"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: self esteem (Page 1 of 2)

Returning To My Gift

It has been almost two and a half years since I’ve written in this blog. It has been the same amount of time since I’ve really written anything, except for Facebook posts and greeting cards. These facts do make me sad.


For those of you who know me, and to inform those of you who don’t, writing had long been my passion. I started writing this blog regularly after becoming ill, losing my job, and going on disability. I had always enjoyed writing, but once I had hours upon hours of free time to fill up, I realized that writing was not only an outlet for me, but a way that I could help others through what I was experiencing and learning in my chronic illness journey.

This blog mostly started off because of my health journey but it became so much more than that, hence why I titled it Thoughts and Ramblings on Life, Love, and Health…a title that I am actually considering changing, but that would make complications for me since the blog title is on my book. The jury is still out on that!

I started this blog in 2010 and was very dedicated to it.The more I wrote about chronic illness and autoimmune disorders, mostly Sjogren’s, the more I heard from other patients about their experiences. It was at that time that I felt moved to get word out into the world about how much Sjogren’s was misunderstood and misdiagnosed. So I spoke with many of the patients I had come to know and their stories gave birth to my first and only book, Tales from the Dry Side: the Personal Stories Behind the Autoimmune Illness Sjogren’s Syndrome.

Several years after the book was published, I stopped writing, completely. People asked me why I wasn’t blogging anymore and I kept telling them I had lost interest. And when I told people this, I meant it. I had absolutely no desire to write or put my thoughts and feelings out into the world anymore.

Deep down, I knew there was more to it than that. For example, my last blog entry before today was a story about my dog, Molly, who was like a child to me and died at the age of 15 years old. Her death, and my post about her death, absolutely wrecked me. 

After her death, I had several painful surgeries, followed by long recoveries and we almost lost one of my stepchildren. Shortly after Molly died, we were in a position where we needed to take in another dog, who was not living in good circumstances, and desperately needed a home. That dog, Foxy, subsequently suffered many serious health issues during a majority of her time with us and ultimately died a short two and a half years after we took her in. 

A relative passed away, my health deteriorated, and I made a major decision to leave a church I had been a longstanding member of and I not only changed churches, but went to another church home that was in most ways, the opposite of where I came from. And, I did this alone, meaning without my husband. I guess in many ways, I felt the need to turn inward, to self protect, and to be in survival mode.

However, not too long ago, there was a week where on three separate occasions, the topic of finding and recognizing my spiritual gifts came up. I think the first time might have been during a sermon at church. We’re in a pandemic. I lose track of a lot of things! The second time was definitely during a church related class that focused on finding and using your spiritual gifts. That grabbed my attention like a lightning bolt. The pastor was talking about worksheets we were given that would help us find our spiritual gifts. Immediately, writing came into my head. While I do believe I have other spiritual gifts given to me by God, that was the one that overtook my brain. and it was in that moment that I realized how much I missed writing and how much I was wasting this God given talent…not because I’m some amazing talented writer who has perfect grammar and what have you, but because I write in a way that makes people think and more importantly, helps people.

The third thing that happened in that span of time was that my therapist asked me during a session why I don’t write anymore. I explained to her about not having the desire to write, etc. But then something in me stirred and I knew I should share with her how I had been feeling about the writing issue. So, I finally did.

Because let’s be honest, it wasn’t about not having the desire to write. My therapist and I had some good conversation about this and all the underlying junk that went with it, a lot of which I mentioned above. She encouraged me to not worry about blogging and just write for myself and eventually I did, in a journal. I found this process helpful in identifying much of what was holding me back: thinking I wasn’t a good enough writer, feeling “less than” compared to other writers, being sick of hearing about, and writing about, Sjogren’s, for so long feeling too vulnerable to put myself out there, and the fact that the person (and hence, writer) that I am now looks quite different compared to the writer I was over two years ago, especially from a spiritual perspective. I was afraid of judgment. There’s this big part of me that wants to write about my faith and Jesus, but I’m so afraid of getting it wrong.

