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A recent blog reader commented on my pandemic lessons post with the comment "we are not all scared and trying to stay alive." I have had to sit with that for a few days. I am not scared of death... for many reasons... but a lot of it does have to do with my blood, sweat, and tears I have poured into countless patients for decades now... as well as my faith, but the two seem very intertwined when I think of my own mortality. I think another reason is that I have a chronic illness and I know end-stage pulmonary fibrosis (how my disease usually pans out) is not a cake walk, so if God calls me home at another time for another reason, I am okay with that. But, I think it's her last little bit of commentary that hasn't settled well in my soul. "We are not all trying to stay alive." We are not all trying to stay alive. 🤔 🤷♀️ 🧐 But aren't we, though? Isn't that why all of these scenarios insight fear, panic, palpitations, stomach-drops, sweaty palms, and often tears?
This post is not meant to be a Debbie Downer. It's meant to be a reality check for myself, and perhaps for you too. Every SINGLE day in my work, I encounter people I hold dear now after all these years that are FIGHTING to stay alive. Whether it is cancer, chronic disease, renal failure requiring dialysis, congenital or acquired physical disability (think MS, cerebral palsy, and paraplegia to name a few), OR they are in an unsafe home environment OR they are mentally on the brink of self-harm. they are each FIGHTING to stay alive. The following examples have all taken place in the past 2 years along with countless other patient deaths (some covid, some not), but these have rocked me. I lost my first patient to suicide this year and I am not the same. I always worried about him. I would leave our visits thinking about him. Did I do enough? I lost a close friend my age, someone I admired- so many admired- this past year to a 6-year battle with colon cancer, and I have tried to help my friend of 27 years keep herself and her children together during and after that loss. I am still learning - we all are. This is new territory for us. I lost a patient my age that was so much like me health-wise and personality-wise that it was like looking in the mirror every time we had our visits. We just happened to have different colored skin, but our hearts, fears, loves, and passions were so aligned. I was the one her son called while the nurses were "pounding on mama's chest" and I was the one weeping in my parents' backyard looking to the heavens begging God "please don't take her, she's not ready. Please don't take her, she's not ready. Please, please, please Lord don't take her yet." As I attended her funeral, it was like I was attending my own. I still think of her so very often. So yes, dear reader, I can agree that most of the time I choose not to live in fear. I have a "crappy" (it's my blog and I will almost-cuss if I want to) autoimmune disease that makes me feel lousy some days and fine other days. I take mouthfuls of medicine twice a day and my Humira costs could house a small family (thank you Aetna for your coverage). Occasionally, I "fear" not ever seeing my 2 youngest sons graduate high school or college. I "fear" never meeting my grandchildren, and sometimes I "fear" my precious boys having to take care of dear old Mom. I'm afraid I won't get to tell them everything I want them to know about me, about love, about God, about marriage, about friendship, about what truly matters, and about how to navigate the good days and the bad days. How to forgive, how to keep moving forward, and how to love themselves. Honestly, I think it is part of why I felt this huge push to write. They don't read my words now, but they might one day. But as for not trying to stay alive? I will disagree with every hair on my head, bone in my body, and adjective in my razor-sharp vocabulary on that friend. I AM TRYING EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY TO STAY ALIVE. And I stand witness and hold space for every other person I have cared for during my career in nursing and medicine who were all and are all still trying to do the same. I learned a new term today during a visit to Little Havana in Miami. It was made for the patriots who were anti-Castro who often became political prisoners. They were named "Plantados" - they stood planted, strong, unmoving, unwilling to step down. I am a Plantado for life, sister who made that comment. I shall never budge on that. I am here, showing up, every single day- trying to stay alive. I welcome my fellow Lifers. Let us make this world a little better each day. 🌎 Please help support my fellow Hope*Writers
by reading their work 🥰 Does Fear Have a Place in the Life of a Christian? By Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.wordpress.com/?p=90 Living Fearless By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/living-fearless/ I ain't afraid: Reflections on turning 50 By Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/i-aint-afraid When Hidden Fear Creeps Out By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/10/31/when-hidden-fear-creeps-out/ How to Help Kids with Anxiety and Fear By Ashley Olivine https://louvaria.com/how-to-help-kids-with-anxiety-and-fear/
