Guest Blogging: Pizza & Fighting Stigmas

Hello, my lovelies!  It's been an exciting summer and beginning of fall for me with lots of great blogs and feedback from all of you!  Among the many adventures, I was asked to guest blog for two blogs.  Please take a moment to read them!

Indie Ogden Utah: Peace. Love. Pizza.  - Business Feature on Lucky Slice Pizza in Ogden, UT.

"If you’ve been on Historic 25th Street you know there are LOTS of great restaurants, however only one of them offers peace, love and pizza to all that come to visit."

LINK TO THIS POST

Stigma Fighters: The Face of Depression.  

"I've often wondered what depression would look like from the inside out.  If we could use a microscope and snap a photo of what it looked like festering and burning inside someone's body......"

LINK TO THIS POST

Thank you for all of your continued support!  This adventure is just as much yours as it is mine!

Keep finding your sunshine!

Until next time, my lovelies!
-R

::GUEST BLOGGER:: Independence.

Note from Raylynn:

Happy 4th of July, my lovelies!  I am honored and very pleased to turn the blog over to Ashley Merical as she shares her perspective on being the daughter of a soldier and the sacrifices her family has made for our freedom.  I grew up with Ashley's stepmother in Miles City, Montana and I could not be more humbled to share this with all of you.  Freedom ALWAYS comes at a price for someone.  God Bless our America and those who have kept it free.  Until next time, my lovelies!  -R

Independence means something different to everyone. However, when speaking of the independence of our great nation most agree that independence means we get to choose the lives we lead and make our own choices. Every Fourth of July our nation is seen shooting fireworks, having parties and parades to celebrate our independence. Although who pays the price for this sweet freedom? This freedom comes at no cost to many Americans, however for the families of the men and women in our military; this freedom means something very different. This means sacrifice, dedication and fear. Some might even say that their freedom tastes sweeter because they know what it costs to maintain this independence most take for granted. Whether you agree or disagree with the reasons we are still in this war is irrelevant. The soldiers who fight this battle do not choose why, they do not even choose when, these choices are made by the government, not the soldier.

These men and women choose loyalty to their country above all else, even above family. My father Kord Merical was deployed to Afghanistan April of 2012; this story is insight to how his deployment affected our family, as told from my point of view. Though my father did not pay the ultimate price for freedom, he still paid a cost greater than many know.  I would like to dedicate this piece to every military family and say thank you, I know how hard it can be to serve your country.

Kord Merical served in the United States Marine Corps from 1989-1993. During this time Kord was deployed to Iraq. Once the end his four years were up on his enlistment Kord chose not to re-enlist because he wanted to be a family man and the Marine Corps demanded too much time.  Fast forward about 14 years later and Kord enlisted in the National Guard.  He always had a passion for the military and he felt that the National Guard would not require as much of his time as the Marine Corps. However, as the war in the Middle East continued, more and more of our soldiers from all branches were beginning to be called to battle.

I am Kord’s oldest daughter; I was the oldest child still living at home at the time of his deployment. It was the end of my junior year of high school when he had to leave. I will never forget that day. The way it felt. I have never felt so much pressure through the entire core of my body. There is no lower feeling in the world than watching your hero walk onto a plane and wondering if you will ever see him return. The whole weekend you spend as much time with your family as possible. You are constantly shuffled from one support meeting to the next, it is all part of what the military calls “family readiness.” The whole time you are well aware of what is going to happen at the end of the weekend, yet somehow you believe time will stop, that you will never really have to say goodbye. Then suddenly you find yourself waking up one morning getting showered and ready for the very moment you have “prepared” for all weekend. The hotel room falls silent as everyone finishes up brushing their hair and spritzing with hairspray. Finally, reality sets in as you stand on the tarmac with all of the other families, the sounds of cameras clicking, tears falling and boots shuffling.