So I spent a lot of time in prayer about all this and I did more journaling…just for myself. I had never written for myself; it was always for other people. What I came to realize is that the gift of writing that I have been given is not for me to ignore or take lightly. It is a gift to be used and shared. I don’t need to beat myself up over the time I didn’t use this gift; it was a season. But now, it’s time to move on to a new season and I hope you will come with me through it.

If you are a reader of my blog, thank you for being here. I do ask for your patience as I found out when I logged in to write this post, that my blogging platform (eBlogger) had completely changed almost everything about the platform. I cannot even find spell check right now. And, when they made the changes, all the formatting got messed up. I guess that means I’m just going to have to work a little harder at it.

Also, thank you to the people who gently kept encouraging me to come back, most especially, my very supportive mother and my ever patient husband. I love you both.

Becoming Us

Photo Courtesy of Myers Creative Photography

To say I have been going through a dry spell with my writing would be a gross understatement. I just took a peek and saw that my last blog post was over THREE MONTHS ago. I have some suspicions about why that happened but I guess what is most important is that I started writing again while we were away in Ireland on vacation. I actually filled up an entire travel journal about our trip and on the flight home, four of the six hours was spent furiously writing in my journal. The other two hours was dedicated to watching the movie, The Departed. Love that one!

Anyways, I feel like I have my writing mojo back, at least I hope so. The words have been running into my brain faster than I can write or process them and that is always a good thing.

Over the past few days I have been acutely aware that Labor Day Weekend is coming up. Six years ago, Labor Day became my favorite holiday weekend and as the weekend approaches every year, the memories of that weekend always resurface. Many of you will recognize this story, but it’s been a few years since I’ve blogged about it and my perspective on it has shifted some, so bear with me.

In August 2009, I FINALLY moved out of the home I shared with my ex-husband. I moved into an apartment and my only roommate was my pooch, Molly. It was truly one of the best times of my life and over the course of the next year and a half of living there by myself, I personally grew in leaps and bounds. After years and years of living with an emotionally abusive alcoholic, I was on the path of reclaiming myself. I felt so free.

I dated on and off. I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship; I wanted to know what it was like to just date someone…no strings attached. For the most part, that didn’t typically go too well for me. I had also become friends with this man who lived in another state (Ohio) and after almost a year of talking on the phone, we realized we had romantic feelings for each other. We met in person, it went fairly well, but once I returned home, the shit hit the fan. I ended up hospitalized due to my Sjogren’s symptoms, he pretty told me I was too much trouble, and that was the end of that. I wasn’t going down that road again. I knew I deserved better.

That event showed me that I was done with dating. When I was having better days physically, I wanted to use my energy on spending more time with my friends and maybe doing some more volunteer work. I had also come to realize that I really didn’t need to be dating, or have a partner, to feel complete. Once you realize that, the fact that you can be happy all on your own, your life takes on a whole new meaning.

At this time in my life, I was very active in my church. I was there just about every single Sunday and I was active in a lot of volunteer work with the church. I had made a lot of friends there, most of whom also became my friends on Facebook. This is one of the nicer things about Facebook, you get to better know people you already know and see in person every week.

Right after my hospitalization, one of those friends started regularly chatting with me after church. He knew, from Facebook, that I had been in the hospital and wanted to see if I needed anything. He asked me about my writing and even though we didn’t appear, on the surface, to have much in common, we could talk comfortably in a way that made it feel like that fact didn’t matter at all.

As the summer waned on, I began to realize that I REALLY started looking forward to church more than I usually did. It was obvious to me that this man’s presence in my life meant something more to me than my other male friends from church. However, I was determined to stay off the dating scene and be this strong, independent woman who was happy being by herself. Because in all honesty, I WAS happy. And I wasn’t willing to give that up again for someone else. Too much had happened to me. Too much had been lost.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that this man from church was having feelings for me and by the end of the summer, it was obvious that the half hour we spent together talking after church just wasn’t enough. And on the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend 2010, he asked me if I wanted to take Molly and go for a walk with him the next day. I said yes because really, what harm was there in that?

