Hayde and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and her social media faux pas of sharing it.

I had a bad day and I shared. Sharing is sometimes cathartic because the people who care about you will mostly empathize. This is a touching video on empathy:

and then, understandably, some may feel uncomfortable and may not understand the sharing. I understand, I have had those same moments, and no one is as hard on me as I am on myself, especially when I am tired. It isn't my excuse or my justification. It is simply a part of who I am and it is something I would love to finally shed like an old coat that no longer serves its purpose. I tend to hang on to things thinking they are protecting me, when really they are holding me back, keeping me from moving forward with more fluidity and ease.


Today, I'm feeling unsure of myself, in comparison to others,and because my life has shifted from what was a normal or average day for the past several years, has changed because I'm working and I'm feeling a little off balance (maybe more than a little) and today it doesn't feel great. Today, my mind and heart are telling me to not neglect myself. Nothing good will come from it. Today I reached out for some validation and acceptance on social media when what I should have done before posting anything was kneel down by my bed and find some peace and comfort in prayer. I should have looked for my husband to keep me steady and safe. I should have found my children to look into their eyes to find courage, strength, and kindness. I should have turned on some crazy, good music and danced the blues away. I did talk to my sister though, whom I dedicate this blog (is this a blog?) to because I tell her everything. I'll remember for the next time, because the truth for me is, depression hurts, life's disappointments hurt, unknowingly or knowingly people are hurtful but no one has the power to change how I feel but me. Life doesn't owe me anything, people don't owe me anything. I owe it to myself to navigate all the good and the bad outside of myself and within myself and ask for the help that will do me some good so that ultimately I will be good for others. Tonight, I go to sleep somewhat morose as I figure my bad self out and try to come to a peaceful conclusion for the day. I'm sharing a poem which was originally written in Spanish, it's one of my Mom's favorites which I relate to in this moment.

At Peace
BY AMADO NERVO

(Creator of himself, of his destiny.)

Very near my sunset, I bless you, Life
because you never gave me neither unfilled hope
nor unfair work, nor undeserved sorrow.

Because I see at the end of my rough way
that I was the architect of my own destiny
and if I extracted the sweetness or the bitterness of things
it was because I put the sweetness or the bitterness in them
when I planted rose bushes I always harvested roses

Certainly, winter is going to follow my youth
But you didn’t tell me that May was eternal
I found without a doubt long my nights of pain
But you didn’t promise me only good nights
And in exchange I had some peaceful ones

I loved, I was loved, the sun caressed my face

Life, you owe me nothing, Life, we are at peace!

Written on March 20, 1915.

Read more about At Peace by Amado Nervo (En Paz) Analysis & Poem by www.poemofquotes.com

First things first: Get some sleep.

Good night, moon. (Did you see the moon last night? Good heavens.)

h

Trust.

Without fail, when I am driving down the road with one of my children, or after dropping them off, and head towards running my errands, my mind drifts to my young adulthood and remembers how much I would dream of this life. A life with a husband, children, and all the responsibilities this life has. I had no clue. The second thought I have is despite all the setbacks, the failures, the tears, and the angst, I am capable of living through each trial,challenge and their counter parts all because my Mom trusts me.

Listen Linda, my life has been filled with so much goodness too. However, this little ole' post is not about comparing the good from the bad, or the rain cloud that has taken semi-permanent residence over our heads for a few years (a few long years). Right now it's still too fresh and personal to expand upon. Just know when I say I understand your concern for a) financial issues b) health issues c) depression issues d) weight issues e) marital issues f) children making heart-wrenching choices issues, I really mean I do understand. My heart is right there with yours. 

Life is funny, complicated, horrendous and beautiful. People intentionally and unintentionally hurt us. We feel pain and disappointment. Then, we are also lifted and cared for by people with big hearts and warm hugs, a listening ear and one of the most important for me, people make us laugh. However, trust, both trusting others and being trusted gives me my greatest sense of self.

