Boundaries: Honoring Your Self

Whenever I write about a particular topic, I usually like to look up some information about it before starting to write.  I have a habit of wanting to intellectualize whatever it is I'm writing about, even if it's personal and from the heart.  I often share what I've looked up, and I'm famous for quoting the dictionary or Wikipedia.

I started to do that this time, but then I stopped.  What I'm writing about today is too personal and doesn't need to be validated by outside sources.  I reserve the right to create my own discourse about this particular topic.  I'm referring to the concept of boundaries.

Boundaries are personal limitations - the so-called "invisible line" that we draw - that we have decided others may not cross.  The interesting thing about boundaries is that others continually believe they can judge our personal boundaries even though they do not set them for us.  The other interesting thing about boundaries is that we usually don't set them until someone has crossed the "invisible line" within us.

I have worked with students in various capacities throughout my almost-twenty year career, and boundaries are an issue that continuously needs to be addressed.  For example, as a first-year teacher, I made the "mistake" of buying a student a sandwich (with his money) when I went out for lunch.  My assistant principal told me never to do that, because it was unfair to the other students who had to eat school lunch (which is still terrible), and because it was impossible for me to be able to keep up that behavior.  I learned quickly from this mistake, and never did it again.  However, my assistant principal also told me it wasn't a good idea to allow students to spend their lunch period in my classroom, and in that case, I didn't agree with that boundary.  I knew that my classroom was a safe place for some of those students, and it avoided conflicts that could arise in a crowded cafeteria.  Eventually, I had to decide what boundaries needed to be in place and which ones really weren't necessary.  Students were allowed to remain in my classroom during their lunch period, unless I had something else I wanted or needed to do.

After two years at that school, I worked at a small high school where boundaries were much more lax.  Students called us by our first names, and you would often see teachers (or "facilitators", as we were called) and students spending informal moments together during and after school.  My students kissed me on the cheek and hugged me, and I often spent time with them and their families.  It was a loving environment, but I had a difficult time with how flexible the boundaries were.  I didn't know when my work life ended and my personal life began, because it seemed a part of that school's culture to spend time with students outside of school.

I worked in a residence hall for three years.  Can you imagine the difficulty in maintaining boundaries there?  I would have to wake up in the middle of the night to discipline students and write full incident reports in my pajamas while half asleep.  It was truly a blend of my personal and professional lives.

Recently, I experienced a test of both my professional and personal boundaries.  Being a counselor is definitely not an easy vocation.  Counseling is a very personal relationship within the confines of a professional environment.  Over the past year, several students have made the comment that they love our counseling relationship because, and I quote, "It's so personal."  Some of my colleagues don't approach the counseling relationship in the same way.  Some frown upon the fact that some students have my cell phone number, which I only give out for specific work reasons.  If my women's group is holding an event on a Saturday, the students may need to reach me, so the easiest way to do so is to contact me via phone.  Some colleagues choose not to engage in that way, and I respect that.  I learned in my counseling program that I am a counselor; it's not just what I do but who I AM.  Therefore, my counseling style is person-centered, and with the particular population I serve, being intrusive is effective.  In addition, I connect with others on an emotional level, and my empathy for others creates a close, personal relationship.

While I recognize that being authentic and having unconditional positive regard are keys to a good counseling relationship (according to Carl Rogers' Person-Centered Theory), I learned that I can't expect every student to understand my boundaries if I don't make them abundantly clear.  I allow my students to disagree with me, and to challenge and question what I say, however, I experienced a moment when a student went too far.  Both my emotional and physical boundaries felt threatened.  While we had previously had discussions about how this student mistreats, and even abuses, people she cares about (including me), this time I realized that I could no longer engage with her personally or professionally, and suggested that she request a counselor change.  Although I want the student to work through the problem, I also refuse to be emotionally and verbally abused by her.  My hope is that the student learns, through the termination of our counseling relationship, to manage her emotions so as not to alienate others to the point of destroying her most valued relationships.  My lesson is a difficult one to learn.  Most people respond well to my counseling approach, but I will have to make sure that my boundaries are clear - that while I welcome students to question and challenge me, they must do so in a respectful manner, especially because I take great care to show my students respect first.

