Mirror, Mirror On My Wall.

This week my friend shared in a Facebook update that her young daughter had voiced her personal concerns about her image and my friend didn't know how to react because she herself deeply struggles with her own set of image challenges.  It broke my heart to read the string of comments from fellow moms who have been thrown in to the same conversations with their young kids and hastily reminded me of the love-hate relationship I have with the mirror on my wall on a daily basis.

This blog is a three-fold initiative and one of the main topics is women's empowerment.  What brought me to that point?  The need I saw and felt for a real, raw, perfectly imperfect, curvy woman speaking up and standing at the front of the line for kindness and confidence in a sea of photo-shopped, fake and superficial. Does that mean that I have all the confidence and self-assurance that I am just fine the way I am?  Hell. No.  In fact, I had to stop MYSELF from the nitpick self talk when I saw myself in a bathing suit in a mirror at the local hot springs last week.  My brain is my own toughest critic.  I often wish there was a magic wand that my fairy godmother could sprinkle pixie dust on my forehead and I would see myself as others see me and as God sees me.  But, alas, that is not real, however, we can do so much to strengthen our self-confidence, self-esteem and self-love.  The best part is that as we do that we are happier and we become examples to others to do the same.  I want to share some of the feedback I received when I posed the question, "what would you say if this was your daughter?" To protect the individuals, I will keep all comments anonymous.  The comments come from a wide variety of women with differing religions, ages, professional backgrounds, some are mothers, some are not.  They are beautiful and strengthened me in my on-going quest for self-love.

• Tell her she is beautiful every day. Don't say "you look beautiful," but "you are beautiful." And also amazing, smart, strong, funny, kind, sweet, etc. Never comment on body. Ever. Even 'good' comments.

• Ask the why...why do you feel this way? Has someone said something? You know, God made you to his perfection and that is what really matters. Everyone has flaws or something they don't like about themselves but it's how God sees you. God made you this way for a reason. He loves the way you look and you should too!

• Focus on acknowledging the painful emotions that accompany - joining with her in sharing my own experiences of feeling " not good enough"

• Part of helping the problem is understanding where she is hating herself. If she isn't liking how big she is, instead of saying she needs to go on a diet, exercise with her and start eating healthy with her. Maybe find some good roll models that aren't fake (like pro female sports players) and let her see how not everyone is fake. Also help her understand that most people in magazines are photo-shopped.

• It's also important that this is something that our boys face too.

• First of all, I commend that little girl for being able to open up about her insecurities. Definitely nothing wrong with that. I just kept my insecurities bottled up as a child and I should have been more open with them. I would tell your friend to THANK her daughter for bringing up these insecurities. Her being open about them is a step in the right direction. If she were my daughter, I would tell her not to care what society thinks of her. Those idiots don't matter. What IS considered ideal? Is it even that desirable? Do you want to live the kind of lifestyle that comes with it? Girls who are "perfect" probably aren't as happy as they appear to be. They have problems, just like everybody else. Imperfection equates uniqueness. The people who give you the time of day truly appreciate and embrace your imperfections. They love you for them. I feel blessed to have the friends I do because they know I'm imperfect and insecure, but they don't CARE. They love me just the same. I would say to her, "You do you, hun, because trying to be someone or something else wastes a lot of time that could've been spent discovering yourself and developing your own unique talents." God created you the way he did for a specific reason.

Every single day we have to remember that God created us to be UNIQUE, wonderful, quirky and lovely for a reason. The media creates a standard to sell magazines and advertising. Others speak harshly towards us, about us or about themselves to draw the attention away from their blaring insecurity.  Please, please, please be mindful of how you speak and act around the kids in your life because they DO listen and create their own opinions of themselves before they can even express it.  

I've shared this video before, but I love it so much because it is a very literal and blunt example of how we shape the way our kids think.  #likeagirl is still such a powerful example to me and gives me a constant reminder to be a better example to the kids in my life, but to also live it with myself. 

The moral of the story: Being unique is our super power.  Fly high and save the world in your own special way.  

Until next time, my lovelies!

-R

Perspective Changes Our View.

This week I've been very blessed to have some lessons that taught me how important it is to focus on the perspective of life's events. Many times we get so caught up in our vortex of struggle that we take a "woe is me" and "why the hell does this have to happen" and we forget that EVERYTHING in our life happens with purpose and perspective.  In the grand scheme of things, events that we may deem catastrophic or life-altering are probably that way, in our eyes. so that our path and our brain gets the remodel that it needs.  I have to remind myself that I am in the thick of the story, between my "once upon a time" and "happily ever after", and it may seem like the story will never end, but I'm actually creating a sub-plot of grand proportions that will still change me if I will let it.

