of them runs out of air.  I try to empower them to find ways to encourage each other to take a deeper breath before going down and to hold hands so they don’t drift too far off in the sea.  Today, the group showed me their skills.  I witnessed the shift.  I did not have to search for clues or try to squint really hard to see if there was a difference.  They boldly and loudly showed me that they were paying attention, that they were committed and that they had the ability to hold their breath as long as they needed to in order to make sure that their comrades were going to be alright.

And I was transformed right there just watching them.

Today we talked about chaos.  We talked about the space that chaos takes up in our lives and what we do to mask it, control it, avoid it, banish it.  We talked about our respective fears of chaos.  Some of us admitted that a little chaos was actually ok.  We have the ability to find order in the chaos or we have surrendered to it, hopefully muting its powers over us and diminishing it to an annoying gnat rather than a looming wasp ready to bite and poison us.

Today we talked about vulnerability. I love this topic.  I look for any opportunity to explore it – either on my own or with others.  I have no predisposed position on vulnerability except that it wields tremendous power, both positive and negative, and we get to choose which direction it moves in.  We have the right to determine if we are going to use vulnerability as a strength, allow it to put ourselves in a place of power or we can decide to hide behind our vulnerability and allow ourselves to build walls to protect us from the vulnerability.  Ironically, vulnerability actually allows us to take down the walls.  Being vulnerable means you are willing to be exposed and, when we are using vulnerability as a strength, we need no additional fortress to protect ourselves because we can handle whatever comes our way.

Today we talked about how vulnerability and chaos play together.  We discussed our ideal state where the sun shines, we are living in technicolor, we pick candy off trees and skip around gleefully – something like Oz.  Perhaps our most perfect happy state is one where we live life in full color and can breathe in all the beautiful fragrances that float amidst us.  Perhaps this is the place where our hearts are filled and we are blissful.  Is this a real place?  Perhaps?  Possibly, if we are living consciously in our lives and looking at chaos as something not to be controlled but to be embraced.  If we begin to shed ourselves of the fear that keeps us embroiled in a tug-of-war with chaos, with no feasible outcome other than us being the victor.  If we allow ourselves to be open and exposed without fear of assault or compromise.  If we allow ourselves to accept ourselves for who we are and we stop filling the space that chaos fills to try to control the outcomes.  If we allow ourselves to be vulnerable to the chaos, perhaps we can relinquish control and begin to accept that good enough is, in fact, good enough.

One of the beautiful spirits in our group, a woman who has magically lifted to us to another level of understanding, put it quite simply today.  She said – Vulnerability allows us to shift chaos into chaOZ and lets us live in a new normal.  We can be vulnerable and blissful all the while we have chaos in our life.  If we learn how to accept, embrace and utilize these gifts properly, maybe we can live in Oz.

TRUST


trust“All trust involves vulnerability and risk, and nothing would count as trust if there were no possibility of betrayal.” – Robert C. Solomon

I’d be lying if I did not confess that relationships are challenging for me.

There were never any roadmaps or guidebooks to help me navigate relationships growing up. I learned how to connect with people by trial and error. I had no role models because the relationships in my family were transient and conditional. I learned how to love out of pure need to be loved. I was willing to love someone if they showed me love, even at my own peril for many of those who I believe “loved” me had a very shallow definition of love and tossed the word around recklessly. I learned how to trust by…. well, actually, that is where things get really complicated for me. In my life, trust presents a lot of difficulties and is not something that comes easily. Most who know me well will attest that trust is something I place high on a pedestal and, if broken, does not have a good chance of being repaired . I’m not proud of this but it is part of my complexity – I don’t trust easily and I can grow to mistrust without much effort.  I’m not perfect, nor are my relationships yet I work diligently every day to nourish and enhance the trusting bonds I do have.

