Melissa Robison's Blog: Melissa Faith Robison's Blog, page 2

Would you like a positive message?

Small cards with messages such as: “Your Ambition is Inspiring!” “Your Smile Warms My Heart!”, and “You are LOVED!” custom printed and in hand, I entered Lincoln Park with the goal of bringing some well-deserved smiles to the homeless. Aware this can be a dangerous area I decide not to over think my tactic on approaching the homeless, and instead trust my good intentions will be met with positive energy in return. Over thirty homeless received an intuitive message, as we shared smiles and hugs.
Some in groups, others sitting or lying alone, I asked them all if they would like a positive message as I approached, being respectful of entering someone’s space and choice to ignore me and my hot pink hair. Asking each person to close their eyes, I fanned out the cards and gently brushed their hands with them, with the simply instruction of, “let your fingers pick the message that belongs to you”.
 A volatile group of seven hung out on a grassy area, where one sat on a blanket, a couple sat on the stone wall, a baby of about a year old ran about, and three arguing men stood in the middle. One heavier set black woman, probably barley 21, pulled the “You are Beautiful” card, I repeated the message out loud to her, and she told me, “It’s been a very long time since I heard that”. As I gave her a big hug I told her, “it had been too long”, and she began to pick her low sunken head up, and she straightened her posture.
Just a minute later this woman was rallying to build up a young man in the group. This short thin, also baby faced man, didn’t think he was deserving of taking a message. He decided to have faith in that moment, and he pulled the message “Love is All Around You!” His chin hit his collarbone and he commented that everyone got that same message, and initially didn’t believe this was a special card just for him. Each of the others standing nearby yelled their own messages, all chiming in how everyone did indeed love him! Wow that was an immediate success! Within seconds of receiving his, “Love is All Around You!” message, the homeless man was smiling, and acknowledging all the caring eyes and warm smiles literally all around him. The arguments in the group had ceased. The energy now shifted, the space all around improved.
Armed with just over thirty small cards, I brought smiles and gave a healing hug to each recipient. All messages had the Prayer of St. Francis on the reverse side, and one woman told me it was her favorite prayer. “In giving we receive”, I told her, as we exchanged gratitude for each other’s presence and a big hug.  

My Homeless Friend Saved My Life

Moving to a rough area of Long Beach City from a Plymouth, Massachusetts, America's Hometown, was the difference of white to black. My new neighborhood had gang members everywhere, and it wasn't safe to go to the store alone. I accompanied my daughter everywhere and walked her to her new school, the infamous Poly High.  This was a popular spot for the gang bangers and homeless, because if they saw a cop car approaching they could act like they just got off or were getting on the bus. This corner also had two convenience stores that sold booze, so as they collected change or dollars they could buy more beer throughout the day. The street was lined with big complex apartment buildings which had man standing at front and side entrances. The first day of school, on my way back, a group of three homeless people sat on the side of the street near the bus stop. I smiled at the group, and greeted them "Good Morning", as I have always done when passing someone most of my life. I was told that day, I stuck out around the area and everyone could tell I wasn't from around there, which was dangerous. I was told I was too friendly and to keep my head down and not look at people. Being the hard headed person I am, I engaged in a conversation with the group when they replied, "good morning", back and asked me where I got my tattoos.

My tattoos cover my back, and both arms are very colorful and attract a lot of attention, which though I'm not a fan of, I get used to, and always take time to respond to anyone that has complimented them in a respectful manner. Being August I was wearing a tank top, jean shorts, flip flops, and my colorful ink was getting a lot of attention around my new neighborhood. I told the man, I later new as Edgardo, the picture he pointed to was Saint Francis, and he began to smile. St. Francis is a recognized saint in this Mexican neighborhood, and rare to see as a tattoo. Edgardo asked if I wanted to buy his friend's bicycle. He really thought I bought his whole story about it being his friend's bike, and I was pretty certain it was stolen. The other couple looked like major tweekers, and this corner was known to attract them all, whether they were dealers, prostitutes, or just users, but it always is a scene I try to stay away from. I politely declined needing a bike, and asked if he knew where I could get myself some coffee on the way to my daughter's school. Edgardo explained there was a tiny French coffee shop in the strip mall on Atlantic Ave about half way, which was perfect! I stayed to talk only about five minutes, said my good byes and went on my way.

