BCHS Class of 1989

Last weekend was my 25^th high school class reunion – Baldwin County High School Class of '89. While I wasn't there in person, I was there in spirit with my former classmates. Looking through all the photos of the reunion that were posted on Facebook by my classmates this week, I was taken back to my very first day on the BCHS campus.

I entered BCHS as a freshman the fall of 1985. I went from a class of around 40 students at my junior high school to about 400 in my freshman class. My plan for the first day was to keep a low profile until I got my bearings, but that didn't happen. I arrived at school with my brother, who was handsome, an upperclassman, a football player, and one of the most popular kids on campus. All morning, I had girls introducing themselves to me and asking if I was Tony's sister. Then, they would giggle, tell me how cute he was, and ask if he was dating anyone. Seriously!

Surviving my brother's fan club was easy compared to the reception that I received from some of the teachers. Yes, on the first day, my high school biology teacher singled me out in front of the class to let me know that, while I was the brightest at my junior high school, at best I would fade into mediocrity in high school. I also got called to the office that day for a conference between my dad and the Principal over my math class. I had registered for algebra but was instead placed in basic math. It resulted in a standoff where the Principal refused to move me, I refused to do any of the assignments in the class, and my parents went to the School Board. Two weeks later it was decided that if I made at least a C on the first algebra test that I could enter the class. The pressure was on me as the test was the next day and I didn't have the text book to study. Despite this, I made a B on the test and was finally placed in the correct class.

Luckily, the groupies soon dissipated. While I floated among the different social groups, I made a few strong friendships that lasted through the end of high school. We would mainly hang out at school and occasionally on the weekends. We laughed. We argued. We talked about boys. However, my dating life was practically non-existent – with the exception of my boyfriend freshman year and a dear male friend who took me to the big school dances. I was shy and extremely focused on my studies, and I think that guys were intimidated by me. I also think that they were scared of my brother. It would be interesting to hear my male classmates perspective 25 years later; so, speak up please!

Despite my biology teacher's warning, I excelled academically. I made straight A's, was named Most Likely to Succeed by my senior classmates, and graduated valedictorian. I was the first to walk out on the field to proudly receive my diploma, and despite all the tears, hugs, and promises made that night to friends that we would keep in touch, our lives took different paths and our friendships faded. Besides my cousin, I lost touch with everyone in my graduating class.

And then Facebook came along, and we began to reconnect. And I love it! I love to read the snippets of their lives, see pictures of their families, celebrate their successes, give comfort when needed, and of course, argue about college football (WAR EAGLE). So, here's to the next reunion and hoping that I'll be there to hug each and every one of y'all!

Division of Household Duties

Recently at lunch with some girl friends, we began to discuss our roles and responsibilities in our relationships with our partners. They both felt that they had relationships based on equality, talking about how they divide up the chores around the house. And then I announced, “Ben and I have an agreement. I take care of the inside of the house, and he's responsible for the outside.” There was silence, and then I strained to fill the void. “I'm from the South. My parents had the same agreement, and it worked for them.”

I grew up in rural Alabama in the 1970s and 1980s. My mom was a homemaker. She cooked all our meals, except one Sunday a month when my dad made breakfast or when he grilled during the summer. My mom would always rise before my brother and me to ensure that our breakfast was ready before she woke us up. Until we were old enough for chores, my mom did it all. She made beds, swept, mopped, vacuumed, dusted, cleaned bathrooms, washed dishes, did the laundry, and ironed. She made our house a home. She was my role model.

As I said, my parents assigned chores to my brother and me when we were old enough. Kitchen duties were equally assigned – setting and clearing the table, washing dishes, and taking out the trash. Then, while my brother helped my dad outside, I made my brother's bed, cleaned his room, and did his laundry. And I thought nothing of it – until my freshman year in college when one of my friends was outraged by my admission. Didn't I know that we were in the age of equality? Why would I allow myself to be oppressed? One of the key functions that I identified with womanhood was devalued in that conversation. I personally did not feel oppressed but felt guilty that I didn't. Then, I worried that I was in denial of being oppressed.

