You're an Idiot

In the ancient world Roman generals would return home to joyous fanfare as they rode through the streets in triumph.  As the crowds went wild and chanted the general's name, a man would follow behind him and whisper, “You are mortal.”  The Romans didn’t want their generals to develop an enormous ego, or to forget that behind every great man is another man waiting to cut him down to size.

Literally.

We don’t need anyone to remind us that we’re mortal or be concerned that we may get too big for our britches.  In fact, we have the opposite problem.  As a culture, we have become so critical of ourselves, so quick to dismiss our worth that we are drowning in self-doubt and depression.  It’s as if we are followed around by our own little voice whispering, “You’re an idiot.  You’re not worthy.”  

And we’re believing it.

Not a day goes by without hearing someone bemoaning the 15 calories they ingested during the day, which have left them feeling guilty and glum.  Sometimes I watch experienced people second-guessing themselves out of fear that they do not have the ability to make the right decision.  All too often I see amazing people live in doubt, too paralyzed to live a life of acceptance and love.

We really need to work on this.

We are beginning a season dedicated to love and compassion (in theory) where we work to look upon our fellow humans with kindness rather than distain.  How about we make a point of doing this for ourselves as well?  Why don’t we set aside some time to see ourselves with compassion and kindness?

Why don’t we just give ourselves a break?

You are not perfect, and you never will be.  But you are so very beautiful in your humanity that I cannot imagine our world without you.

Our society of shallowness will consistently remind you that you have failed to meet the standards and that your imperfections are an abomination.  Are these the voices you really want to listen to?  Unfortunately, once we have accepted and internalized these thoughts - we are fighting against ourselves, which is a losing battle, even for those great Roman generals. 

I know it isn’t easy to change how you see yourself - we’ve all been conditioned through the years to be overly critical of our imperfections, but it can be done.  

Put aside some time every day to focus on the things that you appreciate about yourself.  Ask your friends and family how they see you - because they are looking at us through the lens of love, which gives them gentler eyes.  Write down the characteristics that you’re proud of on little pieces of paper and place them around the house, in your car, in your wallet and let them serve as a reminder that you are pretty awesome.

Life is short and we don’t get a lot of time to focus on ourselves, so when we have those spare moments on our own, let’s use them to exercise some self-compassion, some acceptance.  You will be amazed at how much brighter the day is.

And if that negative voice is still following you around, call me.  We can have some chocolate cake and coffee until there is nothing left but quiet whispers saying, “We’re so glad you’re here.”

Bitchy Ain't Cute

When did rudeness become a characteristic that we applaud?  Did I miss the memo stating that being a mean-spirited jerk was the new standard of behavior that we should celebrate?

What gives?

I understand that political pundits are supposed to devolve into immature children with their vile, dehumanization of political figures and those who hold to a different ideology then they do because it is part of their schtick...and it is probably in their contract to be as revolting as possible.

Comedians are another breed of entertainers that tend towards the crude and ruthless like wild animals feeding on the pain and vulnerabilities of others.  I imagine that most comedy routines are based on their own personal pain and suffering; sharing it with a willing crowd is perhaps a cathartic release that offers public acceptance and the approval they never had as a kid.

But what about these “reality” shows like the Real Housewives, Bad Girl’s Club and Jersey Shore?  Who came up with the idea that bitchy, whiny and immature people should not only have their appalling behavior glorified, but they should be paid major cash for doing it for the cameras?

I get why the people in the media are rude: they’re getting paid. What I don’t understand is why it has become socially acceptable?  Why have basic manners evaporated...why do people treat each other with such disrespect, even taking to social media to spew their hate?

Maybe because being mean is easy.  Being cruel to another person takes much less energy than being considerate and thoughtful.  But lazy is no excuse to unleash such atrocious behavior onto another human.

When a person treats another unkindly, it speaks volumes about their own issues.  A cruel person reveals their own insecurities as they aim their pain at someone else.  A jerk showcases his or her own flaws and private shame when attacking another person verbally or physically.  One who speaks ill of others, who prefers vengeance to forgiveness, or holds a grudge rather than seeks reconciliation is a person with deep-seated, unresolved pain.

I don’t fear them, I don’t applaud or celebrate them - I pity them.  

Those who choose to spew hatred towards others, whether real or media-related, is a vulnerable soul in need of some compassion and tender care...though their personal issues do not absolve them of their hurtful behavior.  So when you see someone being a jerk, or if you’re feeling a little jerk-like yourself, take a second to understand what is really behind it all.

No, bitchy ain’t cute and there is no excuse for it.  Life is too short and too far too prescious to support bad behavior from adults, and it’s way too short to live with the inner pain that causes it.

Stitched Together

Stitched Together Nov 2 2012

I was recently asked if I experience any resentment about my often chaotic childhood.  This is an important question because I spend my days working with adolescents, many of whom have faced unspeakable trauma and horrific abuse, and when you work with those who have known such pain, it is important know your own emotions.  

I answered the question with an immediate and very firm, “No.”  I did not have to think about the question because I had spent many years trapped in the emotional bondage of my past and I can honestly say that I am at peace with it.  But how did I go from that frightened, unhappy little girl to the confident, joy-filled woman I am today?  I learned to love and accept my scars.

And now I have a brand new scar that I’m learning to love.

Three months ago from this very day I underwent cardiac surgery to stitch up a hole in my heart.  In the spring I was told that my heart had a defect that was making it work far more than it wanted to, and they could see the beginning signs of damage.  So I spent my summer vacation having my sternum cut in two, my lungs deflated and my heart stopped so that a talented team of surgeons could play seamstress.

I’m not going to lie: it sucked.

There is nothing good about being cut open, and there is nothing fun or glamorous about spending 10 days in the hospital wondering if my heart was going to remember how to beat.  Recovery has been slow and steady, but I figure that I lived 43 years with a giant hole in my heart, I can pretty much survive anything.  I have learned a lot about the power of keeping a positive perspective and about sheer, undaunted determination.

As grateful as I am for the work of my incredible medical team for fixing my heart, there is still the matter of scars.  There is the giant one down the center of my chest, the triad of round marks on my neck where various IV lines and monitors were, and the occasional dots and dashes that decorate my midsection to mark the intrusion of tubes and electrical wires that kept me connected to lifesaving machines.  Each scar that remains was once a necessary incision that reminds me how blessed I am to be here today with a perfectly functioning heart.

Every single scar tells a part of the story of who I am.  Each mark is a milestone along the journey to become the person that I am proud to be, just as my emotional and mental scars are.  We are not whole and complete beings at birth - we are an amalgamation of our experiences stitched together with the ongoing threads of time.

My past has not always been pretty.  The days of my youth were smattered with physical violence and emotional damage that took a long time to heal, but I did eventually heal because I found a way to integrate those pieces into me without the feelings of guilt that can sometimes make us ashamed of who we are.  

I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and I’m certainly not done growing up and figuring out the many different facets of who I am, and I’m okay with that.  I’m okay with not having had a perfect childhood because forgiveness of others is an amazing gift that only you can give yourself. 

I have lots of scars now; some physical and some invisible to the human eye, but I've grown to appreciate them because they are all a part of me and I kinda like me.  I like that I can empathize with those who have known tragic times.  I like that I have enough compassion to try and see people for who they are without judgment or prejudice.  I like that I laugh at silly things and that I can find joy in even the tiniest of accomplishments.  I like that the people who love me think that I’m worth the effort.

It’s been a long three months since I was cut open like a boiled lobster, but now I have the chance to be a lot more me, and that's certainly worth some pain and suffering along the way.  So here’s to another 43 years of scars, stitches, and becoming the best of me.