I am trying to remember a specific event in which my Mother endowed me her trust. There isn't just one. It was always present. When I was a young child I can remember being in places other than our home, we could wander off to explore and play, but I could come back at any moment and she would be there. When I was a teen she handed the responsibility of learning how to drive to my Father. It was a manual transmission. It was not fun, for me or my Dad, but my Mom didn't make a big deal of it. "You'll get it." she would say. She rarely helped me with homework. She would ask if I had any and show up to parent teacher conference and remind me to try my best. She also dropped me off at registration with all my signed papers and a check to pay the fees and say, "see you at home." When I wanted to try out for "song" leader she said, "do your best, good luck!" When I wrecked on a motorcycle (I was sluffing seminary) with a friend (who was a boy)  I asked the person helping to please call my Mom. When she arrived to see my face smeared with the pavement, she didn't scold me, nor did she ever while I recovered, she just said, "think next time before you make a more costly mistake." While waiting in the ER she knew how terribly embarrassed I was to use a bedpan and told the nurse she would help me get to the bathroom. When my friend's Dad came into tell me about myself she didn't try to make excuses or protect me, she made me take my rightful lumps...literally. When I decided to go to college she told me what my parents could help with and I would need to make up the difference. She believed that I could or would and she never let on that she worried about it, if she did. I gave her my fair share of worries and concerns, especially after I left for college, and her counsel and advice did not fall on deaf ears. I am sure there were countless prayers offered and tears shed on my behalf. She never gave up on me. Then, I left for an LDS mission for 18 months, came home, left to work in CA, I was engaged 3 months after I returned from my mission, married 3 months after that, and found out that I was expecting a baby, a honeymoon baby...(how was I so naive?!) 3 babies later, a whole lot of life lived later, and every time I get into a car, whether it was in Boston with 1 baby, or in Salt Lake City with 3, I can hear my Mom while I go over the concerns of the day, or the issues at hand, "You'll get it, do your best and good luck, think before you make any decisions..." and more. Thank you Mom for showing me how to trust and be trusted. Life with me wasn't always pleasant, I know. Thank you for believing in me still, because of you, I can do anything. 

Here's the thing.
It's not an excuse either, it's the truth. It was my coping skill, my survival, my protection, my disappointment, my fear, my heartache.
I gained weight. A lot of it. My self-deprecation makes me believe that I am aware that other people are aware that I am not a size 7 anymore. Laughing at myself makes me think that if I find humor in it, people will not be critical and I will not be fazed by it. Guess what? I am. I learned that tonight when inadvertently, and because I have trained others to laugh "with me" I was being laughed at. Should I be surprised that it hurt? Especially because every day I hurt, literally, at this truth. It is what weighs me down, (no pun intentionally intended ;)). See, outside I laugh, inside I cry.
It's no one thing's or person's fault. Gaining weight has taken many years. Just a few nights ago I was looking at a picture of myself taken when my oldest was 3 years old...17 years ago, maybe 15 to 20 lbs. over my desired weight. When I was pregnant with my second child I was taking a ballet class in the last trimester buns of steel I tell ya. Then after baby number three, I slipped right into my pre-pregnancy jeans. I was young and healthy and happy. Then life, real life started to occur. Anything that had previously had been hard, or sad or devastating began to take it's toll, as other hard, sad and devastating things began to affect or is that effect (feel free to correct me my dear editing friends, but only on that point, I'm too lazy to check and even if I did my 45 year old brain wouldn't remember anyway because I looked a few weeks ago to understand the difference and we all know how well that went) but I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes. Life.
In truth, I don't owe anyone an explanation. I wonder even at this moment why I even write to share it. Well, 1. I'm a sharer 2. 3. 4. 5. I could go on and on. Writing is cathartic. I have many journals from my youth and young adulthood. I quit writing too because life became complicated and I sort of, kind of, I mean really just quit. At my core (It's in here somewhere) I'm not a quitter. Even under all this multitude of sin (quote cred; Arlene Harris, Jeff's Grandmother, may she rest in peace) something deep in my soft core tells me that I am not living to my full potential. Dear everyone who struggles with weight, this is about me and my truth, not an examination, critique or judgement on anyone else or their truth.
All this weight makes me sad, unhappy, mad, and impatient and worse, insecure. When I look at pictures of myself, it isn't only the obvious weight I'm carrying on my frame that makes me aware that I no longer look like I did even 10 years ago, it is all that I described before that pores out of the windows of my soul...my eyes look so weary and sad and harder than being fat, is feeling insecure, and I don't want to feel like that anymore.
So what's next? A plan. Dig deep sister...I am in here somewhere, ready to evolve from this place that is no longer protecting me. Maybe sharing holds me accountable to the people I love the most, and the people who need me the most to be my best self.
Here goes everything. Click publish.