The following morning after walking my daughter to school, I stopped at the coffee shop Edgardo suggested. I tried some kind of weird coffee that reminded me of tai ice coffee, and picked up two pastries. One for me and one to give Edgardo for thanking him for the coffee shop reference, because I lived off coffee at the time, and so badly wanted to have a little coffee shop I could walk to everyday. Edgardo couldn't believe his eyes when I walked straight up to him, handed him the pastry, and said good morning. I told him the coffee there was great, and to have a nice day.

Each day after that I always looked for Edgardo. I would give him some kind of food, whatever I had on me, or if I didn't have anything I'd go up to my apartment grab a bagel for him and bring it back down to him. We started talking more and more and he would always beg to walk with me to the downtown post office or bus station, where ever I was going. I quickly noticed Edgardo was like the little Mayor of the East Arts Village, the area I lived in , and all over down town. Homeless people and junkies came out of alleys and all around to say hello to Edgardo and he always politely introduced me to them all. Edgardo had done prison time with a lot of them, and others seemed to come out of their houses to say hello. All the guys always asked if I would give them a hug including Edgardo but I declined. Edgardo started to show me short cuts through alley ways to get to where I was going faster, which scared me. Always deviating my walking route, and never going back they way I came it made me nervous that I wasn't in charge of picking my walking route at random. One time we cut through the back of a fancy restaurant on Pine Ave, and I saw men in expensive cars picking up prostitutes, and I thought oh hell no I'm going to die. I stuck to Edgardo and I was fine, but the though that he could sell me out to get mugged was heavily on my mind. Edgardo taught me how to jay walk, which is a ticketed offense in Long Beach. He also showed me his photo ID, and where he lived, which seemed like a sign of friendship to me. Edgardo lived on the pavement in an alley next to the Laundromat on a main corner about two blocks down from my apartment. He explained it was warm there, and they allowed Edgardo to stay there if he protected the business. Edgardo kept other riffraff and graffiti away from the building, and in return the business let him do laundry and use their outside hose to wash up under every morning. Edgardo was always priding himself with how white his t-shirts were and constantly asked me to smell them. It became a cute little argument we had, were I would refuse to smell the clothes he was wearing, but on occasions, would say "fine ok", and compliment him on his nice Downey scent, and Edgardo would smile, and yell "see I told you I smell good!"

One day we ran into an older gang banger named Paco. As Edgardo and Paco smoked cigarettes Paco began to tell me how he grew up watching his mother turn tricks, and never new his father. Paco had witnessed his mother stab a John to death after he got a little too rough with her in a hotel room when he was 15. Paco was in and out of prison and had all the stories and tats to prove it. Paco had a long board and was torn whether he should sell this prized possession of his. On the streets people sell everything they can get there hands on everyday, and its a rarity to see these people actually hang on to anything, and Paco was proud of himself for having the skateboard so long, and I even later heard him referred to as the "dude on the long board", so it was clearly part of his identity. I shared a few stories of my own trouble family life, or lack off, and Edgardo seemed sympathetic. Edgardo explained to me, as a couple other homeless in the neighborhood, he had a very good family and chose to be on the streets. Edgardo was upset his sister would occasionally give him slack when he would show up to see her kids, and get pissed off at him for drinking, but I could understand that being a mom.

Edgardo started asking me if he could come up to my apartment and shower, and I always gave him a firm no. I offered to wash some of his laundry so he wouldn't have to use the quarter machines, and he would drop it off in a trash bag outside my apartment. Edgardo found out I didn't have a tv and was dumb founded and swore up and down he would get me one, though I assured him it wasn't something I though was necessary. After giving him bagels and such he started to ask me what I cooked, and I let him know I just left all my belongings in Massachusetts to come to California and dint even have pots and pans yet. Edgardo though I was a rich white lady and probably had everything I needed, and was pretty surprised I didn't fit into his assumptions, but we were friends anyway. He always said he knew where to get me stuff, but I told him not to worry about it. He began to offer me plates of cooked food when I walked by him on the street, that he just got from neighboring houses, like really nice hot meals. I tried to explain to was a vegetarian, but he did manage to stick a fork full of some kind of Mexican potato salad in my mouth one day, and I finally gave him a hug. I guess to me that meant we were family, because that was what my family constantly does- force food on people.

Though Edgardo never stopped asking for a shower I never agreed because I could not trust to have anyone in my apartment since I had my daughter to worry about. He occasionally rented a room by the hour to shower and god knows what else. Edgardo told me he got a check from the government every month and he did not need to beg for money. He told me the other street folks did too, and it was demeaning to him to beg which I totally understood. Edgardo though most of the time was pretty buzzed off beer, carried himself with a lot of pride.