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Hey, I know you. I share a bed, a remote, and a living room with you. I ride in the front seat with you. I talk to you numerous times a day about kids and groceries and logistics. I know how you take your coffee and what you like on your pizza. But, do I know you right now, at this very moment, 12 years in, more or less than I did say 10 years ago? BEFORE our conversations revolved around schedules and pickups and homework. I know I have changed in the last 12 years. Surely you have as well? Have I asked? Have I noticed? Have you seen the changes in me? Have you noticed? Are we giving each other what we need? (my therapist is ALWAYS in my ear- "tell them what you NEED Amy! tell that person what you NEED.") Every year we try to take a trip sans kiddos to regroup, reconnect, unplug, and just have fun together. It is a WORTHY investment (time and money) in a marriage or relationship. Parenting is hard! Adulting is hard! Marriage is hard! Sure, some people make it look easy, but let's leave them out of it and talk about the real work that staying married involves. We usually try some "games" or conversation starters to break our habit of only talking about our kids, our jobs, or our day-to-day frustrations. Sometimes we play "would you rather?". Here are some of the ones we asked this last date night:
Wait, what just happened? We soon realized that the frivolous conversations led to deeper ones and that was the eventual goal anyway, BUT had we ever really talked about any of these things? We have not crossed into some of those territories personally, but we have witnessed other loved ones facing different challenges. Those various challenges have seemed more frequent as we age, or perhaps our reservoirs of empathy grow deeper with maturity and life experience. To be quite frank, husband and I had not attended many funerals together prior to the last 2-3 years. We were busy attending weddings or baby showers. That dress with heels and coat and tie now have a different destination it seems. And so it goes. This weekend we've discussed our future grandparent names, how we picture retirement for each of us individually as well as together, and trips we plan to take. We have discussed aging parents and various family caregiving scenarios. Our first few "just us" getaways involved naps and recovery from pure exhaustion and planning out toddler birthday parties, Halloween costume ideas, or Santa ideas. Now we are brainstorming passive income ideas, retirement goals, and our own personal dreams and desires. We are transforming, both together and separately, from Mom & Dad, to 2 people with our own passions, fears, and personal insecurities. I am by no means a marriage expert.
I have seen a beautiful example of marriage in my parents and some of my other family members. Husband and I have each had a failed marriage prior to this one, so we know how painful divorce is and we are each way too stubborn to go down without a fight. I'm not writing this as a beacon of marital bliss, but rather as a tired working mom in the thick of motherhood, menopause, and midlife (try having kids in your mid-30's) 😜. I am writing this as an imperfect, hard-to-please, bleeding-heart woman married to an imperfect, hard-headed, scared-of-abandonment man that didn't see the example of marriage that I saw growing up. We are actually two scared-of-being-vulnerable humans bound together by beautiful boys and God, fate, the universe - but we, too, are still trying to figure it all out. If you find yourself still figuring it all out, it's OKAY. Stay the course. My Uncle Don told me one time many years ago, "Amy, you know how to stay married, right? long pause. You just never leave. Neither of you. You stay and you don't leave." Time and space apart can sometimes be good for a marriage. They can allow room to think and heal. But time TOGETHER has been our best strategy. Make your marriage a priority. Make your spouse a priority. He or she is a worthy investment. You can read all the books and try all the counseling, but sometimes you just need TIME together and conversations that bring you closer than you thought you might ever be. Godspeed.
Before deciding if you love me or hate me, let's look at each of these in a little more detail. If you are reading this and you don't work in healthcare, I encourage you to close your eyes. Imagine driving to work where patients are very sick and you are responsible for their health. Imagine being extremely exhausted - mentally, physically, and emotionally. Imagine having the same conversations day in and day out. Imagine wearing a mask and face shield all day every day AND if you work in certain healthcare settings, full plastic gowns (sweaty and HOT) with even more restrictive masks (n95). Think about having heart-wrenching conversations about death and dying with families and patients that you have come to love over many years. Consider praying on your drive in and your drive home because you've worked in healthcare since you were 19 years old, but you've never seen anything as dark and dangerous, cold and pointless, savage and destructive as THIS. Imagine that you, like everyone else, have also been unable to see loved ones, travel, send your kids to school without a mask, and that you- like everyone else- have your own political and religious beliefs but you cannot mention those since ALL eyes and ears are on you. Now imagine doing that every single day for 20 months in a row.