I recently located an old video from my childhood that was buried away in a closet. It is the last vestige of my youth in my possession and it is a critical touchpoint for me. My parents, like many others in the 60’s and 70’s took lots of Super 8 movies and, after my parents divorced, my mother kept them stored away in a box high on a shelf in one of her closets. By the time I was a teenager, the projector we used to watch the movies was long gone and all we had left were a pile of flat round tin cans that held all the memories of when my family seemed “normal,” when things were happy and when it appeared that my course in life would be dramatically different from the road it actually took. The films lay in those cans for years because we never bothered converting them to VHS and because they represented a time in life my mother simply did not want to return to. To see the demise of her life in full color blasted before her eyes was simply too painful. It wasn’t until I was married and getting ready to start a family of my own that I went back to her house to retrieve whatever I could to piece together a life that now seemed a bit more like a dry erase board that someone leaned on and had carelessly rubbed across the words. Everything was smudged and smeared and you could sort of make out the content but the message was very unclear. I really wanted to chronicle my family’s history and gain a deeper understanding of where I came from. By the time I got to the box in the closet, it was evident that someone else had beat me to it. My older brother, caught up in his own turmoil, had the same idea I had. Unfortunately, he never converted the films and, in his haste to leave an apartment from which he was being evicted, he left the box behind, likely to be retrieved by some future renter who would carelessly toss them in a dumpster. When I went to my mother’s closet, there was one stray canister left behind and I grabbed it, not knowing what I would find. To my relief, it was a splendid 28 minutes of me from the age of about 5 months to one full year later. It included a magical Christmas, my first steps, a decadent vacation to Miami Beach, my brother’s birthday party and an assortment of other sweet moments that gave me insight to a life I never knew existed.

I watched the video countless times over the years but then stored it away, like my mother did, replacing it with converted DVDs of my own children’s highlights over their short lives. I had forgotten about the tape until recently. I started scouring my house looking for it because, for some reason, I knew it included some critical pieces to my puzzle. I knew that, today, with a new lens, a new perspective, a new need, I would find essential messages that would help me unpack more pieces of myself to help me move forward, even if only just by a few steps.

I was cleaning up the guest room and scoured through the closets and drawers. Surprisingly, it was right there out in the open in a drawer, waiting to be retrieved. It practically laughed at me, wondering why I had such a hard time locating it after I had passed over it again and again. It screamed “I’ve been right here all along!” I grabbed it, raced out to a local shop that converts VHS to DVD – yet another iteration in this film’s life journey – and popped it right into the computer the minute I got home. I had recollections of the scenes in my mind since I had seen the film so many times in the past. But this time I studied it. I watched every touch and every kiss my mother placed on me. I looked deep into my father’s eyes to try to understand this mysterious stranger. I looked at myself, trying to find the roots of me, trying to find my soul in that chubby little baby. I watched it and felt loved. I saw a child who was doted upon by family, friends, neighbors.  I saw a family so perfect and so sublime. And I knew it was all bullshit. I knew it was a show for the cameras that reflected just a small portion of what was really going on. Where was my sister who was 14 years older than me and had been exiled to live with my mother’s brother in Brooklyn because of conflicts with my father? Where was the endless flow of Johnny Walker that turned my father into a monster who beat my mother with anything he could find? Where was the vitriol that my mother doled out to my siblings and me to degrade us and demean us in order to get us to follow her every command? None of it was there because this was the highlight reel – truly. This is every Facebook post talking about how wonderful life is when, in fact, people are cringing and crying on the inside. It is a mirage of happiness that, while may hold some reality in those brief moments, do not reflect the real road traveled.

So, what does this all have to do with trust? Well, everything. For me, trust is about absolute authenticity. Trust is about honesty. Trust is about putting your real self on display and being vulnerable and allowing yourself to stand in your space and be who you are. Without that, we are only showing a fragment of ourselves that prevents us from really being honest and really being trustworthy. In all candor, I have not perfected this. In fact, there is a small contingent that I share my ugliest worts with. There are only a select few that I really trust. And the reason why is because, after a lifetime of being duped into believing that the highlight reel is the truth, I need to be certain that there is more. I need to know that we can get down and dirty and show our secret underbelly.