One day when walking over to the bus stop I stood at the red light on the corner of Olive Ave and 7th Street, still one of the absolute worse blocks in Long Beach also known as Tweekerville. My hand on the light pole, a black man driving a small brownish-tan coupe, probably at least a 1980 or previous year model, drove toward me with his head hanging out the window, shouting at me. The driver pulled up on to the side walk about two feet from where I was standing and hopped out of his car, leaving the driver's side door opened barely a split second later. In about two very long steps the driver reached out his arm and with one hand and grabbed my upper arm. I froze, and just noticed how tall the man was, well over 6 foot 4 inches, and his extremely dark complexion. The man began to pull me into his car, when I heard Edgardo's voice yell, "HEY THAT'S MY GIRL". It stopped the assaulting man and we both looked over and saw Edgardo was sitting on the pavement in front of the church about twenty feet away. The assaulter, yelled back, "OH I"M SORRY MAN". Edgardo replied "GET YOUR HAND OFF HER- THAT'S MY GIRL". The assaulter could've probably taken Edgardo in a fight, but  I got the impression this was question of turf. This area is one of the few places you commonly see both the Black and Mexican gang members, and is probably why it is such dangerous area. The two gangs try to keep peace among each other because if one fight breaks out, it would have a domino effect and cause major blood shed.

Damn, the man that I brought that pastry to just a two months ago, just saved my life. The assaulter dropped his hand, apologized to Edgardo never looking at me or said one word to me. No sorry, no nothing, he just got back in his car and drove off. I walked over to Edgardo and thanked him. Edgardo just smiled at me, and asked where I was going. We had a quick conversation and I quickly walked away. The next day Edgardo introduced me to a few more of his friends, I could tell they were in a gang, all wearing the same shirts, and many with the beloved face tattoos.

They other guys, hung out a few doors down from me and began asking for hugs, and it made me uncomfortable. I started to feel a huge push from both different gangs to talk to me each time I left my apartment. Edgardo began telling me I needed to hang out and live in the white neighborhoods, and brought me to a few rental companies and showed me where they kept their flyer's for current rental properties. Edgardo told me to go down to second street and hang out down there with the white people. I never took it as any kind of insult, I felt he thought I would be happier and safer somewhere else, and I began to look for a new place.

On one occasion, while waiting at the bus stop a group of the large black man that hung out on the street, surrounded my daughter and I. Before the bus could come a cop car pulled up, and two cops jumped out in lightening speed and put them all up against the building. The officers pulled out weapon after weapon, and at least one bottle of each of the men, and started to cuff them. The bus drove up as close as it could get to the designated stop and I quickly got on with my daughter and watched the shakedown as the bus pulled away. The next day I could not find Edgardo to tell him what happened and noticed I hadn't seen him around in about a week which was very strange. I began to really worry about him, and everyone I had asked, said they hadn't seen him either. I didn't know if he got locked up again, or was just on some kind of drunk spree partying in a hotel somewhere. I recalled the very last time I saw Edgardo he asked me for a dollar so I gave him two. He apologized up and down, and said he would pay me back, but I told him not to worry about it. He said he wanted to buy a beer, and was embarrassed, because this was not like him. It really didn't bother me, as I gave money to the people on the street, a dollar here and there, or change, whenever I had it.

The following day a huge man came up to me when I was crossing the street right in front of my apartment, and stopped me. He told me something serious was about to go down and I had to get out of that neighborhood TODAY. I was so scared, went inside my apartment locked everything up tight and called my boyfriend to tell him what just happened. The next two days I never left the apartment unless my boyfriend was with me. I found a house to rent in a safe neighborhood one block from the beach, and the Realtor let me move in immediately. Till the day I turned my keys in, I never left my apartment with out being escorted by my boyfriend again. Two and a half years later I almost never even drive by that part of town. It is still known for its horrible crime, and I have no idea how my old landlord can sleep at night knowing he rented the apartment to me sight unseen from Massachusetts, and pitched it to me as a safe family neighborhood, which was my main criteria for a two bedroom apartment in walking distance to my daughter's school.

My daughter and I still reminisce about Edgardo, and I wonder how he is doing and where he is often. His big huge smile, and often blood shot eyes, really just always cheered me up. I will forever be grateful for the day he saved me from getting abducted, as the man who grabbed me clearly did not have good intentions.   