I remember looking at my sisters, and my step-mom, Heather, who at the time was 5 months pregnant with my baby brother Kordell. As I looked at them I grew worried. How were we supposed to manage on our own for a year without Dad? Dad was such a huge part of our success; he was supportive, funny and yet stern when he needed to be. How were we supposed to have a baby, help Hadley, who was three at the time, understand why daddy had to leave for so long? I was hollow. I couldn’t imagine how Heather, my stepmom felt. She was pregnant, had Kaylee, Hadley and me. I was born with a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy, even though I am extremely mobile outside of my chair it is still harder to go places and manage. I worried that I would be more of a burden than a help to my family while Dad was gone. So as we all clung to Dad, tears streaming down our faces we whispered how much we loved him and how much meant to us assuring him that not one day would go by without us thinking of him and missing him. Then it was time. He stood tall, shoulders proud; he walked to where his men were standing, fell into formation and stepped onto the plane. The goose bumps spread through the entirety of my body.

There we were, holding hands, sobbing; watching the plane wheels leave the ground, and as I held my grandfather’s hand I looked up at that small white speck in the sky and prayed time would fly. We made our way back to the car, cleaned ourselves up, and had a few empty laughs. We stopped at Perkins on our way out of Billings knowing that no one was really hungry. As we drove home we struggled to find conversation desperate to forget about what we had just done. Soon we found ourselves back in Miles City, MT at that menacing front door.  If you have never lived this situation it will be hard for you to fully grasp because saying goodbye to a soldier on their way overseas is nothing like saying goodbye to a family member who is moving or if you are leaving for a long period of time. It is much more daunting and uncertain to say goodbye to a soldier. I prayed every day that he would be safe thinking that if anything were to happen to him over there our family would never smile again. Now as the days passed his absence was still very present, although we grew more comfortable with the empty seat on the couch.

The new routine suited us well; all of us girls grew very close that year, especially Heather and I. Suddenly we became more supportive and aware of each other as we learned how to cope. Then the baby came. The emotions of that day are still just as raw as the day Dad stepped on the plane. Heather gave birth to a beautiful son; Dad was on skype watching but still painfully aware of the fact that his child wouldn’t feel his touch for another eight months. Heather wondering how she was going to be a new Mommy while caring for the other three children all on her own. I have never known more people as brave as Heather and my father.  But there he was the most beautiful pink bundle. I wasn’t in the room during Heather’s labor or delivery, her mother, father, stepmother and other family members were there with her, and I came as soon as she called saying it was time to meet the baby. He was named Kordell because we wanted him to be named after Kord, but still have his own unique name. Then it was time to bring the baby home and a whole new adventure began.

The first week was ok. Kordell grew fussier and fussier. We tried everything from changing formula to changing how much how many ounces in the bottle. Until one day my grandfather found a lump on his leg. After many doctors’ appointments we discovered that Kordell had Caffey’s Disease.  A rare disease where there is excess bone on the leg and arm bones and as the child grows it stretches out and eventually the bone grows into normal size again. Usually by the time the child is three years old they grow out of it. However it is painful when they hit growth spurts. There were many sleepless nights where Heather, her step mother, and I stayed up holding him as he screamed, all we could do was try to make him as comfortable as possible as we took turns soothing him. Dad was even more stressed now that Kordell was sick and we were on our own.  Although again we found our rhythm, our routine with the new baby became normal and we girls grew even closer as we all took care of each other and Heather and I both worked hard to parent the children. Pretty soon the months were flying by.

We grew used to our new life and before we knew it, it was time to pick up our soldier. We were all so excited yet nervous at the same time. We knew it would be hard for us to forget the roles we had taken while he was away and go back to the way we lived before he left. So much had changed; I mean we had another member of the family. Once we got to Billings it seemed as though time had stopped. It was March of 2013. It had started to lightly snow as the soldiers stepped off of the plane. The whistles and cries of hello and excited bustle erupted from the crowd of families.

He made his way through the crowd, eager to meet his youngest son, and he hug each of us. Then he found us, taking Kordell in one hand and Hadley we all formed a small circle taking in all of emotion and the shock of seeing him standing so close; so within reach when he had been unreachable for 12 months. Then the celebrations began, we went to Applebee’s, although I think we were all a little too excited to eat. Except for Dad, he was beyond excited to be going to an American restaurant.