So on Monday, we went for our walk.

And then proceeded to spend the entire day together.

When he dropped me off at home, I knew, with certainty, that my life would never again be the same. I knew that I needed this person in my life every day, without exception.

I make it sound easy, but in many ways, it wasn’t. I was incredibly anxious about the whole situation…about opening up my heart again and about the possibility of losing the independence I had worked so hard to achieve. But I also knew that I could not deny what I felt and while at that point I didn’t know for sure that this man felt the same way, I suspected he might. I decided he was worth the risk.

Our relationship snowballed from there. We went on that walk on Labor Day. On Columbus Day, he told me he loved me. The week later, he asked me to move in with him.

I said no.

Even though I was certain at this point I wanted to be with him forever, I wasn’t ready to leave the safe sanctuary I had built for myself. I needed more time.

I lasted until January.
Hey, what can I say?

As I’m sure you have guessed by now, this gentleman from church is my husband, Chuck.

So why am I telling this story again? Well, it is my favorite story for starters. But, it’s more than that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much things have changed for me over the past six years; for Chuck as well. I’ve been thinking about a lot of the decisions we both had to make in order to be together and make this work. I’ve been thinking about our differences and about how on the surface, we would seem an unlikely match; you know, the 60’s hippie marrying the 80’s girl thing. And that’s pretty much just the tip of the iceberg.

But over the past six years, it has become obvious that our differences actually make us better partners for each other, mostly because when you get down to what really matters in a relationship, we are more similar than different.

I’ve had many people tell me how lucky I am to have Chuck in my life. Do I know how fortunate I am that a man like my husband exists in this world? Absolutely. But the thing is, luck didn’t have much to do with it at all. I do believe that God certainly did play a part in terms of us both being in the same location at the same time, specifically our church. I also believe God worked through our former pastor as he was the one that brought Chuck back to our church after many years of being away. There is no way to deny that God wanted us together.

But the rest of it? Definitely not luck either. It was a series of very conscious choices that we both made in order to be together. It was a choice on my part, as a child of God, to not settle for any man treating me in a way that was less than what I deserved. I am the one who decided what my worth was and refused to settle for anything less than that. That’s hard stuff.

I see postings on social media all the time about how terribly women are treated by their spouses. Or how terrible children are treated by their parents and vice versa.I read about how people settle for friends who view them as disposable. If you don’t hear anything else I say in this entire blog post, please hear this…

I don’t care who you are.
You are NOT disposable.
You deserve love and respect just as much as nobody and don’t EVER let anyone tell you differently.
I really wish someone had told me that when I was married to my first husband.
So I am telling YOU now.

If you have people treating you less than the precious gift God intended you to be, you need new people. Like now.

There were other conscious choices my husband and I made as well. Some of them minor, some of them much more important.

I found out long after we got together that my husband was interested in me long before I thought he was. I thought his romantic interest in me grew from the time I got out of the hospital until that Labor Day Weekend. What I didn’t realize was that he was interested in me for almost the whole time he was back in church. I’m guessing that was at least six months, if not longer. But he saw, from Facebook, that I had gotten involved with the man from Ohio and he waited.

He waited.

That’s the kind of love we all deserve.
Someone who is in it for the long haul.
Someone who thinks you are worth waiting for.

Luck certainly had nothing to do with us being together one week in 2011 when I realized I needed to make a decision about whether I was going to stay or leave Chuck. There was no fight, no argument. We didn’t even really have a disagreement. No raised voices. What we did have was a discussion that made it glaringly clear that there was an insurmountable obstacle between us, a deal breaker so to speak. Nothing that he did wrong, nothing that I did wrong….just two very different wishes for our future. There were a lot of tears that week and a lot of soul searching. There was a difficult decision to be made.

I obviously stayed.
And I’ve never looked back.