I usually wrap up my posts with some heart-swelling, tear-jerking, or funny concluding thoughts. I try to connect us as humans, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends. I find a way to touch you, soften you, move you even if it’s only for a moment. I don’t know how to do that with this post. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m frustrated. I’m still hopeful. I still believe. I guess I will end by asking all of us to consider the division we have all felt over the past 2 years. Consider the lost lives and energy we have all spent to prove we are right. And hug your family. Hug your loved ones. And look your “enemy” in the eye before you judge their choices. We really are all the same. Imperfect. Scared. And trying to stay alive. 🌎 I love Christmas. I love the smell of a live tree, the music on the radio and in the stores, snuggling up with my boys, my husband, and Charlie the Dachshund watching Christmas movies. I love SHOPPING for the people I love, and I even love wrapping gifts. I love driving around looking at Christmas lights. I love baking Christmas cookies and competing in our annual Cobb Christmas Cookie (or Ornament - we rotate) Decorating Contest (votes on facebook are official, right? 😜). I love making and decorating my holiday planner. I love the candlelit church services, the Christmas hymns, and reading the story of the birth of Jesus in the bible with and to my boys. I love spending time with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. The laughter is so needed after these last 18 months, and the memories we are making will last a lifetime. About 3 years ago, I decided I was going to open a Christmas Club (Holiday Savings) account at my local bank. I knew they existed because I believe my parents might have had one back in the 1980s or 1990s, and I even had one when I got my very first job as an RN. I remembered how wonderful it was to receive my "Christmas Check" to do all my shopping. I remembered walking in stores and paying cash for every gift I bought. While my husband and I have been very diligent with our spending over our 12 year marriage, we had never really discussed Christmas or the money that goes into it. Like most couples, there is usually one person who buys all the gifts and wraps them, and another person who finds out what we gave Cousin Bobby when he opens it. That "felt" like all the Christmas purchasing, budgeting, and quite frankly- funding- was on my shoulders. We combine finances and sometimes he would order a gift or stop by and grab a gift for the kids, but he rarely considered the other 30+ people we buy for at the holidays. I tried to never use a credit card for Christmas, but with the busy holiday schedule and small children to wrangle, sometimes it happened, and I knew I wanted that to change. Cue the Christmas Club account! Have you ever actually written down how many people you buy for and what you spend on average for each person? We buy gifts for a lot of people! -Hairdresser, massage therapist, housekeeper -teachers (up to 10-15 depending on how many kids you have), bus driver -coworkers, boss(es), maybe a neighbor -extended family (we draw names, thank you Jesus, but still) -we usually do something for our trash/recycle employees, mail person, sometimes Amazon driver (Lord knows he knows me by name now) -pastor, Sunday school teacher, youth group leader -adult friends (I have some nearby and some out-of-state) -coaches, band director, drama teachers -our doctor, NP, PA ,nurses, office staff, pharmacist especially if we have had a challenging year with our health...I know the year I got sick, I gave gifts to my team of providers who worked so hard to help me get a diagnosis and start treatment -Angel tree or other donations like Operation Christmas Child -our immediate family and don't forget the stockings OR your spouse / partner! This is the amount I received last November in my "Club Check" from my Christmas account. $4300 I didn't need all $4300 for Christmas, but I did use some for some other unexpected expenses and that was wonderful too! I had absolutely ZERO stress knowing that every single item I purchased for Christmas was paid for in full AND that I even had money left over. I like to donate to specific charities around Christmas too, so I use my Christmas Club money for those donations as well. If you are looking for ideas, most children's hospitals have an online store from which you can choose gifts for patients or for the pediatric units themselves. I have the boys sit down with me and we take some money from their car funds (upcoming post soon) combined with money from this fund and the joy on their faces as the pick out toys and supplies for sick children is priceless. Wherever your giving heart leads you, I encourage you to follow it and include your children in that experience. We are teaching our children how to treat others. 