I’ve been thinking about all of this recently because it is a critical part of my journey. As both of my parents died in the past 1 1/2 years, I have been trying to find a way to forgive them for all of the pain and suffering they have caused me and my family. I have been trying to learn the lessons from their lives and my own to, hopefully, make different choices and better decisions to create a life for myself that is authentic and, while not free of mistakes and pain, makes me feel like I am being the best person I can be. I want to make sure I am putting out into the world something of import. I am trying to learn how to forgive those who hurt me in order to maintain trusting relationships and not be so quick to abandon the trust simply because I have been hurt or scorned. I am struggling with it today.  I seek out guideposts that help to send me in the right direction so I can figure out who to forgive and who to forget. I am trying to find a softness – an antidote to all of the callouses that have formed from years of hurt and betrayal.

My husband and I will celebrate the 21st anniversary of our meeting this week. What I did not know that February night in 1992 was that I was meeting the man who would teach me more about love and trust than anyone ever could. And, I had no idea how much I would test it or challenge it over the course of our lives. As I reflect on my life and all the relationships that have flowed in and out, I know without a shred of uncertainty that he is the only person that I trust completely. He is the only person I can forgive without question. He is the only person that I know, without any doubt, will have my back and love me no matter what. And, for that, I am really blessed. He has taught me that there is a life where the highlight reel can be the real reel.

I RESOLVE TO NOT RESOLVE


this is your lifeLife isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it is about learning to dance in the rain.”  — anonymous

We’re nearly two weeks into the new year and, by now, I am typically looking back, already filled with regret, seeing how I have slacked off on my new year’s resolutions.  Every year, I resolve to not make resolutions. Nevertheless, loping around in the back of my brain, are the resolutions that I have secretly made with myself, hidden away, because I do not want to admit – even to my own self – that I have fallen into the same trap yet again.  This year, I was very deliberate about not only not making any conscious resolutions but also resisting the overwhelming temptation to tuck some away in my subconscious.  After the challenges of last year, it was easy to imagine a whole slew of declarations of change that might help turn the Titanic away from that iceberg that sits ominously in the dark night.  Despite that, this year, after a whole lot of soul-searching, I committed to not resolve and only focus on intention.  Intention allows us to focus on the outcome rather than the activities that get us there.  We commit to accomplish something and with that purpose in mind, the behaviors required to do it become much easier.  In fact, I believe that if we are deliberate about our bigger intentional outcomes, we can have far greater results than if we put arbitrary expectations on ourselves, even if we have envisioned a game plan to complete them.  What is never part of the plan are the inherent road blocks that will always trip you up.

So, this year I am trying something different and, on day 13, I can report it is going far more smoothly than I’d imagined.

For instance, rather than committing to lose the 15 lbs I gained between the hurricane and the holidays (not to mention the other weight that is still lingering), I simply set my intention to do what I need to do to feel healthy and strong and that immediately resulted in my commitment to get back into my kickboxing routine.  Within days, I found myself feeling better and, instead of focusing on every morsel of food I put in my mouth, I am making sure that I get in a workout at least 3 times a week which is good for my body and mind.  I connect with my friends there, I release tension and I continually acknowledge the benefits I am getting – far beyond what the scale might read.  And, along those lines, I have abandoned the scale for the time being.  It’s simply not a partner in my efforts.  It is an evil little creature that calls out to me and mocks me regardless of the readout because, even if I have lost weight, it taunts me about the need to lose more.  I simply never get the recognition I know I deserve.

Rather than resolving to spend more time with family members and friends, I have been extremely deliberate about the choices I make with my time.  Because my job is so consuming and I can work 24 hours a day if I let myself, I am making sure that I use my free time wisely.  I spend time with those people who energize me and align with my intentions.  My family is my number one priority and where I want to be most of the time because being with them enriches me.  However, I also need and desire the company of friends and colleagues so, if I am going to be away from my family, it better be for meaningful encounters.  I’ve seen tremendous benefits from this already.   I have connected with people who I lost touch with or have neglected over time and found our re-engagement to be so nourishing to my spirit.  I have also been very conscious to make sure that I am responding to my needs to be social or my needs to alone and have quiet instead of my typical behavior of trying to be part of everything at all times and neglecting everyone, especially myself.