Responding to a Man Stumbling in Head On Traffic

Having recently learned of my TBI diagnosis, I opted out of driving and was cruising along shotgun listening to some loud tunes as my boyfriend drove through Long Beach, California. We made a left onto Pacific Coast Highway at a busy light leading us onto the five lane road. As usual my senses were on high alert, as my fight or flight responses always seem to be triggered around busy areas. Call it coincidence or what you will, but for whatever reason my heightened sense of awareness has led me to notice more things than most and in turn respond to a lot of emergencies. Back in my short time in the 101st Airborne Division I was trained as my unit's Combat Lifesaver, and because I always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, a few of the skills I learned there and out in the field, were put to use.

I immediately noticed a car crash in the Signal Hill area, on the opposite side of the road and yelled to my boyfriend, Chris to pull over. Chris, was used to this as it was the second time this month I witnessed and responded to an accident, and he has heard quite a few stories of my running up to help others at car crash sites. Chris pulled into the used auto sale site next to the crash, and my door flew open before he could even put it in park. Yes once again, here I go.

The car crash was a simple rear end collision with a sedan hitting the back of a SUV. I immediately ran out into traffic to check on the driver of the sedan, not even glancing at oncoming traffic or the first SUV. Confused the over six foot tall black man opened his driver's side door and fell out of his car. As his shoulders hit the pavement I was already there stopping his head from falling further. I yelled to the couple in the front car to stay put and turn off their engine, and asked the victim if he could walk okay. As confused as he was, and stumbling, I was able to lead him out of traffic on to the sidewalk, where he would be less likely to get hit by traffic. The lane the gentleman fell into was actually in oncoming traffic, and it was rush hour.

As per my usual instincts I began pointing to others telling them to call 911. No one ever seems fast enough during these seconds following an emergency so I began to call myself as well. I started to evaluate the gentleman for shock, and noticed he was shaking badly so I ripped off my way over sized sweat shirt and wrapped it around him, noticing It was a man's extra large and tall, which was just his size. Continuing to treat him for shock, I began to ask him personal questions. The gentleman was not bleeding or bruised, but panicking badly. A salesman from the auto business came out to the side walk and recognized the gentleman, which helped calm his nerves a little more. EMS was able to respond in under fifteen or twenty minutes and transport the gentleman, and the other passengers in the first car were able to walk away from the scene entirely.

Wow, this guy was the luckiest victim I've responded to yet. Thank God this wasn't like the previous motorcycle accident I just witnessed and responded to just last month further south on PCH. It took me a few minutes to gather my thoughts and assess how dangerous this road is with its multiple lanes of traffic, break down lanes, middle turning lane, and traffic lights. My boyfriend, though very sympathetic to all involved, had urged me to take back my new and expensive favorite sweatshirt once the EMT's were taking the man away. Though I was happy to see it go to someone in need, I realized Chris was also trying to look out for my needs since one of the TBI and Fibro symptoms I have is dealing with the constant feeling of freezing. Wow, I guess I didn't think of running into traffic either, or anything else relating to my safety, whoops again. That nifty internal response system I have, does seem to always see these accidents when dozens of others are around. Feeling blessed I could be of service to this man during his time of need, I'm glad that even for those short twenty minutes I got to be his little earth angel holding his hand to get him through to the next Guardian Angel responder to arrive.

Things happen in three's, I've heard. Knowing I was two accidents down this month, I sensed another accident would occur soon. The coincidences were a bit freaky for those I told, however I take it as it comes and really am no longer surprised.

Speeking Publically with a trembling voice

So much has happened since the day I graciously accepted this award. Stumbling upon the speech I wrote five years ago, creates an opportune moment to reflect upon where I am now, where I once was, and the pure fact I will always choose to follow my heart and that will remain constant in the future. This was the first time I really had to give a public speech to such a massive audience, all filled with very educated women, and I was very taken back by how many women in the audience approached me afterwards, especially considering I chose not to go into details about the challenges I've faced in my life....and also because I always expect such a small portion of the audience is paying attention during such a conference. 

I brought notes that I previously studied to death as public speaking is one of my biggest fears. At this time I still did not have the Traumatic Brain Injury diagnosis or the PTSD diagnosis, and had no idea what they even were. My hands trembled so badly at the podium I could not read my notes. And though I spoke loudly in the microphone I was sure everyone could tell my voice trembled beyond belief. I tried to make my speech short, but could tell I was up there way longer than the other speakers which seemed deliver twenty second speeches. Deciding not to speed read was probably a good choice. Had I done that my message would not have come across and the whole point was to deliver a message. 

Below is the speech I delivered as the sole representative of all the State Colleges in MA as a recipient of this Massachusetts Women in Public Higher Education Award (Four recipients each year are selected throughout the State).