🌻 This is my current account balance for 2021. I started with some seed money in 2020, so my club check was higher than it will be in 2021, but that's okay too. I contribute $100 per paycheck as a direct deposit from my employer every 2 weeks. I realize that is a LOT of money for most families, but after interviewing friends and coworkers about this topic, I have found that most American families spend at least $2000 on Christmas. Part of that $2000 is gifts, but we must also factor in: -travel (gas, airfare, hotels) -food (eating out more and hosting family) -decorations -tickets to particular holiday events -holiday outfits for pictures or Christmas pajamas Pro tip: Not money related, but, super cool. I read this somewhere and I've started doing it. As you are wrapping each gift, pray over the person who will receive it. This has come more naturally since I have been doing this for a few years now, so my prayers have become more specific. They started as "Dear Lord, please be with Sally and allow her to have a safe and wonderful Christmas." Now they are "Lord, I have seen Sally go through peaks and valleys this year. I have witnessed her grief as she lost her mom and have held her hand as she faced various health challenges. I know You have plans for her and that You know every specific need she has right now. Cover her with Your grace and mercy and bring peace to her heart and family. Allow her to feel Your presence. Allow me to be a source of love and comfort in her life as I continue to walk in Your ways and learn as I go. Give me the strength to support my dear friend." While I realize it's too late to have a Christmas Club account for 2021 Christmas, this is actually the perfect time to go open your account for 2022! Even if you only deposit $25 per paycheck, that will add up to a $650 Christmas Club check next November! Checks usually come the first week in November.
Final Pro tip: I do shop for Christmas year-round. If I find something I know my loved one will like, I snag it and keep it in my Christmas closet. This helps my wallet and my stress level. When Kroger has 4x fuel points for gift cards, I load up on gift cards. I keep these on hand for birthdays and Christmas. This is yet another way I've automated my life to help with time management when my energy levels are low from my chronic illness. 🌻 Once you have decided on a planner, you will immediately start thinking of ways to use the Notes Pages in the back of the planner. Below, I show you pages from my own planners over the years. Some of the other ways I have used my notes pages include:
📝 ✍️ Happy planning!!! 📒📚
I do want you to listen to the podcast, because I think there are some big pearls in this interview, but here are a few highlights:
Find out who is in your circle:
Plan as much as you can ahead of time:
Final pro tips: -Keep a medical binder of all your paperwork -Have a designated inbox for all incoming papers (follow The Planning Woman for more on this) -Apply for intermittent FMLA with your employer -My personal pro tip: PET THERAPY! 🐶🐱 Charlie the Dachshund makes everything better!
In olden days your last name often described your family’s occupation and reflected your status in the community. The Bakers baked bread. The Carpenters built things out of wood. The Smiths crafted items from iron, silver, and gold. For as long as I can remember I’ve known I was adopted, so my family name was not my own and seemed to reveal nothing about me. That’s not to say I wasn’t treasured as a longed-for baby adopted at nine months and an adored only child until I was six when my adopted brother joined our family as a four-year-old stranger. Let’s say my family’s name was Farmer. Although I was unconditionally loved by the whole Farmer clan, I never felt like a Farmer. My mom had a laid-back temperament. Mine was more intense. My mom liked to sew. I had no inclination as a seamstress. Fitting my dresses, she often commented on my wide shoulders and narrow waist, so unlike her own figure. When I was in fourth grade, I discovered I had a different first name before I was adopted, and growing up, always wondered what was behind that name. Who were my people, and what were they like? (For the details of that fourth-grade episode, see my blog “Carried.”) Out of respect for my adoptive mom and