One of the greatest blessings in my life are my friends.  I have stellar friends all over the country.  During my latest bump in the road of life, I've been strengthened by so many in their own way.  Notes in the mail, private messages on Facebook, phone conversations for HOURS where I do most of the talking and they do the listening and encouraging.  This keeps me going.  One friend in particular has given me such strength and I wanted to share her story with all of you.  I asked for her permission and due to the nature of her employment, she will remain nameless.  A couple of weeks ago, she experienced something in her job that was LIFE CHANGING for her and it brought a perspective that altered her outlook.  It was so "catastrophic" that she wrote about it and sent it to her mother.  Because of the magnitude of my bumpy reality, she knew I would appreciate this story and chose to share it with me as well.  It is not for the weak of heart, a real life "Grey's Anatomy" scene, but is powerful and I asked if I could feature it on my blog.  Her words are filled with faith in life and faith in God and yet her life is still not perfect.  However, she keeps perspective at the forefront of her life and because of that she blesses those around her, including me, with a deep appreciation for the sanctity, simplicity and delicacy of life.  Thank you dear friend, for sharing this with me and letting me share it with the world.

Journal Entry dated 9 April 2016

"I’ve been told that when a crisis hits, I will know what to do, that I will surprise myself and do better than I think. “You’ve been trained. You know what to do. It will come naturally.”

Right…

I’ve always thought that this was a bunch of bunk. When moderate crisis have hit at the hospital, I have found myself struggling with suppressing my own emotions, with hands shaking so violently that I can barely use them, and a brain that seems to screech to a halt. It takes all of my energy to keep from crying as I feel, much too deeply, what the family might be feeling.

I don’t want to be the family member being whooshed from the room while a flock of medical people come crashing in to save the day. It just seems too dramatic, too intense…too real.

Before I left for work yesterday, I took a moment to pray. “Heavenly Father, please help me to have a good day. Please help me to know what to do. Please help me to find someone to serve.” I had a good day, (Check!) I knew what to do, (Double check!), and I’m pretty sure I served someone who needed me. I’m just not exactly sure who that person was.

“Code Blue, CT. Code Blue, CT. Code Blue, CT.” paged loud overhead for all to hear. By the tone of the overhead page it was clear that this was not a drill.

I walked out of the break room and asked “Who’s the Team Lead today?”

“You are.”

“I am? Oh shit.” (Yes, I really did say this….sorry!)

I grabbed our heavy crash cart, stocked full of life saving supplies, and pushed it as fast as I could down the long corridor. The closer I got to the CT room, the more my heart started to pound. I was worried that my brain would screech to a halt and that I wouldn’t know what to do. So I paused. Well, at least my brain paused, as I rushed down the hallway.

“Heavenly Father, this is the real deal. I am in charge, and I need your help. Please help me to be calm. Please help me to know what to do.  Please help me to do my job. I’ve never done this before!”

Overwhelming peace and clarity instantly filled my body. My hands did not shake.
My brain did not falter.  I knew I was prepared, well, at least as prepared as one can ever be. I felt relaxed. Really relaxed.

It’s a hard thing, walking into a room, with a man laying on a table, his face so blue that it is nearly black. Doctors counting out the rhythm as they pound on his chest, “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...” It’s a hard thing to see the blood pooling in his mouth, blood pooling on his chest as doctors race to put in chest tubes, and watching the respiratory crew struggle to help him to breath with blood gushing out of his breathing tubes. And it’s a hard thing to know that through this all, even with two doctors and two anesthesia providers in the room, I am in charge.

I have never done this before.

My mind has been thinking about this scenario over and over, trying to make sense of things. It isn’t the blood that spattered the wall, the compressions that crushed his ribs, the “Everyone CLEAR! Shocking the patient in three, two, one!” that I had to call out, or the “Resume compressions!” that I’ve been mulling over.  It isn’t seeing the wife’s face as she calmly came in to touch her husband and say a brief prayer before his barely alive body was shipped to the ICU that I’ve been thinking about. Or her calm face as she thanked each one of us, almost individually, before walking away. It certainly hasn’t been the unusual way this code had to proceed due to the individual circumstances that lead to this man’s unfortunate day. And it hasn’t been the bloody footprints that we left in the room after everything had been cleaned, the final bit of evidence to our attempts at saving his life.