So why do I mention all this? Because I think that people look at us, use the term “lucky” in describing our relationship, and sometimes think that a relationship like ours is unattainable. I’m hear to tell you it is not. But, it is a lot of hard work. You don’t see our hard work. Well, maybe a few of you do. Our hard work is the day to day stuff that makes our marriage stronger each and every day. You won’t see it on Facebook. You will actually NEVER see a negative post, sarcastic comment, or passive-aggressive statement from one of us about the other on Facebook, or any other social media site. That is part of our covenant to each other. That is part of our hard work together.

I think that is part of why I love this time of year and looking back at the story of how our marriage came to be. It reminds me to not take the hard work for granted, It reminds me of our beginning and how special it truly was. It reminds me that your past hurts do not have to define who you are or where you go in life. And finally, it reminds me that in life, sometimes you just have to take a risk and  grab onto your happiness when it is right in front of you.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

I have a confession to make.

I have Facebook envy.

Not over things like people getting married, having babies, etc. I’m good with all the happy events and I will be the first person commenting on your joys. And, your sorrows. No, this is more about the evil jealousy monster that pops up when Facebook world seems so much easier than my world. “Seems” being the operative word here.

Sometimes it is bad, like when I am having a tough time physically and not able to get out of the house much. I open up that Facebook newsfeed, start scrolling, and my mind is assaulted of image after image of people getting together, having fun, and making memories. Many times, I am fine with it all. But then there are other times when it is just plain hard. It’s those times that I have to remember that the grass is not always greener and even if it is, who cares??

To be honest, I am guilty of excessive sharing, of what I am doing, on Facebook; which made me sit down and think about my motives in doing that. Why do I post that I am out having fun with my husband? Why do I feel the need to “check-in”? I cannot speak for anyone else, but for me personally, when I post stuff like that, it’s all about sharing my happiness with those who are important to me. I don’t collect Facebook friends; people who are on my page are people I genuinely care about, want to stay in touch with, and/or want to truly get to know better. The two people that come to my mind right away are my mother and brother. They see me struggle so much and are always supporting me. I know for a fact that they like to see when I am happy and/or doing well.

I have seen people post on Facebook, myself included, about how one cannot get a true picture of another person’s life just from reading a person’s Facebook page. I agree with that to a point, but the reality is, many people just post the happy highlights of their life. They don’t go deeper and allow us to know the unsavory or tough parts of their lives. Sure, everybody has a right to post what they want, but I try very hard to be as authentic as possible on Facebook.

So why the envy on my part? Well, like I said, some of it is based on the fact that I want to be able to be out in the world and because of my physical limitations, I often cannot do that. And, that can be very hard for me. It’s not other people’s fault, or even their problem. It’s just how it is. One of the solutions to this would probably be to spend less time on Facebook.

Then there is also insecurity and that nagging feeling I keep working on eliminating from my life. You know the one: it says “you are not good enough” or “you’re too much work.”

In addition to that, I struggle at times with feeling left out. I’m embarrassed to admit that, because it shows a vulnerable side of me that I am not always as comfortable with as I’d like to be. Feeling left out does make me sit back and think about if I have been inclusive when the tables are turned. The answer is always yes, to the best of my ability anyways. So then the question comes up for me, is it me? Is there something I am lacking in my personality? Is it the fact that because of my health, I am not always reliable? I honestly don’t know the answer to those questions, but I AM beginning to realize that it doesn’t matter. My goal as a human being should not be to worry about what people think of me or whether they like me. My goal should be to just be an authentic person doing the best she can in this world.

The funny part about all this is, when somebody talks to me off of Facebook, either in person, by text, e-mail, etc., about what they have been doing in life and the fun they may be having, I am genuinely happy for them, even on my very worst days. I don’t have “in person jealousy”. I never have. So what is it about Facebook that elicits that response in me when it is the complete opposite off of Facebook? I will get back to you guys when I figure that one out!