dad, however, I never searched for my biological parents while they were alive. But when my adoptive parents passed away, my husband said, “Your bio mother and father are getting old too. If you want to find them, you better hurry up,” so we opened the green metal box always kept in the downstairs closet of my childhood home and dug through official papers to find my adoption agency. When I read the family history they shared, I discovered a great uncle was active in community theatre, and so was I. Another great uncle was a teacher of foreign language who later became a diplomat to Uganda. I got my masters in language, literacy and culture, and my favorite job later in life was teaching English to brand-new immigrants. When I finally met my bio mom, she invited me on a family vacation. We walked a Cape Cod beach, and I marveled that her body was shaped just like mine. My husband videoed us chatting, so I could see how our animated mannerisms mirrored each other. She shared my grandmother's favorite flowers were lilacs, my favorite scent, and that my grandmother was a DJ for a classical music and public affairs radio station. I’d just gotten into opera, but when my mom played my grandmother's favorite arias, they were mine. The icing on the cake was when she told me, a writer, that my great, great, great grandfather was Nathaniel Hawthorne. Recently, my husband urged me to do a 23 and me DNA test, to locate my bio dad's family we’d never been able to connect with. As a result, I found a bio half-brother and subsequently the rest of his siblings. Neither of my maternal half-sibs look like me, so when I saw my paternal half-sibs, I was stunned. Let’s call my father’s family The Jones. There was no denying I was a Jones. Recently someone told me, “Trauma can be not only something bad that happened to you, but the lack of something you desperately needed.” This average family resemblance flooded a gaping void I was unaware of. In fact, I felt more connected to the half-brother I just met than to my adopted brother who’s felt like a stranger all my life. All this to say, whether you’re adopted or not, there is power in knowing your name and everything behind it! My adoption simply highlighted the security of being connected to your family by blood, seeing your image reflected in another, and understanding that the way you’re designed is clearly a gift from God, above and beyond any influence from your environment. I didn’t realize how much I needed to be acknowledged by my real father. Without a father you are unclaimed, unnamed, and unprotected from the shame that labels you a misbegotten, out-of-wedlock bastard. Harsh, but those words are synonyms for illegitimate, the term that lived just beneath my skin my whole life. That’s why my most important name is still not my own, but it reveals everything about me. Under the banner of Christ, no matter my origin or circumstances, I am a chosen, holy, beloved member of the family of God with a blood connection to Jesus, the first born of many siblings. Together may we reflect his image above all others for the rest of our days. Thank you Ann for your beautiful words and vulnerability. May God continue to bless you and your family. What's in a name? I have been married twice. I dated my first husband six years before we got married, and we were married 7 years. We didn't have any children. I've been married to my current husband for 12 years now and we have raised 3 children together. My step-son was 7 when we got married (19 now and out of the house), and our boys are 9 and 11. What is bizarre is that neither of my husbands have a very close relationship with their fathers. In fact, I have never met either of their fathers. To take that even further, I have never met a SINGLE person on either of their father's side of the family. So... to put that into practical terms, I have had a last name for 19 of my 45 years that really had no "meaning" to me. My first husband was the only "Smith" (not his name, but just using as an example) I knew but then I carried that name. My second husband is the only Cobb I know other than our 3 children. Let that sink in for a moment. This has made for some very awkward life moments:
Since I'm really into family in general, and I love old family names and family history, I bought my parents an Ancestry.com kit for Mother's or Father's Day one year. I also bought one for myself and my husband. I love looking back at all of our relatives and heritage, but building my husband's family tree has been difficult. This has led me into some deep thought (doesn't take much for me to go deep 😜).