Personally, I realized that my emotional boundaries were being repeatedly crossed by the same person over the course of the past three years.  This was a pattern with most of my personal relationships with men; I was allowing them to expect more from me than they were willing to give.  This particular person is my "Mr. Biggs" (along the lines of the Ron Isley persona rather than the "Mr. Big" of Sex and the City fame; Mr. Biggs just sounds funnier).  It's obvious that we are strongly connected and that, in the smallest, most pure place in his heart, he loves me very much.  However, much like Mr. Big in Sex and the City, he has a habit of both pulling me into his world and forgetting me at his convenience.  I've spent most of the past three years trying to convince him (and myself) of how we want very different things in life and how love requires commitment, action and follow through.  Most recently, it finally occurred to me that it wasn't him I needed to cut off, despite the veritable choir of voices advising me to do so.  It was ME.  I had to set a boundary within myself that I would no longer allow myself to cross.  As much as my heart wanted to reach out to him to show him I cared, showing him love was an invitation for him to make empty promises and continue to disappoint me.  I had to realize that what I expected of myself - integrity, accountability and authenticity - were exactly what I expect from the person I choose to partner with in life.  Whenever he demonstrated the opposite of those traits, I was allowing him to cross the most valuable boundaries - those I had set up for myself.  Whenever I allowed him to cross those boundaries, I was violating my own boundaries.  Now, because he won't stop contacting me any time soon, and I don't need to be dramatic about it, I can respond to him from a place of empowerment.  The very boundaries I created for myself are those no one else will ever be able to cross.

People will want to see how far they can go, how much they can take you for granted, or how little effort they can put into getting what they want from you.  You can't control them.   It is up to YOU to make clear to yourself what you are willing to tolerate, and what is unacceptable.  Boundaries are very personal.  In the end, you have to live with yourself, and no one else.  I know that I want to live with my self-respect intact, and so I will honor my personal boundaries.  In doing so, I honor my deepest self.

Who Is Trayvon?

Trayvon Martin, murdered on February 26, 2012

Everyone knows about the 17 year-old boy from Florida walking to his father's girlfriend's house from the store with a bag of Skittles and a can of iced tea.  Trayvon Martin. Everyone with a conscience, a heart, and half a brain understands that Trayvon's death was a tragedy, that it was unnecessary, cruel, and inhumane.  Everyone knows that the killer has yet to be brought to justice, and like the coward he is, he is currently hiding because he is afraid for his own life.  (Funny how he's not even giving someone an opportunity to chase him down any streets, huh?)

Over the past week, many people have spoken out about the case, the motive, the murderer, and the investigation, but President Obama verbalized what many of us have thought, but maybe didn't articulate so eloquently: "If I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon."  President Obama reminded us that Trayvon Martin is a person, and he could have been someone we all know and care about.

I work with  students at a four-year public residential college.  The assumption some might make is that, if these students are making it to college, they are safe.  This assumption could not be further from the truth.

• My students come to this rural, conservative, largely Caucasian community and feel out of place. 
• They are noticed because they look different.
• They are either greeted by phony friendliness or just completely ignored.
• They are treated differently by some of their professors, as if they are not as intelligent as the other students.
• Some of their peers assume they got into college because of affirmative action.
• They are arrested and given excessive charges for making dumb decisions most teenagers make.
• They are given the run-around by people who don't want to be bothered to help them navigate the system of undergraduate education.
• Although they speak English, they come into an environment that speaks a language of privilege and cultural capital they have not learned.  
• They might be the first in their family to go to college.  They might even be the first in their family to graduate high school.
• They are scared that they will fail.  And they are scared that if they fail, they have not only failed themselves, but their families and friends.
• Many of them chose this rural, small community hours from home because it is safer than the streets where they live; yet, this environment is almost as frightening if not more so.  

I didn't know Trayvon Martin, but I know countless teenagers and young adults who have lived a life running and hiding because they did not feel safe anywhere.  Those are the ones who ask me, "Why is my life so hard?"  They look at me and wonder, "Why do I continue to fail no matter how hard I try?"  "Why did I get picked out of the crowd and blamed for something I didn't do?"  And sometimes I tell them the truth: This system wasn't created for you to succeed, so you have to work harder; you have to study more; you have to watch every decision you make and never make a mistake that will get you noticed by the wrong people.  Sometimes I have to tell them: Your race is a factor whether you like it or not, or your gender is a factor no matter what anyone says about how far society has come.  Because the truth is what they need to hear so that they can empower themselves with the tools to cope, and to succeed.