Instead of resolving to grow my business, make a certain amount of money or zoning in on certain focal areas, I have acknowledged the fear that normally inhabits me right about now, taunting me with the worry that no new clients or no new business will come along.  I have been able to tame that fear by acknowledging that there is risk in how I run my professional life and there will always be uncertainty about my work.  At the same time, my intention is to have a business where I work with people who are aligned with my thinking and behavior and that we focus on projects rooted in our passion with the ability to be meaningful both personally and financially.  In my estimation, that is a strategic plan that will yield positive outcomes and what will help my business flourish.  On the contrary, if I focus my energies on worrying and reprimanding myself for not doing things better or differently, the end result will be me feeling weak and powerless and disappointed in myself rather than feeling fulfilled and optimistic about the future.  I have not billed one day of work this year yet I have no concerns about the future of my business because I am laying a strong foundation for growth and success.  I have created projects and programs that are extremely meaningful and are yielding strong results because my passion and enthusiasm is coming across to partners and clients.

This past week I had lunch with an old friend and, as we were catching up on our lives, we got to talking about his philosophy about branding his years.  He’s done it for the past few years and it has served to set his intention for the year.  I love this notion but have never actually tried to do this for myself.  I suppose, if I were to reflect back, I would say that 2012 was the Year of Vulnerability.  I did not set that intention but it became very obvious to me one evening at the beginning of March as I sat in my car talking to a friend.  I was having some kind of manic epiphany about the role vulnerability plays in my life and how it has taunted me for my lifetime.  (It became apparent quite quickly, by the way, that lots of people close to me already knew that and forgot to include me in the memo.)  Even with this realization, I did not set forth with the intention to be more vulnerable but I opened myself up to learning more about the struggles I faced with it and made a vow to educate myself and, if nothing else, become incredibly knowledgable on the subject.  It is no surprise that with the learning came some level of implementation.

No brand for 2013 has surfaced but it is looking like this might be the Year of Intention.  It’s a real shift for me because, while I am typically a very strategic thinker in business, I do not employ those same skills when it comes to my own personal life.  In business, I think things through, make decisions after weighing pros and cons and don’t often act impulsively.  Emotionally, it’s a whole other story.  My husband proposed to me after knowing me for 4 months and, while I can still say 21 years later that it was one of the best decisions I have ever made, I have to admit that I certainly did not put a lot of strategic thought into it.  I went with my gut.  I don’t want to abandon that part of myself because I do have strong instincts but I also want to be more thoughtful about things and I commit to thinking about how I am living my life and who I am bringing into my life to help to nourish it and enhance it.  To that end, the other day my friend posted a wonderful quote on Facebook that really summed it up for me when it comes to the people in my life:

people in your life quote

One big intention for me in 2013 is making sure that I am not dragging people along behind me.  I want the people in my life to want to be there.  Growing up in the kind of family that I did, there was always an inclination to accept whatever anyone gave me in terms of friendship or love.  I did not have the self-confidence or the acuity to discern between what I wanted and simply what was in front of me.  I was like a homeless person who is being offered food.  A tuna sandwich is sustenance even if it is a steak you are really craving.  How do you turn down the sandwich when you are starving?  I guess, the good news is that my tummy – and my heart – are full now.  Anything I choose to ingest is for pure enjoyment and enrichment.  I no longer need to make myself whole.  I no longer need to fill gigantic empty chasms within myself in order to get through each day.  I can live a life of intention because I am finally at a place where I get to choose.  I get to intend.  I get to be selective.