In my opinion, a name carries weight. Identity matters. Having always worked in the medical field, my name is something I sign every single day. I prescribe medicine so it appears on prescription bottles and insurance claims and lab and imaging orders. Nurses answer the phone "Amy Cobb's office, how may I help you?" I am listed as a primary care provider for about 2000 people. I don't mention this as if I am anything special. I most certainly am not. But do I feel odd having a last name plastered all over HealthGrades and pill bottles when I have no physical, emotional, or spiritual connection to the name? Yes, I am married to a Cobb. But what makes him a "Cobb?" I can't grin at my husband and say "you laugh just like your daddy." I can't look at my boys and tell them they have the Cobb nose or the Cobb stubborn streak. I can't say "boys, your grandfather would have loved to see you hit that ball, march that field, fix that jet." I don't know any Cobb recipes or Cobb traditions. I don't know if or where they went to church, what music they loved, or how they earned a living. And so again, is this how fatherless children feel? What about the motherless child? Is it the name that carries the weight or the connection itself with a parent, a heritage, a history? For my adopted friends and patients, what does their adopted name mean to them? Is it a name filled with love, hope, and acceptance or is it a daily reminder of what could have been and what may never be? Not knowing anyone else with my name is a first-world problem. I realize that. But it is a thing. I'm learning to acknowledge my "things." I'm learning to feel those feelings, name what's missing or hurting, and process what thoughts can do to my body. Is this shame I am feeling? Regret? Did I even do anything wrong? Who is to blame - or is blame even required? Another ebb and flow in the circle of life, the jagged bonds of connectedness that barely keep us together - sometimes by one single strand of a lineage. I reached out to my writing group to see if any adopted writers had a perspective about the meaning of a name. Ann C. Averill wrote a beautiful piece about her experience with her name, and I am happy to feature it as a guest post on 10/12/21. Thank you, Ann, for your bravery and vulnerability to share with my readers. ❤️
I was pretty sure an acorn grew into a tree. I haven't been in first grade for a while, but I thought I remembered an acorn grew into an oak tree. I decided I better look it up before I wrote an entire post about it, and alas... an acorn does grow into an oak tree. Wikipedia expounded upon acorns being used in art, cuisine, customs, and as food for various birds and mammals. When I took the picture of the acorn in my husband's hand this morning, I wasn't thinking about anything but stored potential. Stored potential. I remembered squirrels collect and store acorns for the winter. And they eat the acorns. And those eaten acorns never reach their calling of becoming a beautiful oak tree.
There are all kinds of books and stories and even a finance app regarding the acorn as a tool for storage, delayed potential, growth. And yet... Here we are, scrolling on our phones or our laptops or our tablets (thank you, dear readers, and I do mean that)... Did we write that book we wanted to write? Did we take that ballroom dance class we wanted to take? Did we belt it at karaoke night like we'd been rehearsing with our brush mic in front of our bathroom mirror? (Okay, Susie did but that was the bottomless margaritas singing, not her true heart's desire to sing on a stage in front of strangers and have someone's heart beat a little faster and someone's eyes water at the sheer sound of her voice... wait, maybe that's just me)? Did we finally tell our friend we were sorry when we did that thing that's rolled around in the back of our minds for 20 years? Did we hold our child close to our chest and tell them everything is going to be okay even though we know it might not be okay and we don't want to be the reason they're in therapy later but we don't want to pretend everything is okay, oh my goodness, what is the right answer? Did we apply for the promotion we know we deserve or let another opportunity pass us by? Did we sign up for the race we know we aren't ready for but really, really want to try? Did we tell the person that hurt us repeatedly that they did hurt us and going forward, did we define what we need from them? Did we look in the mirror this morning and like every single inch of our bodies and every single fiber of our heart and soul because God designed us as a masterpiece, beautifully and wonderfully made, despite society's measuring sticks? Or, did we remain on the leaf-covered ground like the acorn... waiting for a squirrel or bird or toddler to scoop us up? Were we stored away for another day? Were we consumed before we ever began our destiny? An oak tree is a beautiful destiny. She is strong, tall, sturdy, and beautiful, with colors that change with the seasons. She provides shelter, shade, and structure. She never leaves us and she stays the same for the most part. You know what else is beautiful? A mother who tells her children she has been hurt too, and that it really is all going to be okay. That she KNOWS it's going to be okay, because she is okay and she will help them be okay as long as she is on this earth. A wife who tells her partner what she needs from them even if she doesn't know if they can give her what she needs. A friend who tells the truth when asked if she's okay. And a friend who recognizes her own flaws and asks for patience and understanding. A daughter who can look at her elderly parents and recognize every line on their face and hands for all its good and bad and steadfastness. She can see herself acquiring those same lines and she knows the toll each one has taken. She knows that her own children will see her lines one day, and she hopes they give her the same recognition. I'm typing this on the porch of a cabin on a lake in north Georgia and the acorns are literally spilling from the treetops hitting the ground HARD and abruptly and with force and determination. Each one comes down on this cabin rooftop or leaf-scattered ground with a POUND or a BOOM or a SNAP. And my heart is full. For I know the destiny of each tiny acorn. She is yearning to become a beautiful oak. She is waiting for her moment to rise. Now it is your turn. What path will you choose? Will you make the hard decisions, let your voice be heard, show up for those who love and need you? Or will you stay on the ground... waiting... watching... allowing life to happen all around you? I dare you to stand. I will stand with you. State Prints from Jane- White on White Frames from Amazon These are the 4 states in which I've lived!