Who is Trayvon?  All of our youth are Trayvon.  Our sons and daughters, our nieces and nephews, our students, and yes, even the boy walking down the street with a hoodie that you might not know.  And we, as adults, need to care enough to tell them the truth, and to be there for them so that they have a place to feel safe.  

The Whitney In Me

Whitney Houston (August 9, 1963-February 11, 2012)

Last night, I was at a dinner for one of the student organizations I advise.  The cultural club dinners always include a performance with acting and dancing, and sometimes singing.  Watching my students perform always makes me feel so proud, and after the show I hugged them and told them what a great job they did.  In the midst of celebrating the accomplishments of the organization and the students involved in the performance, I was given the news.  Whitney Houston had died.

I felt my heart drop.  After I heard the news, there were still students to congratulate and I still tried to keep a smile on my face, but inside I was feeling shaken.  I never knew Whitney Houston, but she had such an impact on me as I was growing up.  When I heard she died, I immediately went back to the age of thirteen when I heard "Saving All My Love for You", and all of the feelings that came along with that song.

When I was a child, my first dream job was to be an artist.  I lived out those fantasies at school, drawing my little heart out in the first grade.  It was a drawing of my best friend and me that confirmed my creative talent.  The drawing was chosen to be displayed at A & S (Abraham & Strauss), a department store along the lines of Macy's, in downtown Brooklyn.  My mom and sister went to see the drawing on display.  I didn't get to see it myself, but I knew it was kind of a big deal because my mom and sister actually got on a bus to go see it.  I continued to draw both at school and at home, drawing whatever my little mind conjured up, and finally creating my own fashions as a teenager in several notebooks.

In addition to drawing, I loved to sing.  The first song I remember singing was "Emotions" by the Bee-Gees ("It's just emotions taking me over, caught up in sorrow, lost in my soul").  I didn't know the words, but I remember how my heart felt when I sang it.  I was probably about four or five.  Any time I was able to participate in talent shows at school, I did.  I joined the chorus both in junior high and high school, as well as the church choir.  Singing became my way of releasing what was in my heart; especially what I had no words to express.

When I was thirteen, Whitney Houston came into my life.  I had a boyfriend, and we were in love.  I didn't get the meaning of all of the words in "Saving All My Love for You", but I sure felt like I was saving all my love for my little boyfriend at the time.  A few months later, I broke up with him.  Being in two different high schools put a strain on our relationship.  He would pick me up after school sometimes, which was so nice until it began to feel constraining. I was developing new friendships and it felt weird to try to bring him into that circle.  So we broke up.  Whitney was there with "All At Once".  "All at once...I finally took a moment, and I'm realizing that...you're not coming back...and it finally hit me all at once."  I was young, but I had developed feelings for this person, and even though I broke up with him, the feelings didn't automatically disappear.  Whitney helped me understand and gave words to what was happening in my heart.

Whitney also gave me hope.  With "The Greatest Love of All", Whitney was the first person to teach me about self-love.  I didn't understand it when she first sang, "I decided long ago/never to walk in anyone's shadow/if I fail, if I succeed/at least I live as I believe/no matter what they take from me/they can't take away my dignity...The greatest love of all/is happening to me/I found the greatest love of all inside of me."  However, as I grew older, life taught me that I had to walk my own path and love myself regardless of whether I failed or succeeded, that I had to love myself enough not to beat myself up.  Whitney taught me that, and continues to teach me that. 

Whitney taught me about honoring the gifts God gave me.  Singing was very important to me, but I was afraid to do it.  My stage fright began in the fourth grade when I auditioned for the lead role in Annie and didn't get it.  My classmates had to vote between my best friend and me, and only one person voted for me. I found out later that they planned it that way (kids really can be cruel), because I was class vice president and a cheerleader, had already been class president and was the smartest student in the class, so they wanted to give someone else another chance.  From then on, as much as I loved singing, my solo voice was only heard at home until I was an adult and encouraged by a former member of the band Chic.  She and her husband taught me some things about singing, and I finally felt like I could sing.  I went on to sing in my church choir, singing a few solos, but more importantly I realized that this was a gift God gave me and that I should honor Him by using it.  Watching Whitney Houston in "The Preacher's Wife" solidified my realization.  At that time, we knew she had been struggling with drugs and alcohol and that her relationship with Bobby Brown was harmful and violent.  But when she sang songs like "I Love the Lord" and "Who Would Imagine a King", her God-given talent shone through as if angels were singing.  She showed me that I didn't have to be perfect to honor God.  