Fast forward to today. I am in a loving relationship with Ben, and we live together as partners. Our relationship is perfectly imperfect. It is unconventionally traditional. And it right for us – for him and for me. I know because we discussed our roles and responsibilities before we moved in together, and we check in with one another and adjust if necessary.

What is my role in our relationship? My role is to be true to who I am. With Ben, the woman that I am is predominantly a lover, a nurturer, and a jokester. I love to make him laugh. I derive pleasure from his happiness. It is fulfilling to me to take care of him in a way that I know he appreciates.

After reading the Five Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman, we realized that Ben's love language is acts of service. That is, he identifies my love for him through the things that I do for him. He especially loves it when I take time to cook a meal from scratch. Honestly, it is one of my least favorite household tasks, but then I saw it through his eyes. That is why, last Tuesday evening, I found myself in a basic cooking class, learning how to julienne vegetables and to properly cut chicken (at an angle) for a stir fry. And I totally enjoyed myself!

Let me be clear that I am not oppressed, and neither am I in denial. My self-worth is not determined by what Ben thinks of me and my housecleaning skills. It is internally derived knowing that I am satisfying an intrinsic part of my nature – that of a nurturer.

LIFE LESSON: Be true to who you are when determining your role in a relationship.

Emerging Woman

Lately, I've been thinking about my role as a woman – in my relationship with Ben, in the larger community, and in the world. One thing that I know for sure is that I am an emerging woman!  Over the next month, I'll be devoting blog space to write about my internal discussions on this topic and what I realized is my truth. But first, I want to discuss the defining moment that got me to the point of being able to have that honest discussion with myself.

Last October in Boulder, Colorado, I experienced a life-changing event – Emerging Women Live! It was the vision of Chantal Pierrat, a former Peace Corps volunteer, to bring together women around the globe who want to change the world by living their own personal truths. I was initially drawn to Emerging Women because Brene Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert were listed as keynote speakers. And their talks were fucking amazing! Brene encouraged us not to engineer our lives to be small but instead to dare greatly and live our own personal truths. Liz taught us that ideas find people and that inspiration is always happening. You only have to clear yourself and be welcoming.

Every session at Emerging Women had me enthralled, and I learned something new from each one. Tara Mohr taught us how to recognize a calling and encouraged us to PLAY BIG and be more loyal to your dreams than your fears. Kristin Wheeler taught us how to find and live our native genius, while Kristin Neff taught us the importance of choosing self-compassion over self-esteem. And Sera Beak fired up our souls!

Emerging Women was way more than just speeches. It was an atmosphere like none other! Emerging Women was open...inviting...a safe space to speak our dreams. Emerging Women was women supporting women, providing encouragement and being caring and kind. I have never experienced anything like it before in my life, but I want to emulate it every day!

It was in this safe space that I began to speak my dream. It began to surface during the Workshop on The Art & Business of Thought Leadership, led by Erin Weed. Erin helps prepare TED TALK presenters to deliver their message. She led us through an exercise of delivering our gift to the world by each of us telling our story, delivering our personal truth, identifying the universal truth, and summing it all up in one word. My word: BELIEVE. I met Erin again that night as I was assigned to her small-group dinner, and we discussed my cancer journey and vocal cord paralysis, my personal truth and how to get my message out. Spoken out loud twice in one day, my dream seemed real and tangible. I saw Erin again the next day, and her words still resonate with me – “Go out and tell your truth! It's fucking awesome! I would definitely follow your blog or newsletter!” Her motivation worked because here I am!