My mind can’t stop wondering about my reaction to it all. Why do I feel so calm?

Why am I not a basket case? I’ve been mulling it over in my mind, around and around, because I am worried that something is wrong with me. Shouldn’t I be devastated? Shouldn’t I cry, even a little? Shouldn’t I be a little bit traumatized? A wife just saw her husband’s unconscious body be taken to the ICU, know that this is probably it, as in the “It”, “The end”, or as I like to call it the “See you laters”.  Hollywood couldn’t have made the scene any more dramatic than it was.

Did he survive? Did he live?

That is the question that everyone asks. It wasn’t until becoming a nurse that I realized that “Did he survive?” and “Did he live?” have many layers and nuances. It’s like shades of a color. Is turquoise still blue? Yes, but not exactly.

So to answer the question, yes, he survived, at least at time of transport. His heart was beating. He was maintaining his blood pressure. He was even trying, in a small way, to breath on his own. His skin had even returned to a much more comfortable shade of pale pink. Was he alive? Yes. Is he alive?

I don’t know if he will ever leave the hospital. I don’t know if he will ever be able to hug his wife in this life. I don’t know if he will ever go home with his family. But I do know that he lives! No matter what happens to his body, his spirit is still alive.

And now as I write this, the tears suddenly fall.

Administration patted me on the back telling me “That was one of the best codes we have seen,” and were shocked when I told them that this was my first (I did see CPR one other time).  My other code team members said “Wow. You were so calm. You are an amazing team leader. You should run all of our codes.” and “You sounded and looked like you have run a hundred codes” when I confessed that this was my first.

Why was it that I was so calm? That I was able to very competently do my job, despite the horrific scene in front of me? A co-worker quietly asked me later that night, “Did you feel the help from the other side in the room with us? There were a lot of [heavenly] helpers in there.” It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the magnitude of help we had been given. I asked that morning to find someone to serve, not expecting to be the one served, but for that, I am feeling eternally grateful."

The moral of the story: No matter how hard life gets, keep perspective. Perspective will keep us breathing and facing our challenges with a miraculous sense of peace and calm.  I know it, my friend knows it and I hope that you can find it for you when you need it most.

Until next time, my lovelies!
-R

Be sure to check out the biz side of "Let It Be & Celebrate" by visiting www.beyoudesignsut.co

Five.

This week marked a big milestone for me. On Thursday, March 17th, St. Patrick's Day, I celebrated my 5 year anniversary since I buttoned up organized therapy.  I ended therapy on St. Patrick's Day on purpose.  I LOVE the holiday (it's that redhead in me) and I always wanted to remember the end with a happy day.  If I was a drinker I would maybe have an extra drink, but alas, I am not, so I had a big fat piece of sinful 7 layer chocolate cake in my princess bed and it was glorious.  

I've written about my experiences in therapy and post therapy a number of times on le blog. There is a lot about the therapy process that is still so wrought with stigmas and misconceptions in the media and I've tried to be as open and honest as I can about the process and what I learned.  There is also a part of my experience that purposely is staying in the past.  It includes the mistakes, the heartaches and the toxic pain that I shed through the help of my amazing therapist.  History remains history and there is just some of it that I don't need or want to talk about.  I know I have a lot of readers who have struggled with the process of therapy and didn't feel like it helped them.  Today I am going to be very real and very honest so that you can see that therapy didn't actually cure me.  Therapy made me a better me so that I could face life differently.  But, it sure as hell did not cure me. 

The first thing I want you to know about therapy: there is absolutely no shame in seeking help.  There is immense value in talking to a third party that you are not emotionally connected with in any way other than the fact that you air your dirty laundry to them and they take notes and offer suggestions for coping.  These brave souls who have chosen the career of mental health specialists are highly educated and wired to take on the analysis of our lives and brains.  God bless them because I couldn't do it.  I know enough about people and their weirdness through my chosen profession, but I don't need to know more.  Much of the shame that we may feel is because our brains are so mucked up with trying to deal that they want us to give up so that the wiring doesn't have to change.  However, just like a well-maintained engine, our brains do so much better when they are oiled and monitored and flushed on a periodic basis and therapy can serve that purpose if we will let it.  