Moorpark College

Boston

South Padre Island

Just do It.

When I was a teenager, I went to a fireside devotional that I had been looking forward to since it was announced. Michelle King, a local TV news anchor was going to speak. I was a writer for our school newspaper (Go Huskies! We won "state" for our little school newspaper the year I graduated!) and was in the throes of finding myself and defining my interests. I loved writing. I loved dancing. I wanted to do both forever. I wanted to hear Ms. King's message, and if I was lucky, I would ask her a question in person.

I got my chance one on one to tell her I was interested in pursuing a career in  Journalism, and with a brutally honest answer, she told me that it was a difficult field to break into and that my chances would be slim. I remember feeling crushed. I wondered why that would be true. What would make it difficult, I wondered. My ability, my looks, my skin color, my height, my weight, my voice, my hair, and sadly, I didn't get the follow up questions out of my mouth, because I felt stopped before I even got started.

It's not Michelle King's fault I didn't go to college to try to major in Journalism with a minor in Communications or English. However, adults have a huge influence on how they shape young people's opinion. I'm not suggesting that had she been positive with me I would not just be a local TV reporter, but maybe even a national TV news reporter. Although, sometimes, I do wish I would have reached for the stars and believed in myself enough to have even had the chance to be like Ann Curry, Natalie Morales, or Christiane Amanpour. Reality check. It's never going to happen. I had my chances along the way to make the decisions that would have led me to whatever interests I had. I was capable. I had the support from parents, family, and friends. I just didn't do it.

This isn't about regrets. Though I have one. I should have stayed at Ricks College to tryout for the Dance Co. instead of going away for the long weekend with roommates because I wanted adventure in my life. I took away the opportunity because I was young, naive, and dare I say foolish. My 40 something year old self wants to take my 19 year old self by the shoulders and say, "stay and at the very least. TRY!!"

I now wonder what my 19 year old self would say to my 40 something year old self if she had the chance to peek into the future. First she would say a few things about her physical state of being. She would be saying, "oh no you didn't just treat my body that way" because she wouldn't know that with just a peek, there have been an incredible amount of challenges and stresses that have changed my way of handling all the pressures of the past few years.  Depression hurts. I also believe that my 19 year old self would take me by the hand, after her initial shock and dismay, and look into my eyes and say, "it's all going to be OK, and at the very least TRY!" I do have an incredible support system. I need to rely on their belief in me, and that of the young woman I use to be and the woman I have become to at the very least try and not be stopped before I even get started.

Dishwater hands

If this were a real fancy blog, I would have posted a picture of a sink full of dishes (before and after) with my hands somewhere in view, and a song by Marta Gomez called manos de mujeres all linked up for your listening pleasure. It's not a fancy blog, well, it's barely a blog, so I'll be happy if one or two of you are reading it at all.

So it's been a couple of years since I have lived in a home that doesn't have a dishwasher. (gasp!) it's almost unheard of these days, but no big deal. I grew up in a home with 7 people. We were the dishwashers. Emphasize dish, my brothers were not pots and pans washers. I didn't know how convenient one could be! In fact, I didn't even really know how to use one properly. I may or may not have needed the maintenance guy to come look at our leaky dishwasher the first week I was married.