Emerging Women was also about developing relationships with other attendees. It was bonding with Justine of http://everupward.org/ while waiting in line to meet Brene Brown and then hearing her personal truth of life after failed IVF at the small-group dinner with Erin. It was Sarah's welcoming smile and instant friendship and how jazzed she was to speak with her inspiration, Sera Beak.  It was opening up, being who I am, and living my personal truth with all the fabulous women at the conference, and then being honored to share their personal truths as well! It was awesome!

I can't wait to do it again this October in New York City! And I hope you join me! If you want to learn more, go to http://www.emergingwomen.com/.

My Kindle Addiction

My partner Ben had an epiphany about me on Saturday. It was in the morning, and I was quietly reading in the living room. He looked down at me from the balcony and said, “You have an addictive personality.” I asked how he made that deduction. His response: “You never put down your Kindle. I've watched you for the past month, and you're reading every chance you get. You are addicted to your Kindle!” Sadly, it's true.

I first realized that I have an addictive personality the summer before sixth grade. My parents bought an Atari, and I spent a large part of every day playing Frogger to the exclusion of all else. Getting to the next level was like a drug for me. When school started again, I made the wise decision to give up video games because I knew that I was addicted. So, I went cold turkey. To this day, I don't play games on Facebook, and I've never owned a Nintendo, Playstation or Wi.

Knowing that I have an addictive personality, I never experimented with smoking or drugs for fear of where that experimentation would lead. I also rarely drink alcohol or gamble, and if I do, I set strict limits. I thought that I had all my bases covered until I realized that I had an addiction to Coca-Cola, which began around sixth grade. I drank Coke every day, and when stressed, I would immediately reach for a Coke. It was my coping mechanism. And then last year, I began feeling horrible when I drank Coke. My eyelids would break out, and I would get headaches, nausea, and hives. Yet, despite feeling ill, I would have such intense cravings that I would drink another Coke. I was tested for allergies and was found to be allergic to two ingredients in soft drinks. I also found out that ingesting foods to which I am allergic causes the pleasure centers of my brain to light up, making me crave them more. I again went cold turkey. It has been nine months since I had a Coke, and I still have intense cravings. If I see a Coke, I can taste the flavor and feel the bubbles. This is why my house is a Coke-free zone.

As you probably guessed, there is a pattern to my addictions. When I stopped drinking Coke, I substituted reading as my coping mechanism. If I get stressed, out comes the Kindle for a break from reality. Yes, I am addicted to reading! I take my Kindle everywhere. The one-click button is my downfall! My favorite time of the day is riding the Metro to and from work because I can read uninterrupted. If you have to have an addiction, I would assume that reading is a better one to have. At least I am exercising my brain, instead of killing off brain cells!

Still, having Ben call me on it, made me aware that by reading so much, I am missing out on being present in the moment. But this addiction is tricky...it's not possible to go cold turkey and give up reading. I realized that I am going to have to wean the hours that I read down. So, today, I limited myself to a morning of reading (hey it was a holiday!) and then promised Ben that I would put my Kindle away. Okay, it helped that my battery ran low, and I admit that I did sneak and download a couple of books. However, I haven't read anything on the Kindle since this morning, even though I am jonesing too!

I know that as I go through the weaning process, I will need to be vigilant to prevent myself from going mindlessly into another addiction. And, more importantly, I need to analyze why I am using all these coping mechanisms and then be willing to work on resolving those issues.  My life is definitely a work in progress!  

LIFE LESSON: Addictions come in all forms, not just alcohol, drugs, or gambling. Even reading can be an addiction if you singly focus on it to the detriment of other parts of your life. Don't be afraid to be present in the moment!

A Grandmother's Wisdom

My Grandmother

 My grandmother celebrated her 91^st birthday yesterday. She totally rocked it! She grew up in the South during the Great Depression, raised by a widowed mother with a house full of children. In her early teens, she fell in love and married my grandfather. They worked the family farm together until he passed away in 2007. She was a widow after 68 years of marriage.