This week, I had a Facebook exchange with a friend of mine about a chronic illness blog entry I posted, not one of mine. A couple of things we both said stood up to me, even twenty-four hours later. I had mentioned to her that oftentimes, people are clueless about what people with chronic illness go through on a day-to-day basis and what our limitations are, especially socially. It wasn’t intended as a crass statement, just a fact. I know for me, there are maybe two or three people, who do not have a chronic illness, that get what I go through every day…not because other people don’t care (some don’t, but most do), but because they are not living my experience. The two or three people who do get it are around me enough to see the struggle and trust me, they know it’s real!

That all being said, after the exchange with my friend, it made me realize that it works both ways. Yes, most people don’t “get it”. But oftentimes, I don’t get them either. For example, I have no idea what it is like, as a woman, to work full-time and raise children. I can appreciate the struggle of that, but I can never truly “get it” because I’ve never lived it. The same holds true for for military spouses. I cannot even begin to imagine what it is like to have my spouse serving overseas and seeing them so infrequently, while keeping the household and rest of the family together. I can listen and support, but I cannot truly understand.

My friend mentioned in our exchange about how, as people with chronic illness, our lives are so different than our friends or family member. She’s right. What is important to us may not be important to them. Something that they might struggle with may be totally out of the realm of possibility for us. But I guess that is the point I am trying to make. It doesn’t have to be us vs. them. Sometimes people don’t want to make the effort to understand a person with a chronic illness. And sometimes we are just too damn tired to make an effort to understand them. But, amazing things can happen when we make an attempt to meet somewhere in the middle. Compassion goes a long way to mutual understanding.

One of the best things a friend ever said to me was this: “I don’t understand what you go through day to day, but I’m sure it’s hard. I’m here.” That’s it. That simple. Can you imagine what it would be like if we ALL said that to our friends and family?

Despite all this writing, my message is simple: don’t compare yourself to others.

You are on this earth for a reason.
You are a miracle.
Shine bright.

Read “On Being Naked” on The Manifest-Station

I have been a writing a lot lately and I thank the Lord for that. I was going through a difficult time with my writing, which started sometime before Tales From the Dry Side was published and lasted right up until about the end of 2014. Part of the reason was due to being so busy in early 2014 with the book and starting a new job back in the nursing field (yay!). I love and am absolutely proud of Tales From the Dry Side, but the marketing that goes into self-publishing a book successfully is astronomical.The other big reason for having a difficult time with my writing was that I was having a hard time connecting with myself and I just couldn’t seem to get it together to make the sentences come as often as I would like.

Some of my blogging, maybe half of it, is writing designed to teach and inform, mostly about Sjögren’s syndrome and autoimmune diseases in general. The rest of it takes the form of a personal essay. If I just wrote personal essays for the rest of my life, that would be fine with me. I may try my hand soon at fiction again; we will see. I may try and publish another book. The jury is still out on that one.

Lately, for reasons that have recently become clear to me, my writing has been more intense, more authentic, and not to sound like a jerk, but good. More like great. Great because I am more willing to share more of my personal experiences and feelings with my readers and at the end of the day, we are all human. We all want to connect and know that someone else feels how we do. Some of the writing never gets published or makes it to my blog; its just for me.

My girlfriend, Tina, is one of those people who connects well with others. I know that if I want to get together and have a chat with a gal pal and have a conversation with some real depth to it, she’s one of my girls. A few months ago, Tina introduced me to a website called The Manifest-Station, founded by Jennifer Pastiloff. Jen is a writer, yoga instructor, and overall great human being. She leads sold out workshops all over the world which you can check out HERE if you’d like. Tina knows how much I am devoted to writing, yoga, and how sensitive a soul I am. The Manifest-Station is a website/blog where sensitive souls, and excellent writers (including Jennifer) share their personal experiences and more importantly, look for the beauty in every day life. Also known as Beauty Hunting.