Once the newness wore off and we began to transition into everyday life again things became more stressful. My role as co-parent was over which was hard, I think for Kordell that took some getting used too. The little man was eight months old and he was not used to having a man in the house. That was hard for me. We had a routine that we were all used to and now we had to adjust and re-incorporate him into our lives. However, any problems there were adjusting; it was well worth it to have him home again.

The fourth of July meant more to us that year than just barbecues and fireworks in the park. We finally understood how great our freedom was and what it meant to maintain that freedom. Every day he was gone we prayed and wished the days would fly by and then when he finally got home we prayed some more and thanked God for keeping him safe and making us strong. That year warranted more growth in our family than any other year thus far. I am so proud to call Kord Merical my father because as hard as our year was, it was nothing compared to the year he had. I couldn’t imagine having to be that far from your family not being able to help them, and doing the job he had to do, fighting the battles he had to fight and being in a constant state of stress all while maintaining his famous smile.

So... this Fourth of July take a moment to reflect upon what this holiday means and the families who have fought to keep that holiday.

::GUEST BLOGGER:: Triumph Over Definition.

Note from Raylynn: I am very pleased to turn the blog over to my quirky and delightful sister, Lena, for a guest post of great proportions.  This isn't her first time on the blog and I highly recommend you check out her other post too by going HERE.  Lena is a soon-to-be senior in college in Montana and is our family's resident writer, artist, Doctor Who fan and fan girl extraordinaire.  I hope you enjoy her post as much as I do!  Be sure to check out our GIVEAWAY at the end of her blog post.  

Hello again, R’s lovelies! After making my debut on “Let it Be & Celebrate” I just couldn’t pass up a chance to make an encore appearance. It’s absolutely fantastic to be here with you all once again. Alright. now that we’ve gotten the sentimentalities out of the way, I’m just gonna go for it.

A couple years ago, I was exposed, for the first time, to a delightful young British singer named Ronan Parke. He competed on “Britain’s Got Talent” and has been developing a name for himself ever since. The centerpiece of my musings today is his song, “Defined” (I won’t feel bad if you decide to take a quick break to look it up. In fact, I hope you WILL HERE. The music video will provide an excellent visual backdrop for my thoughts). It speaks out against being labeled/stereotyped by others and feeling inferior because of it. In other words, bullying. Yep. I said it—the big, bad, B-word.

I’ve always been a passionate advocate for anti-bullying. I’ve had my fair share of it. Fortunately, it didn’t get the better of me and I continue to live my life trying to pretend it never happened. But it did. I don’t remember everything that was said/done to me, but my subconscious still does. It’s not something that can be turned off like a light switch; there’s more to it than that.

The mind of the bullied is in a near constant state of paranoia regarding their self-esteem, self-worth, and overall social acceptance. Symptoms include social awkwardness, low self-esteem, and having the need for strong, meaningful relationships. Below you will find not a textbook explanation of these symptoms, but explanations from the point of view of a survivor—from my point of view. I hope you find yourselves better educated on this life-changing epidemic infecting our society.

Symptom #1: social awkwardness. A survivor will oftentimes be afraid of social settings. They have trouble leading out in friendships and general conversations with others due to fear of saying the “wrong thing” and being rejected. Going to social events alone can be paralyzing for this very reason. Keeping to themselves is typical. However, when they find themselves in comfortable social situations, they are capable of being the life of the party.

Symptom #2: low self-esteem. A survivor is constantly questioning themselves. If they were bullied because of their physical appearance, on what part of themselves will they be particular harsh about? Anyone? Anyone? Yes, you in the back row? Very good—you are correct: their physical appearance (not exactly rocket science, is it?). Finding themselves attractive can be difficult because they were forced to believe that they are not. When such a concept is so heavily emphasized, the mind perceives it as a fact, not an opinion. Thanks to having this mindset, survivors tend to appreciate compliments even more so than what can be considered “normal.” Being assured of their beauty and worth (physically and mentally) is vital to their self-esteem. On the other side of the scale, having low self-esteem leads to the development of shoddy sarcasm filters. They may occasionally have trouble discerning the difference between sarcasm and sincerity. That being said, sarcastic remarks aimed directly at a survivor can be hurtful because they cannot tell if the one producing the remark is being serious or is “just kidding.”