And now, though I'm not quite the artist or singer that I may have hoped to be as a child, I try to honor the creativity within me by writing.  My life experiences and my love of telling stories have combined to give birth to the desire to write.  I have loved writing since I was a child as well, and remember writing stories and poems and loving those particular assignments at school more than anything.  Now, I write here and there, but I have recently made a commitment to write daily, even if it's in my journal or a simple sentence that speaks what's in my heart.  If I don't write, my soul will die.

Whitney has left us, and I'm sad.  Many of us are sad.  But what I cannot do - what I promise to Whitney, who gave me beautiful and emotional memories and inspired me - is allow the creativity in me to die. Thank you, Whitney Houston, for reminding me to live my dreams and never to walk in anyone's shadow.

Rest In Peace, Whitney Houston.  

Wounds

A wound is an injury that is caused by external forces as opposed to disease.  Wikipedia distinguishes between open wounds, caused by tearing or puncturing, and closed wounds, or contusions, which occur due to blunt force trauma.  Wounds are usually visible and always painful, although pain levels vary with the impact of the external force, the depth of the wound, and the wounded person's pain threshold.

A few weeks ago, I heard someone say that wounds are unable to heal if they are covered up.  He said that they must be exposed to air in order to heal faster.  I don't know if that's always the case, but I understood what he meant.

This year has not begun the way most people hope a new year would.  I don't want to go into details, but this year so far has involved the loss of an innocent life, family illness, rejection, and a lot of stress.  After the loss my family experienced, I took a few days to myself, stayed home and rejected invitations to socialize.  I did little more than talk to my family, make plans to return home for the service, sleep, and of course, cry.  I went to work, but I wasn't there.  I was not present.  As a counselor, it is of utmost importance to be present for your clients or students.  While I was able to do my job competently, I wasn't doing it with the passion my students expect from me.  However, that doesn't stop people from demanding what they usually expect from you.  The pain that I was experiencing was irrelevant to those around me, mostly because they didn't know about my pain, but also because whatever they were experiencing and needing help with was foremost in their minds.  And while I continued to attempt to help others, covering my personal wounds, underneath there was festering an infection of sorts.

Personal pain seems to cause a shock to the system.  It's like time freezes for you while it moves along  for others.  You are stuck in a world that no one seems to understand.  In those moments, you feel most alone.  Time continues, and people will want to continue with it, but inside, you are screaming for it to STOP.  For me, the mere fact that people wanted my help while I was in a cocoon of pain felt like an imposition.  I just wanted to tell everyone to LEAVE ME ALONE.  I started seeing the people around me as insensitive and demanding. I felt knots in my stomach every time I had to go to work.  It eventually became too much, and I blew up.  No band-aid or gauze could hide my pain any longer.

The problem with wounds is that we barely address them directly.  We cover them so that we don't have to look at how ugly they are.  We don't want to see the bleeding because it's too scary for most of us.  We stop using the part that's wounded and rely on other parts of ourselves to function.  The wounded part of ourselves becomes weaker when we don't use it.  We become more fearful of utilizing parts of ourselves that have been wounded, afraid that the area is so vulnerable that it will become wounded again.  Every time I discussed what made me blow up, it was unrelated to my actual wound, but somehow, the thing that caused me pain kept coming up.  My wound was calling for me to address it directly.

There is a time to cover our wounds; when that external force first impacts us and we are reeling in pain, we should probably retreat.  But there comes a time when the wound needs to be uncovered in order for us to heal.

For the first time in many, many years, I asked a friend for the name of a counselor.  I have the information, but I haven't used it yet.  The wounds are still too fresh.  I know, though, that as I desire to heal and move forward, I must uncover my wounds and address them directly.  While the thought of baring all - the open, bleeding, and painful - scares me, I find it more frightening to imagine what life would be like if I keep my wounds covered forever.  So I will expose them, not only for me, but for those around me who need me to be the open, loving, caring person I had been before I was wounded.