LUG Switch crossbody bag - came with free phone holder that you can touch through (though I haven't tried it) and it has that RFID technology that keeps people from scanning your card #s. Ya'll, this was my first ever QVC purchase and I am 45 years old. I love, love, love the bag though for shopping as it's the perfect size for my small LUG Splits Wallet (got it from amazon- will link on my tools page), my phone, keys, lipstick, coupons, mask, and hand sanitizer. I think the QVC chic showed it worn as a fanny pack also, but I haven't been to Disney since I got it. :-). I know I paid under $50, but I would have to look back at the exact price. I can't find the exact one on Amazon but I linked one very similar in my "tools" page. This bag is still available on the QVC site but the colors are very limited. 👀
Who knew a pen and paper ✍️ could save a life? I wasn’t actively suicidal. But I was having frequent daydreams of having a wreck that was “bad enough” to keep me in the hospital a few days, off work at least a month, and unable to help anyone else for a while. 😳 I wanted it to be a single-car accident and of course I wanted to be alone. I wasn’t looking forward to the injuries and was praying nothing would require surgery, but I couldn’t wait to have a respite from work, life, and motherhood. Does that sound crazy? Selfish? Or similar to thoughts you’ve had? Caregiver fatigue 😴 is a real thing, even if you’re paid to care for others. Motherhood fatigue 😴and lemme just say it, full-time step-motherhood 🤷🏼♀️ fatigue is a real thing even if you love your children 🚶♂️👬🏼 dearly. Today’s world 🌎 for women is exhausting:
Toss in a pandemic 😷 and virtual school 📚and BAM, all the therapists are booked! Fortunately, my mental "breakdown" was pre-pandemic. Thank the heavens I already had a therapist when my regular job got flipped upside down in March of 2020. My crazy started when I was in the throes of motherhood, working full-time and commuting with kids age 2, 4, and 12. I was crying regularly on my way home from work, wondering how I was going to get everything done and actually sleep too...😴 I’ve always had pen and paper near me, but I didn’t start regularly journaling ✍️ until I started feeling that OVERWHELM on a regular basis. I had so many thoughts racing through my head and I didn’t have a system to capture them. I was using a planner, but I might think of something while driving or in the shower and I would lose the idea 💡 or thought before I captured it. Some internet scrolling led me to David Allen’s Getting Things Done method. By this point I had played around with bullet journaling and list making (List Maker 4 Life right here now!), but again, I felt like my thoughts were fleeting and scattered. I will link the GTD method below, and I do think it's a good system, but that's not the point of this post. Once I started decluttering my mind from all the racing thoughts, then I had to face my actual thoughts. This was not a good look. I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed with abandon or woken up with a passion for life. I felt like I was on a treadmill with no way off. Someone was going to have to pull me off, and I didn't have the time or energy to ask anyone to pull me off. I never felt relaxed. I was in a constant state of fight or flight (or so it seemed). I was alive. But was I living? Enter the JOURNAL. ✍️ A journal can be so many things:
Happy + Happy = Happy I was listening to a podcast the other day, and the speaker said he thinks we are all happier when we make others happier. Agreed. Then he said we are all happier when we are around other happy people. Also agreed. I went along my merry way and was strolling through the aisles of Home Goods, aimlessly looking at mugs and throw pillows, and those 2 thoughts kept resonating with me. Making others happier and being around other happy people makes US happy. What does it mean to make others happy? I know for a fact I've made some people happy in my lifetime. And yes, that made me happy. But did I even know what I was doing? Was me being happy by making them happy even my agenda? Do people even think about that? Can a person be happy as "an island?" What about people who choose to remain single or just haven't found a life partner? Those who live in solitude? Are they doomed to a life of unhappiness? What about solopreneurs and those whose jobs involve them working alone? Does that mean they are unhappy? I used to have a sign that says "happiness is a decision made ahead of time." I had another one that said "some people pursue happiness while others create it." While I do think that "our input determines our output" and "we are what we eat" (both in terms of food and the digital content we consume), I just don't think it's that simple anymore. You see, I can wake up, set my intention for the day, stay as happy as I "want" to be and in the course of one single day I can have the following conversations:
And those are just work examples. What about life examples?