Survivors find it difficult to take constructive criticism. They know that it is necessary for personal growth and know how to respond to it. However, they have to carefully monitor themselves to ensure that they don’t take it too personally, otherwise they may go into an emotional tailspin.

Symptom #3: the need for strong, meaningful relationships. More than anything, a survivor needs good relationships. They don’t need very many, but the ones they do have mean more to them than the other party/parties may ever understand. When they form strong relationships, they are willing to do anything in their power to maintain them and have no shame in being doting and affectionate. They have a constant hunger to feel wanted. Personalized attention is also extremely important. They hate being a numbered face in the crowd. They need to feel cared about.

***

As you can see, bullying has a lifelong effect. It triggers the same area of the brain that retains subconscious memories of a traumatic experience. Bullying IS a traumatic experience—an ongoing one. Why does it happen?? So many people (of all ages) struggle with being a victim of this heartless act of cruelty. I think a main reason this occurs can be attributed to a fear of the different. If it’s not “normal,” it’s not “acceptable.” Victims are therefore categorized and stereotyped. Bullies themselves may also have their own issues to work through, which can cause aggressive behavior. Cause-wise, the road runs both ways. It’s tragic.

So what can you do (hypothetically)? Tread softly and be kind to everyone. Be mindful. Be considerate. Have compassion. I can’t and won’t be defined. I live my own life. I’m free to be nothing but me. Yeah, I’m free to be ME.

***

The moral of the story: BE NICE to people.  Our differences make us unique and oh so fabulous.  Just. Be. YOU.  

Please take the time to enter our giveaway from the lovely Suzi, owner and creator of Just Be Purses in Hyrum, Utah.  An awesome, unique, one-of-a-kind clutch, with a secret surprise gift card inside, is up for grabs this week. Be sure to check out the Just Be Purses Facebook page HERE and go see them in person at Logan's SummerFest on June 18-20.  It is their only show this summer so be sure to visit!  Thank you for your continued support of our cause; I love your work & message.  

Until next time, my lovelies!

-R (and L, too)

Follow me on Facebook HERE, Instagram and Twitter (@beyoudesignut).

 

::SISTERS::

I am so pleased to have my fabulous sister, Lena, as a guest blogger this week.  She is my best friend in the whole wide world and since the moment we laid eyes on each other 20 years ago we have been silly, strong-willed, super fabulous girls!  Lena has overcome some of her own challenges and I asked her to share her perspective on living in a society that based worth on pants size and how that affected her self-worth and what she did to overcome the challenges.  I think you will find that she is f-rickin hilarious and we have similar writing styles and outlooks on life.  The moral of the story: we are who we are and our pants size doesn't determine our worth.  Enjoy & until next time, my lovelies! - R

I’ve never really thought of myself as a "blogger," but after my recent Facebook debut, I’ve been told otherwise. Raylynn has since asked me (more like insisted *cough—what?*) that I be a guest blogger. I must admit, this whole experience reminds me of the scene in "Princess Diaries" when Lily asks Mia to be a guest on her cable show. I would be the princess in that scenario. Yup. Just waitin’ for my castle. I suppose Raylynn can be a princess, too. We would definitely share a castle because I love my Raylynndy a lot! :-] Anyway, it’s not very often I get to drag my soap box out of my closet. Poor thing has been getting a bit dusty! Who am I kidding. This metaphorical soap box has been replaced several times due to wear….Let’s get down to business (Go on. You know you want to sing the rest. I did.). The purpose of Raylynn’s blog, that I’ve perceived, is to help all of us girls feel good about ourselves through self-empowerment and sexy outfits. If you think about it, those are our top necessities. They go hand-in-hand. Looking and feeling cute proves that we can handle anything the world throws at us. 