Tina also called my attention to the fact that The Manifest-Station was accepting essay submissions. I was working on a piece that had to do with body image issues and I thought it would be a good fit for The Manifest-Station. I found out yesterday that the piece was accepted and it was published this morning.A huge thank you to Jennifer Pastiloff and her staff for loving this piece as much as I do. You can read it by clicking on this link:

On Being Naked

Yoga and My Body

This past April or May, I started taking a gentle yoga class at my gym. I have been pretty consistent with attending the class, with the exception of a period of time this past summer when I was not feeling well and at the doctor all the time. It is a gentle yoga class with a wonderful instructor, who has gone out of her way to show me modifications to help accommodate the joint issues with my wrists and knees.

Since I started the classes, I have seen some dramatic improvements in my flexibility, strength, and balance. As some of you may remember, I dealt with a bout of Guillain-Barre in February 2012 which required me to go through months of physical therapy to regain full functioning of my legs. However, I continued to struggle with mild balance issues at times. Since starting yoga, my balance issues have all completely resolved. I probably have better balance now then I did pre-Guillain-Barre.

I have noticed in my last several classes how far I have come in the class in terms of being able to do and hold the various postures. Two in particular have always challenged me and this week, I have been able to do both of them with a lot of effort, but no pain.

Something very unique happened to me today though in class. Yoga is a very get-in-tune with your body type of exercise. At the end of class, we get into a position called Shavasana or in layman’s terms, the “corpse pose.” I know, I know. Makes you want to run right out and sign up for yoga. It is actually a very important part of the class. It is the chance for the body to regroup and reset itself. It is almost like a deep, meditative state and is especially important for someone like me, who frequently has a hard time quieting her mind.

So after what I thought to be a very successful yoga class for me, I got into Shavasana and I began to have all these thoughts running through my head. Emotions flooded me. It reminded me of the few times when I went to acupuncture and I would start spontaneously crying for no reason. The thoughts that flooded my mind today had to do with my body and how much I have started to come to terms with it, flaws and all.

Until recently, I have always been at war with my body for one reason or another. I didn’t like the way I looked: my hair was too curly, I had too much body hair, I was fat, the list went on and on. I had cancer in my mid-twenties which of course wreaks havoc on your body and self-esteem. Then came the autoimmune issues. They have caused me to be at war with my body more than any other thing that has ever happened to me. I have been working hard over the past few years on changing the way I look at myself and more importantly, the way I talk to myself. But there is something about yoga that has accelerated that process for me. Yoga allows me to see what my body is capable of, rather than how it has betrayed me.

While in Shavasana this morning, all I could think about is all the amazing things my body has done for me. Yes, I know I was supposed to be meditating and keeping my mind clear, but I figured this was all therapeutic for me, so I let myself experience it. My body has endured so much. In periods of my life, I have dumped a ridiculous amount of toxic food and drink into it, while avoiding any type of exercise. My body has endured up to fourteen hour shifts as a nurse; most of it on my feet. I have deprived it of sleep. It has undergone long and arduous tests and treatments; everything from months of radiation to bronchoscopies to surgeries. It has survived the invasiveness of it all. My body has endured toxic medications. It has enabled me to show love and affection. It has allowed me to go on adventures and experience a small part of this world. It has served me well when I have been of service to other people. This body has feed the hungry and held the hands of the suffering. It has made a difference in the life of others.

Lying still on that hard floor this morning, I became acutely aware of how amazing my body is. It is stronger today than it was yesterday. It is stronger this year than it was last year. This has not happened by chance; it has happened because I take better care of it; much better care.

As all these thoughts were going through my head this morning while lying with my eyes closed and I began to cry. It wasn’t a sobbing type of cry, but more of a silent tear down the cheek type of cry; the kind where you try to stop it, but the tears keep coming. Of course as this was happening, I immediately thought about the fact that I was in a room with about twenty other people and they might see me all teary and think I was a nut. But then I realized it didn’t matter. It was my yoga experience. My time to be aware of and rejoice in my body.

So thank you yoga.
And of course, thank you body.
Thank you for serving me well.

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