I eventually became very dependent! Now I'm back to daily dishwashing and my hands are ever dirty dishwater hands. I am not complaining, however, I am reflective on how little we actually need(by we I mean me).  I'm in a less is more place in my life right now. Firstly, out of necesssity, secondly, because I figure I might as well learn something while I'm here.

I have plenty to think about while I stand over the sink. In my mind's eye I think of all the hands that have served me. The hands that rolled out the masa for fresh homemade tortillas. The hands that would iron freshly washed and dried clothes. The ones that would wipe away my tears. The hands that would clasp together at the end of the day to give thanks and pray.. The hands that would braid my hair. The hands that would be placed on my head for blessings of health and comfort. The hands that placed my children in my arms as soon as they were born.  The hands that caress my face. The hands that effortlessly slip in to mine, and suddenly the dishes are washed, rinsed, dried and carefully put away. It isn't that way every time I wash dishes, but I am reminded often of how much I have, even when it seems that I have little.

Haircuts

I have curly hair. I hated it when I was young. I begged my Mom to let me cut it. She gave in. I had a demimexiafro in the 70's. 

I have had all hair lengths and some crazy hairstyles along the way. If there had been the kind of hair product there is now, maybe someone wouldn't have told me I had Pauly Shore hair. (rude) I can laugh now...just a little.

Today, I let go of a little bit of length.  I've been evolving in these past few months. Letting go of things here and there. Letting go of past hurts. Letting go of feeling like I am in control. Letting go of things that have sat idly in boxes.

It was a scary. The stylist said, "If I had free reign, this is what I would do, and this is why." I said, "Let's do it." Imagine that. Allowing someone with the skill and expertise to get into my hair and cut away all the excess, all the weight, all the fuss. It was liberating. It was symbolic.

I have some things going on in my life. I will need courage, I will need faith, I will need strength.  My Mom has cancer again. The last thing I need is excess, weight, and fuss holding me down. I have a son who has been battling a health condition for the past 2 years. 2 years. I have a marriage that needs some attention. I have 2 other children that need me. I need to be more of me, the girl with dreams, ideals, and passion. Not the girl who survives her life day to day. Life is complicated and sometimes hard. I get that, i'm living it. I'm ready to be present again. 

Today I started with a haircut.

Here's to you Ally!

Sleep didn't come easily last night. I was up at 6:30 am anyway. Looking for stamps that were misplaced and started to get ready for the day.  I have a part-part-time job.  It's a little J to the O to the B, that helps out a little (very little) but every little bit counts. 

So about this job, I'm on the SLC school district assessment team.  That means I go to all the Elementary schools to do a reading assessment 3 times a year, and a language proficiency test for all grades once a year.  We are on the tail end of a 4-5 week testing schedule. It's a fine little job.  Today, I left early hoping to get Joe to the Dr. His cast is falling apart and he's ready to get it off...anyway...this little post is not about my job or the cast really. Just a little background info on why I found myself a little stranded at Highland Park Elementary school. 

I walked out to my car, and the car remote didn't work. I'm thinking, "great, I'm locked out, what else can happen to me", and then, "this little bugger needs a battery".  I'm too far to walk to a grocery store, pharmacy, or big box store to make it worth having left early (though I am not adverse to walking, and frankly, it wouldn't kill me to walk a little).  I call Jeff to ask if he can help me. He tells me he wouldn't be able to come help me for another 20 minutes. I told him I would figure it out. I called one of my friends hoping she might be home, but no answer. I call another friend and luckily for me she answers! I tell her my predicament and she is willing and ready to come to my aid.  She left her job for a little while to come help me. We drove to the pharmacy found the battery I needed, and she allowed me to get a couple of things off my chest. No judgement, no fixing, just listening.  Gotta love a friend like that.  Thanks Ally! I love you a lot, for today and more!

Did I say little too much? A little.