The second thing I want you to know about therapy: it is only as good as how you apply it in your every day life.  I was TERRIFIED to end my time with Jennifer because I knew it meant I had to deal on my own.  It was scary to think about having relationships and facing life challenges after I was done checking in with her.  I made absolutely sure that I was ready to fly on my own, but I also had a long list of things that I kept and still keep close to my heart.  What are my triggers?  Who are my triggers?  What calms me down?  What can I let slide and what do I have to always do when I'm having a tough mental health day?  How do I stop myself from the avalanche of "what ifs" that I'm so good at doing?  Who do I trust implicitly with all the hairy details and who am I on a "need to know, surface only" basis?  The list goes on and on.  More than once I have had to sit myself down and have a mental tune-up to get myself back on track after a big event or boulder fell out of the sky.  2015 anyone?  My most recent therapy post talked about a pair of shoes that reminded me of a terribly awful relationship mistake that I made.  In the post I talked about keeping them as a reminder of what I had accomplished.  I am happy to report, that because of my own blog post and the triggers that I set off (boo to me), I ended up getting rid of those hot polka-dotted vintage inspired pumps because they (a silly pair of shoes) were a trigger and they needed to go.  Talk about a weight lifted when I don't see the lurking reminder in my closet anymore.  

The third thing I want you to know about therapy: you are still going to have hard days.  You're going to have completely shitty, sad, crying, awful, hard-as-hell days.  But, you will also have days when you will think, "wow, pre-therapy me would have crumbled quicker and longer in this scenario than post-therapy me." My knees still get bruised and bloody when I fall and my heart still breaks when a relationship ends or someone dies.  But, how I treat myself and how I work through it compared to pre-therapy is light years different.  I still ache to have a better reality in regards to a couple of things in my life, but I know that gratitude conquers all and with that I relish in what I DO have and let the rest go.  

The fourth thing I want you to know about therapy:  Decide that you will not settle for any type of treatment or abuse that will put you right back to where you were pre-therapy. THIS takes practice and a whole hell of a lot of effort. I'm still finding out little quirks and nuances that I thought were fully addressed are, in fact, still a raging issue if I'm not careful. I've had some conversations with my friends that have recently divorced when I asked them, "what went wrong on both sides and how will you improve yourself the next time?" There are a lot of people, myself included, who have a hard time admitting they were wrong and at fault and that they need to use their picker with more prudence next time. If your surroundings need to change for your therapy to stick, then move.  Have the faith to do it.  If you need to have a sitter to watch your kids so you can go to the gym, then MAKE IT HAPPEN and go to the gym.  If you need friends who don't encourage you to drink like a crazy person or use drugs, then bravely cut them off and find new friends.  If you need to have a date night and some good loving calendared with your sweetheart then write it on the damn calendar and do it!  Remember how I said therapy is only as good as you apply it to your daily life?  Well it is.  Trust me.  Don't spend all that money, time and effort and expect no change necessary.  That is a LIE.  Change is the point.  Change is the healer.  

The fifth thing I want you to know about therapy: You can go back.  Jennifer called them booster visits and I've had a few.  The funny part about mine was that we usually chuckled together because I knew what I needed to do and was well on my way to the right path.  Going to see her for a booster visit was mostly for validation that I was, in fact, coping like a boss without her.  I've kept in contact with her and will send her a periodic email from time-to-time just to solidify that I'm doing well and that she's still there.  I've referred a lot of friends to her. When it came time to leave Utah, I promise you that I had a conscious thought process that included "what if I ever need to go see Jennifer? Will this next home be close enough that I could do that?"  The answer is yes, but I'm confident that I probably won't need to use that lifeline because I am using her advice every day as best I can.  

I am grateful for this milestone.  It has not been an easy 5 years.  Holy hell, at times, it has been everything but easy. I've felt a lot of anger and hate, but I've also learned to deeply, truly love others and myself and I know that my choice to give organized therapy a shot is the reason why.  Don't give up on yourself. Talk to someone who can help you trudge through your sorrow and confusion.

The moral of the story: Breathe. Trust. Love. Have faith in the timing AND the process.  And most of all work.  Work very very hard to be your best you in spite of your imperfections.

Until next time, my lovelies!
-R

Embrace It.

Well, this week was a LOT of facing reality and dealing with it.  Amidst the MANY hours on the road driving solo, the hours laying awake past 2 am and the hours of funeralling and reminiscing about my dearest Granddad this weekend, I learned a lot about myself.  Whoa.  I mean, holy run-on sentence, but it is true.  I find it NO coincidence that the last fashion feature this month is centered around my absolute favorite outfit from the winter photo shoot and my favorite words: embrace imperfection.  