My grandmother is interspersed throughout my childhood memories. If there was a child, there was a chore to be completed! I am an expert dishwasher because of her! By her side, I learned how to milk a cow, to churn butter, to make grape jelly, and to plant a garden. I loved sitting with her on her front porch shelling peas and beans during the summer.

My grandmother is a fabulous cook! Her homemade biscuits with honey and a glass of sweet tea makes a tummy ache quickly disappear! Her chicken and dumplings are delicious, and her squash pie is THE BEST EVER! I will fight anyone over the last slice of that pie, and I will win! Unfortunately, I was too busy washing dishes to learn how to cook from her!  Well, except that I make a wicked squash pie if I do say so myself!    

In my early adulthood, I rebelled at the life my grandmother wanted for me. She wanted all her granddaughters to be married at 18 or soon after so that our husbands would take care and provide for us. I wanted to take care of myself. She wanted me to live close by. I wanted to explore the world. My grandmother wanted me to have the life that she knew and that was comfortable to her. I wanted the life that I dreamed about. As I lived my true life, her views evolved. When others commented negatively to her that I wasn't married, she began telling them that she didn't worry about me as I could take care of myself. When discussing the possibility of marriage recently, my grandmother surprised me by saying that it doesn't matter if Ben and I ever get married, as long as we are in love and are committed to each other. She said that we should get married if that's what we want to do, but not because others expect it of us.

My grandmother and I have become even closer since my mother and grandfather died. She is the mother-figure in my life. I call her when I need comfort and prayer. I call her when I need advice. Below are two major life lessons that I have learned from her that I wanted to share.

1. It is better to laugh than cry.

Life may be difficult, but you feel better if you laugh. She learned this from her mother when she was growing up in the Great Depression. I love seeing her with Ben because the two of them never stop laughing! During her birthday call, I told her that she needed to tell Ben to stop tickling me. Her response: Tickling is good for the soul!

2. Believe

My grandmother is both religious and spiritual. She is a firm believer in the power of prayer. It is not unusual to hear her speaking in tongues when she feels led by God and for healing to occur. I pray, but when you add my grandmother's prayers to mine, it's like electricity fills the air. She definitely taps into positive energy and sends it flowing to the person in need. I tell her that she has a hotline to God!

Happy Birthday Dad!

Dad & me

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 76 today if he were alive. He was 33 when I was born, but, sadly, he passed away at age 52, when I was 19 years old. It's hard to believe that he's been gone longer than the number of years that I had him in my life. But what an impact he made!

Dad & Mom, Marine Corps Ball 1975

 My dad was a Marine. He served from 1956 to 1976 when he retired as a Gunnery Sergeant. He completed 3 tours in Vietnam, and, for his bravery and efforts, he received the Bronze Star and 2 Purple Hearts. He taught me to be proud of my country and that serving the public good was noble. Hearing his tales about his travels around the world made me yearn to travel as well. He is one of the biggest reasons that I help the most vulnerable – children – in Africa today.

Dad's college graduation day

 My dad was a scholar. His IQ was that of a genius. He excelled in math and science, teaching physics in the Marine Corps with only a high school degree. Upon his retirement at age 38, he enrolled in college, earning his bachelor's degree, summa cum laude, 4 years later. Seeing him walk across the stage to get his degree made me want to do the same! In high school, I learned geometry, chemistry and physics by studying with my dad each night. He was my own personal tutor.

My dad was a survivor. The year before his retirement, my dad spent the entire year being treated at Bethesda Naval Hospital. He had developed a never before seen kidney disease, possibly due to Agent Orange during his time in Vietnam. He retired with 100 percent disability. When I was 6, I found him in the bathroom vomiting blood and near death. He was given a 5 percent chance to live and spent 2 months in intensive care. He lived another 13 years before succumbing to a heart attack. From him, I learned to never give up! This has come in handy during my own health struggles.