So, how do I continue to make others happy in the above situations? How do I maintain my positive outlook? Aren't there times when happy ISN'T the right answer or attitude and staying positive just feels WRONG? In some situations, making others happy devalues their pain and suffering which honestly makes them feel even more isolated and unhappy. I realize not everyone has a job in the healing field, the medical field, or with the public. But we are all HUMAN. Almost all of us have friends, coworkers, neighbors, church members, family members, SOMEONE at some point in each day that is going to confide in us and lean on us. Do we lean in and choose to be a present fencepost or lighthouse for those that need us or do we back off all in the name of HAPPINESS and choosing joy? Can we even enjoy the good things without seeing the bad? I don't think we can.
I am REALLY starting to pay attention to my body when I meet new people. I don't always count them out if my first impression is less than stellar, but I do remember it. I take note so that I'm not surprised down the road.
And here's another disclaimer to Mr. Podcast's 2nd claim. Sally may make me feel good but I can't ever see her because our schedules are opposite and she's not good at reaching out. She struggles with depression and anxiety, so I have to let her reach out when she has the emotional space to do so. Bobby may make me feel like crap, but he's my brother and I love him, so then what? Susie might put me on edge every day, but she's my boss and I spend several hours a week with her. So yeah, Mr. Podcast, I like your ideas and they sound great, but then there's life. And after living and working and being in a few families now, I know that we can't always choose who we are around. And maybe that's why I stopped putting my 2 happiness signs out. I realized that I can keep a positive mindset and try to limit the time I spend with people who either make me feel bad or suck the life out of me, BUT... I also realized it takes the bad to see the good. It takes the ugly to see the beautiful. It takes all those things my patients tell me every day- that are really happening to people I care about- to make me slow down, sip my coffee, exhale at that stoplight, glance at my kiddos in the rearview, pump up the volume, and sing at the top of my lungs with my sunroof open. It takes being knocked down, run over, and slowly picking yourself up to smile at the exploring, coy toddler vying for your attention at your son's ball game. It takes losing something you love to look at a tree that's been standing outside your window for years and silently thank it for never leaving you. It takes holding someone you love while they shake in fear or agony to appreciate each and every piece of laundry you fold for the 400th time. The mundane is where the magic is... the daily can be the delight. Today, I choose to live... pretty, ugly, hard, easy, funny, scary, joyful, and unthinkable. Happiness will work itself out. She will make her appearance. And I will nod in recognition each time she does. To read some of my friends' thoughts on happiness, please click below and support their work. We all belong to a writer's group and I have learned and grown from each of these special women's work and words.
Chasing Happiness By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/chasing-happiness/ Finding True Happiness and Keeping It By Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/finding-true-happiness-and-keeping-it/ Mom Burnout and How to Be Happy By Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/mom-burnout/ 3 Days By MelAnn https://graceandrapture.substack.com/p/3-days Seeing Happiness Right in Your Life By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/10/01/seeing-happiness-right-in-your-life/ The Summer of Happiness Recap of Summer 2021 By Jessica Haberman https://storytellerfarm.com/the-summer-of-happiness-recap-of-summer-2021/ There are so many reasons a person should change jobs. I am going to discuss ALL the reasons a person should change jobs, and then I will discuss the specific reasons that I changed jobs after 15 years with a company. You should probably change jobs if:
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