When I planned the outfits for this shoot with Kel-Z Photography, I wanted it to be a whole hella bunch of color.  I also wanted to show my random fashion sense.  It's a pretty regular occurance that I have people stop me and say, "I love your outfit...only you could get away with that combo."  Um, thanks?  But, then I thank them and say, well, it just kind of happens.  To be quite honest....sometimes...ok ALL the damn time....it is on the third or fourth outfit combo and my bed is piled high with vetoed outfits and I'm running late so I just go with it and chalk it up to my "quirky fashion sense."  There's a tip of the crazy for you.  

Before we get to deep thought avec Ray I will give you the outfit details....Here you go!

• Scarf: Utah State bookstore (random, don't ask questions)
• Gray top: Chic Style Utah
• Mint Green pants which are actually capris (gasp!): Macy*s
• Super rad carpet bag: Just Be Purses
• Bracelet: local vender at the Ogden Harvest Moon Festival (aka that one night I discovered those cute beardy boys in VanLadyLove)

When we speak of imperfection, how many of us shudder and start to list the LONG list (in our minds) of our shortcomings?  Ooh Ooh, pick me, pick me...the emotional, overanalyzing, blunt girl in the back row with a Diet Coke in her hand, please.  We ALL do it and we should ALL STOP it.  But, I know as well as the next person, that it is a task that is easier said than done.  We are constantly bombarded in the media to be skinnier, richer, nicer, bitchier (you know it's true), greener and the list goes on and on.  How many times do we just stop and think, "I am frickin awesome and hella broken, but it is OK." 

I got a good solid dose of that this week as I embarked on my least favorite mental land, other than full-on depression, and that is mourning world.  It sucks.  Like f-bomb sucks.  It is a mental state that offers very little control and basically you just let it ride its course, hold on and have a boat load of patience with yourself.  The whole week my grandma kept saying, "we all mourn differently, it's ok."  That is an understatement.  I found that my list of imperfections rose to the top of the list on a sea of my never-ending tears.  I was more unfiltered that usual and I knew it and I only used it to my advantage with one person and he was LONG overdue for the unleashing that occurred.  I figured if I was going to be crying already then why the hell not add something else to the list. 

In all seriousness, our imperfections are what test us the most.  I could wax eloquent in the religious department, but I will just say this....we are only given as much trial as God knows we can handle.  Period!  But, the kicker is we don't get to PICK when it's officially too hard...He does.  Talk about wishing we could veto THAT rule.  But, it's true.  I've had a couple of experiences in my life (depression not being one of them ... exception to this comment) when I was at my utter wits end and I had a pretty pointed and relatively angry prayer with God and within a few days there was some resolution.  But that is RARE.  Don't expect God to have a magic wand and wave it.  Allow for His timing and go with the flow.  And now I will go get my handheld mirror and say that out loud to myself three times. 

I think the greatest blessing in admitting our imperfections is being able to see how every single human being in our life is supposed to be there to fill in the gaps.  Our gaps of imperfection are mended and filled by our friends, family, lovers, children, grandparents, etc.  And thank goodness!  I would be a sloppy, crying lost cause if I didn't have those people who stepped up this last week and recognized that I was going completely bat shit crazy while mourning and invited me over for dinner or took me out to dinner or sent me a non-dying sympathy plant or wore a pair of shoes to a concert I was hoping to be at, but got booked for a funeral instead.  Life happened, I cried my guts out, but I was damn grateful that it happened because it made me realize that I am one lucky woman to have the legacy that I do from the man we sent to heaven. 

One last note about the outfit....I mentioned above that the mint pants are actually capris.  Here's the story on those.  I have wanted colored pants for a long time, but I've always felt like they look RIDICULOUS with my curves.  And then they generally call them skinny jeans and I'm like, peace out kids....I saw these at Macy*s and I snatched them up a few years ago.  I LOVE them.  And I especially love wearing them in the winter with boots because I am the ONLY one who knows there is a really goofy 6 inch gap between the end of the capri leg and the sock under said boot.  It's quite hilarious when I take the boots off and I usually have a good hearty laugh at how un-sexy I look and promptly take the socks off. 

The moral of the story:  Cut yourself some slack and embrace the imperfections, people!  That's what makes us interesting.  Who doesn't like a good story?  We all have 'em. 

Until next time, my lovelies!

-R