The Rise of My Strong Personality

"I'm strong, not because I want to be, but because I have to be."  In a rare moment of vulnerability, I shared this insight about myself with a male colleague.  There had been some issues between us because he wasn't comfortable with my "strong personality".  Most of the time, when I meet a man under any circumstance, we get along well, until we're thrown into a situation where we may have to demonstrate competence or achievement; then, I usually hear that my personality is "too strong", or that I'm trying to "take charge" or "take over", and my relationship with that man becomes strained.  In those situations, I usually stand out, not because I'm better than anyone, but because my mother taught me, through her life, to work harder than anyone, to do everything to the best of my ability, and to push myself to be better.  My mother was not allowed to go to school, so she does not know how to read or write.  I remember asking her as she walked me to my class during one of my first few days of school (at least I think I said this):  "Mami, why do I have to go to school?  You didn't go to school, and you're okay."  However, I also vividly recall walking towards my home in the housing projects in Williamsburg, Brooklyn in the first grade or so, and thinking, "I have to do well in school, so I don't have to live here for the rest of my life."  This is where I gave birth to my so-called "strong personality".

My "strong personality" developed as I grew up.  Puberty hit me early, and hard.  At the age of nine I had to slam our apartment door in the faces of teenage boys who would knock on the door to tell me they loved me, and at the age of twelve I had to curse out grown men who catcalled as I walked by.  My "strong personality" was tested every day  in the sixth grade when I was chased by boys after school who thought it was cute to grab my butt; who equated sexual assault with puppy love.

My "strong personality" evolved during my first weekend in college, when my friends and I were standing on the sidewalk trying to decide what our next adventure would be, and we were called "nigger girls".  It was that first vivid experience with racism that led me to learn about my cultural identity and eventually shaped my career path as well as my activist spirit.

My "strong personality" almost died when my husband said he wanted a divorce.  And yet, my "strong personality" did not die; it demonstrated its resilience by immediately driving me to get my Master's degree, find a place to live, a job (that provided me that place to live), and buy my own car, 350 miles from everyone I knew and loved.

My "strong personality" developed its assertive nature when I was repeatedly belittled and sexually harassed by a supervisor until I eventually stood up to him, ending the abuse.

My "strong personality" took me through the interview process for the only job I'd applied for while I was doing an internship, a graduate assistantship, studying for the National Counselor Exam, and writing an 80 page Master's thesis.  And my "strong personality" got that job.

My "strong personality" taught me to step outside of my comfort zone and help develop a women's leadership program when I neither considered myself a leader or an expert on "women's issues" (as if living all of the above experiences didn't make me an expert).

My "strong personality" continues to grow as I take care of all of my needs, clean my own home, pay all of my own bills, suffer the consequences of my own poor decisions, struggle with every life decision, and try to be the best daughter I can be (from so far away), the best counselor, the best role model for the ladies in the leadership program, the best "second mom" to my students, the best, best, best of what I need to be for me and everyone else in my sphere of influence.

I'm not strong because I want to be.  I want to be taken care of sometimes.  I want someone to ask me what I need sometimes, and I don't always want to be the person who people come to only when they need something.  I want men to stop blaming me and my "strong personality" for their own insecurities.  I want men to take responsibility for their own actions, and not expect me to let them get away with being less than the best person they can be.  I want men to stop acting as if I'm supposed to accommodate them and "adjust" to them, when they won't do so for me (and yes, I've been told this by a few men).  I want to hear the words "I'm sorry" come from more men's mouths when they know they're wrong.  I want to know that, when my moments of weakness come (and they often do), there will be someone there who can, and wants to, hold me up and allow me to lean on him without feeling like I'm "draining" him.  And I want men to be vulnerable enough to tell me when they need me to be strong, and not feel like I'm "intimidating" because I am capable of being strong for myself and everyone else around me.

I'm not strong because I want to be.  I'm strong because I have to be.  And I cannot wait until the day I don't always have to be strong anymore.

40 Lessons for a Fab Life

BREAKING NEWS: I just turned forty a couple of days ago.  Hopefully my students won't read this post; those who don't know my age and have no concept of age think I'm somewhere between my late twenties and mid-thirties.  If they find out I'm older than they thought, I might not be so cool to them.  Nahhh, I'll always be cool no matter how old I am.

I'd been thinking about turning forty since my 39th birthday.  Literally every day I thought about this particular milestone.  Poor 39th year.  It never had a chance.