My dad was a loving husband and father. He was loyal to his friends. He loved to laugh. He loved life. But, he wasn't perfect. My parents argued upon occasion. He was forgetful and embarrassing at times to his high school daughter. Yet, every night before bed, he would give me a hug and tell me that he loved me.

To sum my dad up in one word: AWESOME!!!

Body Image

Body image is defined as the feelings a person has about his/her body. I developed a negative body image at an early age, which followed me into adulthood. It started at age 4. I was an early bloomer in having unhealthy thoughts about what others thought of me. I was also a perfectionist.

When I was four years old, my little cousin made her arrival into this world, and I was no longer the baby of the family. I was jealous! One day, she wore only a diaper and a smile that had everyone in my family cooing over her. Desperately seeking to have the attention placed on me again, I decided that I needed to look more like her. So, I took off my shirt. One of my older male cousins spotted me and gave me a severe scolding: “You are a big girl, not a baby! Big girls do not show their titties! Now act your age!” For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of my body. I had overheard a previous conversation among my cousins about a bad girl who showed boys her tits. So, I internalized that, as only bad girls show their tits, I was a bad girl. I had ruined my perfect good girl status. In that instant, I became self-conscious of my non-existent breasts.

Fast forward to middle school...the ages of 11-13 were difficult. I hit puberty -- my body changed, and my emotions ran rampant! I was one of the first of my friends to wear a bra, and my breasts continued to grow and grow and grow. It was like someone had put Miracle-Gro in my milk! I was a 36C in a 100 pound, 5 feet 5 inch body. And that's when my older female cousins began to tease me, pointing out how big my boobs were in comparison to theirs. Already fragile, I spiraled into shame. I didn't realize that they were envious of me. Instead, I believed my breasts were not normal, gargantuan even! I hated the attention that they brought me and became even more self-conscious. 

If that wasn't enough, in 7th grade, I was diagnosed with scoliosis and had to wear a back brace for three years. I was the freak who had to get permission from the Governor to play middle school basketball because parents, and therefore the School Board, feared that my back brace could hurt their children. Suffice it to say, my negative body image was cemented by age 13.

It wasn't until college that I finally accepted my breasts after realizing that society (um...men) considered them to be the perfect size. Unfortunately, by the time that I came to that conclusion, I had developed another negative self image -- my weight. Yes, I gained the freshmen 15. I felt fat; therefore, in my mind, I was fat.

I let fat define me for most of my adult life. I either dieted or indulged. I mostly indulged as I am a stress eater. I was unhappy with my body. I took another shame spiral when my sister-in-law gave me a weight loss book one Christmas because it confirmed in my mind how others saw me. I hated looking at my body. And, if I didn't love my body, then I was sure that men wouldn't love my body – and therefore me – either. So, why date? For awhile, I didn't.

Being diagnosed with hypothyroidism and then surviving thyroid cancer helped me re-frame my thoughts about my body. As the thyroid regulates your metabolism, hypothyroidism causes your metabolism to slow down, resulting in weight gain. Now having no thyroid, I must rely on the correct dosage of thyroid medication to regulate my metabolism. As I've come to understand the internal workings of my body, I stand amazed! I now eat healthier to give it the proper fuel. I strengthen it through exercise. And while I have challenged myself to lose weight this year, I know that I will never be the image of the lithe supermodel airbrushed in the pages of a magazine. Neither do I compare myself to that unreachable, perfect standard anymore.

Of course, there are days that I backslide – when I look at my bum in the mirror and see cellulite instead of a cute tush. But, in Ben, I have found a supportive partner. He's not afraid to point out when I am backsliding, which helps me re-frame He encourages me to strive to be healthy while not making me feel it's a statement that I am fat. He shows me that I am beautiful when I have difficulty seeing it on my own.

Life Lesson: Only you determine how you picture your body and how you feel about it. If you have a negative body image, seek out support to help you re-frame your thoughts. Learn to appreciate your body for what it accomplishes, not how you perceive it to look.