It’s a very new feeling for me because, in truth, all I have ever known is how to go with the flow.  I have lived a life of desperation where I am always putting filler into the gaps to ensure that the building wont collapse.  My life has been a house of cards and one strong breeze could end me.  Not so much anymore.  2012 might have been the Year of Vulnerability and learning how to embrace the vulnerability has actually made me stronger and more powerful.  I am no longer afraid of it.  It feels good! Learning how to do this also gave me the power to make my own choices and stand on my own feet.  So, in 2013, I do not need to make resolutions.  I do not have to force change in my life because I am living a life that welcomes change as part of the roadmap.  Course correction will always be a necessity because I do not have the gift of telling the future or a magic crystal ball to see what lies ahead.  Instead, I have fortification to know that, no matter what comes along, as I live with intention, I am doing the best that I can and I am preparing myself for whatever lies ahead. I am always surrounded by people who will catch me if I fall rather than plotting ways to knock me over.  It isn’t always easy and I am certainly not perfect but I am open to giving this a shot and seeing where this year takes me.

Go ahead, come along for the ride.  Throw out those resolutions and commit to living your life with intention!

AULD LANG SYNE


AULD LANG SYNEI’ve noticed over the past few days that lots of my friends on Facebook have been posting their “Year in Review” which consists of a series of photos that appeared on their FB wall, randomly selected to encapsulate their activities over the year.  In the past, Facebook would similarly offer up a compilation of your written posts to take a snapshot of what your year was like.  Looking at the images certainly evokes a sense of nostalgia, especially if they’re of close friends and you can remember the events where the photos were taken and partake in the reminiscence of the shared memories.  Frankly, I think about my year a little bit differently.  The photographs certainly remind me of the happy times with all the smiles and laughter that make me feel joyful but I also have to take a close look at the struggles of my year to gain an understanding of what I have learned and how I have grown.  It is imperative to acknowledge and respect the challenges that I have confronted in order to ensure that the learning is etched in my brain and that I can grow and improve in the coming year.

I am currently sitting in my melancholy room – my first floor guest room with its dim lighting and tranquility that always centers me and is my favorite place to write.  I came in here tonight because I was banished from the living room and surrounding rooms because my son has a bunch of friends over for a sleepover.  My husband escaped to our bedroom upstairs with the dogs and I decided I would move to the guest room to lay down and perhaps read for a while.  The moment I stepped into the room, however, I immediately felt nostalgic and thoughtful.  It was so distracting that it rendered me incapable of concentrating on reading.  I became overwhelmed with emotions and was compelled to try to capture the feelings in a meaningful way.  Curiously, this room has taken on an energy of its own for me.  It’s like sitting at the beach and smelling the salt and hearing the waves crash to the shore.  You can feel the sun baking on your skin and all the tension leaves your body nearly instantly.  It is almost impossible to feel tense at the ocean because of the calming and restorative powers of the sea.  The intense feelings that pour over me when I step into this room are inescapable.  I need not contemplate nor ruminate because the moment I open the door and move inside, I am flooded with warmth and calm and creativity takes over.  I don’t exactly know what it is about this room but I have my suspicions as to its magical qualities.

Tonight, when I sat down in here, I decided to text my friend to share some of what I was feeling.  I knew that a little texting was not going to cut it for me as I had a lot in my head and it was more than I could expect a friend to guide me through.  When I settled down with my thoughts, the first thing that came to mind for me was change.  Change is such a constant.  In my job, when we work with our corporate clients, we always teach employees to be prepared for change because it is the one thing that is, ironically, absolutely predictable.  Change is always going to happen.  As long as you are open and willing to engage with the change, you’ll ultimately be fine.  For me, change is certainly familiar.  I am constantly renewing.  Despite my inner desire for predictability and consistency, I have a very primal need for change.  I get bored.  I need to grow and learn.  I need to have new experiences while constantly battling my resistance to trying new things.  I want fresh faces, fresh ideas, yet I rely upon my old standards, the friends who know me for years and years and can help me reassemble my history when it all comes apart in my head.  At the end of every year, I rarely feel sad for the ending and typically feel energized by the renewal and the anticipation of what another new year can bring.  I am hopeful – eternally hopeful – of a better, more prosperous, more satisfying annum.