About a month ago, I was seriously having a mid-life crisis.  I hope I live longer than eighty, but I can't think of any other concept that matches what I was feeling more than "mid-life crisis".  I called one of my friends and told her, "I feel like nothing I'm doing means anything."  She was like, "Are you serious?"  This is because she's cool, calm, collected, and doesn't put up with my dramatics.  Truthfully, she's great at listening to my angst-ridden reflections, but she's not quite the drama queen that I can sometimes be.  (Sometimes.)  I also met up with an old (not in age) friend who'd just turned forty earlier in the year and had this same conversation.  Both of them made it clear that the crisis does not last; with phrases like, "It is what it is", and "I don't give a flying kite about anything", they made it seem like forty is when worrying lessens, life gets a bit less serious and a bit more peaceful and enjoyable.

I figured, though, that some of the lessons I've learned over time should be documented for posterity.  You know, for those who want a road map or cheat sheet on their way to forty.

1. Stop spending time worrying about how you look, because in reality, everyone else is too busy worrying about how they look to pay that much attention to you.

2. If you like someone, just tell that person.  The worst that can happen is that they laugh in your face.  I laughed in someone's face when he said he liked me, and I ended up marrying him.  We got divorced a few years later (minor details).

3. Take your foot off the gas pedal when you want to slow down.  Don't put your foot on the brake.  You'll mess your car up that way.  I don't know how exactly, but I'm pretty sure I'm right.

4. Mistakes won't kill you.  They'll make you humble.

5. Strive for excellence, not perfection.  We just can't be perfect.  Plus, no one really likes perfect people.

6. Working out really does relieve stress.  Just don't spend a lot of money on a gym that's completely out of the way of any other place you go.  Makes no sense.  Take it from me.

7. When you go work out, don't take your phone with you.  Turn it off whenever you can.  At school, at church, at the gym.  These are places where you feed your mind, spirit, and body.  No one needs to interfere with that.

8. Put your general doctor's, gynecologist's, dentist's, eye doctor's, and mechanic's numbers in your phone.  And the number to one good pizza place, and one good restaurant that makes your favorite pasta dish.  You never know.

9. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT break up with someone when you're experiencing PMS.  You might possibly change your mind.

10. Go to sleep when you're tired.  Your mind doesn't work when it's tired.

11. Make sure your house and work place are stocked with some form of chocolate.

12. Wine.

13. No matter how much your mother or father piss you off, for whatever reason, don't stop talking to them.  They may regret how they've acted (or not acted) towards you, but you don't want to live with regret because you left things unsaid.

14. Floss.  Plaque can kill.

15. Demand an HIV test with documentation.  You think plaque kills?  Try AIDS.

16. Carry some kind of antibacterial thing for your hands.  People do not wash their hands after they use the bathroom.

17. Just in case you're one of those people, wash your hands after using the bathroom.

18. Put your hair up or wrap it if you're going to cook for others.  I don't care if your hair is clean, I don't want to eat it.

19. Walk on the right side.  Especially when you're walking up or down NYC subway stairs.

20. Half way there...Reward yourself with a glass of wine.

21. Indulge. It puts a smile on your face, and sometimes a nice memory.

22. Don't worry about hurting a guy's feelings.  It will remind him that he has them.

23. Get up right now.  Go to the mirror.  Say, "You are just too sexy", or some variation on that, while sticking your butt out with your hand on your hip.

24. Smile when you're putting blush on.

25. Go somewhere by yourself.  The movies, Starbucks, Disney World.  It will force you to spend time with yourself and appreciate who you are.

26. No lipstick when you're kissing a man.  They do not want that taste.  They want you.

27. You don't always have to match your clothes perfectly.

28. However, you should match your wine and food.  Cupcake Red Velvet Wine and a Chocolate Merlot cupcake match perfectly.

29. If you're bored, it's because you're not requiring enough of yourself.  Raise your expectations for yourself.

30. Expectations.  You can have them for yourself, not so much for others.

31. Do what you love, even if you can't do it for a living.  Even if it's writing a blog post about once a month.

32. Encourage others to do what they love.  They will love you for it.

33. Don't compete with anyone but yourself.

34. You're smarter than you think you are.

35. You're smarter than they might think you are.

36. Open your heart so that everyone can see just how beautiful you really are.

37. Open your (spiritual) eyes and ears so that you see and hear what God wants to show and tell you.

38. Stop being so angry.  It makes you ugly.

39. Work through your pain.  It will make you a better person, and you will love yourself more.

40. LOVE.  The noun and the verb.  Life will feel so much more real and you will feel connected to everything in this universe.