Growing up as a plus-sized gal in a toothpick-obsessed world has certainly been an adventure, not just for me, but all the S women. (Feels weird to consider myself among the ranks of the "women." It occasionally slips my mind that I am, in fact, an adult and have been such for a of couple years now….) High school had its tough moments because I wasn’t a walking paper cut waiting to happen.

Fitting in, overall, was hard. It wasn’t until high school was almost over when I discovered a way to try to fix my self-esteem problem. I joined Weight Watchers. Before I go any further, I’m not planning to go on and on about why losing weight is important and why everyone should do it. It was the right thing for me, though. I’ll delve more into that in a minute.

My "ah ha!" moment came during the summer before my senior year just prior to getting senior pictures done. I had a gorgeous black dress that I wanted to use for one of my outfits. I hadn’t worn it in a while; I bought it freshman year for Winter Formal. I decided to try it on first, before taking it to the studio. I couldn’t wait to wear it again! It was my "little black dress," so to speak. Little was right. I couldn’t zip it up. I was devastated. The dress that had made me feel so good about myself became my worst enemy. Something had to be done. Hence joining Weight Watchers. 100 pounds later (give or take—it fluctuates), I’m still not a toothpick. But you know what? I’m glad. I’ve come to appreciate my curves even more. In addition to the healthy habits I’ve acquired, the weight-loss journey has helped me discover my personality, as well as my style.

Personality-wise, I’m not nearly as shy and self-conscious as I used to be. (I have my weak points, but who doesn’t? Some situations I have yet to be brave enough to face without wanting to curl up into fetal position.) With this new-found confidence, I’ve discovered a lot about myself. I actually have social skills, for one. Another, totally unrelated, is my inner wanderlust. My confidence cup runneth over, so that’s where it runneth to, I guess. I want to travel SO BAD! England is at the top of the list and I am determined to get there someday. Hopefully, the rest of the world will follow. Apologies. I digress.

Style-wise, I feel a lot more motivated to look good and I feel more confident in my choices. To be perfectly honest, my style is hard to define. If I had to categorize it, I would probably say "geek chic" or "hot hipster." For instance, a couple weeks ago, I wore a maxi skirt and a Doctor Who t-shirt. An odd combination, to be sure, but it worked. 　I wear what I feel like. Some days, I dress like a geek, others, a princess, and sometimes, an odd mixture of both. By the way, I now officially own my very own pair of hipster glasses and wear them with pride. Yeah, buddy!


No matter our style, ALL of us are supermodels. Don’t let society tell you otherwise. Many times I wish I could confront society as a whole and give it a hearty slap across the face (among other places) and tell it, in my roughest, toughest, mobster voice, "What the heck, society? What’s the sitch, here? Why you gotta be so rude? Don’t you know I’m human, too? (Love that song, by the way….) Don’t you know that my life is hard enough as it is without you turnin’ up your surgically-altered nose at me? Ain’t nobody got time for dat! You know what you are? You are selfish. You are controlling. You got no compassion! Well, you know what? I ain’t gonna take them shenanigans from you no more! I’m gonna be me because that’s who I’m s’posed to be! (CAN I GET AN AMEN!?)" Whew. Deep breaths, deep breaths….

Fortunately, though, society is slowly relaxing its death grip and ever so slowly becoming more accepting of the curvier gals. Just look at Adele, Meghan Trainer, or Mary Lambert (to name a few)! They’re rockin’ their curves and making bank in the process! "All About That Bass" and "Secrets" are two of my new favorite jams. They basically tell me that I can be awesome and curvy at the same time. I also love Bruno Mars’, "Just the Way You Are." That song is so empowering, especially since it’s a man’s point of view on how women should see themselves! We can be amazing just the way we are.　 That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Don’t let your curves, or any self-image insecurity you may have, hold you back. You are unique, you are loved, and most importantly, you are a daughter of God. Rather than letting your imperfections hold you back, let them push you forward.

Peace out, girl scouts!

 

(The day it all began .... cut me some slack, I was 13 and awkward.)