So, over the last few days when I was looking at everyone’s photos and smiling at some as I recalled the happy memories, I realized that photos could not encapsulate my year.  They only told one small part of the story.  My year was highlighted by things you can never capture in a photograph.  They were small moments – some quiet and some quite loud – that catalyzed me to change, to advance, to propel forward.  Some of the moments were tear-filled because I was sad or in pain.  Some were tear-filled because my heart was so full it hurt.  Some moments were solitary when I searched deep into my soul to find answers to questions that plagued me for a lifetime and still sat unanswered, patiently tapping its feet waiting for me to solve the riddle.  For me, my year was one that brought continued awareness of who I am, where I am going and what is most important in my life.  I suppose this blog is the best snapshot of my year but, of course, I only shared parts of it.  There were still so many moments in between the photos and in between the posts that pushed me from day to day, urging me to shift into the next form that my life needed me to take.

I fell in love this year.  I fell in love with my husband all over again.  I remembered that I have a partner who, through the darkest of days, stands beside me and provides me with unconditional love.  He makes me feel safe and secure even when there is no safety and no security when the wolf is threatening to huff and puff and blow our non-brick house down.  He envelopes me and ensures that I am loved.

I also fell in love with myself this year.  I found a part of me that either had gone missing or I had overlooked for a very long time.  I was able to do that arm-in-arm with some very intimate and special friends who supported me and showed me what I am capable of.  Not many words passed our lips but the power of friendship – really strong and significant friendship – propelled me to discover parts of me that I simply never felt safe enough to explore.

I revisited trust this year.  As the year comes to a close, this idea continues to wash through my mind.  A long, long time ago I stopped trusting.  Probably it happened when I was very little and realized that I could not count on anyone to take care of me.  I learned then to be tough and strong to make sure that I could survive.  I didn’t believe anyone would protect me and I learned how to build a shield, a strong armor to protect myself from anyone trying to break down the fort that I had built.  No one was going to penetrate my castle.  I built a deep moat with a small bridge that only a carefully chosen set of individuals could cross.  Rarely did I let anyone even approach the bridge but this year, not only did I let down the bridge more frequently, I actually gave a select few the passcode to lower it themselves.  No picture can describe the power of that.  No image can articulate the vulnerability I opened myself up to.  And nothing can express the joy and relief that comes from moving out from the shadows and showing myself in full technicolor.

My mother passed this year and, I suspect, with her went floods of pain.  Many locked doors began to swing open, asking to be entered and explored.  It has been painful and powerful and complicated and sad.  It has relocated me mentally and brought me to a new level of being, a new place of understanding.  I feel things I have not felt for many years because I was so locked away, working tirelessly to protect myself from old demons and monsters that had long ago lost their fright.  But, until my mother’s soul left the earth, I could not be freed from decades of pain and struggle.  I am sad to not have been loved in the way a child should be but I am grateful to have developed a sense of enlightenment that, perhaps, would never have been afforded me without the struggle, without my particular journey.  And, now, I have a clear lens to see what I need to see in order to do what I am meant to do in the world.  My mother had her moments and I loved her so much as a young child but she suffered a lifetime of mental illness. While I try to forgive her for all the pain she caused, I still strive to understand the depths of the damage and am continually amazed by the unexpected eruptions.

Nearly 10 months ago, my very astute friend asked me some questions that catapulted me into a search deep within myself that I knew would lead me down a very windy, very narrow, very treacherous road.  And, as this year comes to a close, I know for certain what I only suspected back then was true – this year’s journey was intentional, despite the pain, despite the problems, and its outcomes abundant.  As I sit in my melancholy room, allowing all of my senses to take over, I can only smile a little internal smile knowing that all of the wonderment and all of the magic of my year can be captured only in my mind.  I cannot post it on facebook nor can I even articulate it using my mad writing skills.  It is preserved inside me, providing me with a bounty to catapult me into the next year, hopeful that even more of my unique riches and rewards will be forthcoming.

And, for that, I am quietly and overwhelmingly grateful.