And an extra for good measure:

BELIEVE.
And stop to taste the wine.

Love, Trish

Who You Callin' A B*tch?

Appropriate for female dogs.
Not for women.

This has been an interesting week in the world of Facebook. Every once in a while certain posts catch my attention, in both positive and negative ways. Sometimes, I find empowering posts by women for women, such as this one:

This photo contained a story about a sign posted at a gym with a picture of a thin woman. The caption read, "This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?" The post went on to tell the story about how wonderful whales are; they are surrounded by friends, sing beautifully, and are dearly loved, while mermaids do not exist. At the end of the post, the writer states: "We are not fat, we are greatly cultivated." I thought the french model pictured above was beautiful, and I loved the story, so I posted it to my Facebook wall. Since it received mostly positive feedback, I thought it was empowering to women. 

On the other hand, I saw some other posts that disturbed me. Now, some of these posts were by people I'm friends with on Facebook, so I've removed their names, because I'm not attempting to debate these particular people; I just question their posts.

This week, Apple icon Steve Jobs died. He was a positive person who followed his dream, and in the process he changed technology in ways that people truly appreciated. There were several Steve Jobs quotes circulating the social networks this week, and it was obvious that many people personally felt affected by this great loss to the field of technology. Take this person's post for example:

"Im not gonna name them out but some ppl are flat out fffing stupid!!! ..... so she says.... "I'm sad that I there won't be any new ipod versions...but at least I have the latest ipod."..... Really!!! WTF!!! SMH!!!.....Rest in peace and rest assured Steve Jobs...your legacy is rock solid and yes there will [be] newer versions of the Ipod...what a stupid bitch!!!"

Obviously, this person was deeply affected by the loss of Steve Jobs, and the post, I'm sure, was meant to portray his respect and admiration for the iconic figure. However, regardless whether he was upset at the loss or just woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, was it necessary to call the woman he refers to a "stupid bitch"? I mean, the woman who thought there would never be new versions of the Ipod obviously wasn't a brain surgeon, but I'm not quite sure what it was about her post that made her a bitch. I remember reading that and getting this feeling in the pit of my stomach that stayed with me for awhile. What made it worse is that a woman responded to the post with the always articulate, "LMAO!" (Yes, I'm being sarcastic. It doesn't take much to get me to laugh really hard; it takes a lot to get me to respond to anything with an "LMAO".)

Just a few hours ago, I got on Facebook and saw the following picture:

Underneath it, a woman commented twice:

"marilyn is so beautiful. i have her picture on a poster behing my bed, and others all over my alls." (SIC)

"that other bitch..... will never be on a poster..... and damn sure never in my room."

Let me be clear: I. HATE. DUCK. LIPS. I wish I could just tell every young woman out there that she looks absolutely ridiculous poking her lips out in such an unattractive manner. And honestly, does the young woman really think that expression, along with the peace sign, make her cool? I won't assume. But the commenter felt compelled to call her a "bitch". Why? Honestly, if you look at both photos, Marilyn may be sending a message to men that she's ready and willing to cater to their every need. The young woman on the right could be sending any message, but it looks like she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her, and as far as I'm concerned, that's a bit more empowering than Marilyn's "Give me your love package" look.

Here's the thing. Not all women are necessarily going to care about their image. Not all women are conscious about their words and actions. However, whatever our mode of expression might be, be it through our words, our body image, our facial expressions, or even our attitudes, there's no reason to call us bitches.

I'm strong, I'm confident, I'm bold, and I say what I think. Some people might think I'm a bitch. I disagree. Whatever I do and whatever I say, my intention is always to do and say it with love. If that makes you uncomfortable, then it's your problem. Calling me a bitch won't resolve your issues. All it does it demonstrate your lack of ability to appreciate me for all of who I am, especially if it doesn't conform to your perceptions of who a woman should be in this society.

Don't go around calling women bitches. Unless you're okay with men being called assholes. I'm sure when men stop to think about it, it's the last thing they'd want to be called.