I am a senior at Bridgewater State College majoring in Accounting. I would like to thank Tisa L. Cohane Director of the Graduate School Services and Off Campus Programs, Dr. Stan Ross and Harold Silverman, for their support, and the  Massachusetts Women in Public Higher Education organization for the opportunity and the honor of accepting this Student Achievement Award! 
My background is not something I wear on my sleeve. I made a choice many years ago, not to let my hardships dictate my future. And have always refused to play the cards I was dealt. I believe that each sunrise brings new beginnings and we all have the ability change our circumstances. Yes I am 31 yrs old and am still working on my baccalaureate degree, and can’t wait for the day that I earn my masters degree and CPA certification, but I find comfort in knowing I have had a positive affect on my community and will always look for ways that I may help others in need. 
I would like to read the Prayer of St Francis , a Prayer for Peace. This prayer is about being what you wish to see in the world 
If you know the words please join me. 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;  O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.  For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.


Thank you

I Struggle but I also get out there!

[image error]
Here all along I thought my hurdle for the day was the usual PTSD getting out to socialize and, well... Just getting out. After months of trying to coordinate with a couple other female vets I finally got to our big Clay Class so we could demand some fun out of life, ha! Typically I'm the slow one in the bunch but always find a way to laugh at myself so it's really no big deal.

We all made four balls of clay so we got a few tries at making a masterpiece. Luckily the instructor gave me lots of one on one time so I could get rolling along with the group. The coordination needed to make a pot was beyond me this day, and I was noticing the issues I had with just simple right left coordination. So as someone got a great pic of me destroying my last glob of clay, my heart did start to panic. Yikes, are you kidding me I asked, as I'm realizing for the past hour I didn't accomplish making anything and I kind of ran out of jokes about it.

My very nice friend next to me said, " make a thimble". Oh yes genius! I can do that. But then , nope I actually couldn't and everyone had already cleaned up so I gracefully decided to hang up my towel and evaluate whether I ever wanted to come back. The experience was nice, and I defiantly had more fun overall than the rest of the class. So I decided to focus on giving others compliments on their own creations as I really appreciated the other classmates work even more. One person let me help them pick out their glaze colors and offered me their bowls they made and I graciously accepted. I paid for the glazes on the other two bowls I'll someday take home, and may keep one as a reminder of the class and send the other to it's creator.

A few days went by and I gave myself hell about even signing up for the class. I mean, what was I thinking? That I suddenly wouldn't have TBI issues? No, I never even considered it I was just going along to support my friend who suffers with depression, and gladly sacrificed my night for her to get out and have fun, so I really don't need any post pottery guilt. Grateful I made it out that night, and glad in the moment I did make the best of it all. Though I didn't go in with any real expectations, I think I was just shocked I didn't have the worst case scenario of not being able to make a thing in mind. But that's ok, I'm not stupidly blind, I just prefer to go with the flow and stay open to all possibilities.

The Joys of Parenting

Ah the joys of parenting a seventeen year old daughter. I thought my struggles were everyday things, such as making out of bed without puking, or remembering where I was. This week my daughter Kat has taken that all to a new level by acting out and disrespecting me. Just when I thought she finally understood, what added stress does to someone with TBI, she whammies me. My body reacts by tensing up in a ball, and the voice in my head just begs, "Please no, don't do it!" Yes, she has been told, a stressed out mommy means more time in a wheelchair for me, but I think most teenagers don’t think too much about others. No matter what bumps she hits, I still have to be on top of my game enough to react and parent her. Kat is a mastermind at pushing my buttons, and I just want to wave a big white flag above my head and beg for mercy. I admittedly just can’t take the stress, as it turns in to overwhelming self-blame. The stress mounts itself and manifests as increased short term memory loss and an increase in my balance problems. Simply means a boat load of really bad days, of me barley leaving the house, and when I do I have constant feelings of being lost which cause anxiety attacks that just flank each other. Also, bad balance keeps me needing the assistance of a wheelchair or walker, so I tend to greatly restrict where I go, and frankly I’m far away from accepting my thirty-eight year old once extremely active self in this condition. Like I said, for me it is mounting. My daughter Kat, clearly still needs me to be on top of my game, and is dealing with losing her father to suicide two and a half years ago, so the last thing I want to happen is for Kat to feel unloved or not important. The struggle of finding some balance between trying to be that 100% kickass parent and giving myself enough space to heal is still a mystery. Taking it day by day does sound great but doesn't work for me, because as many TBI survivors, and Virgo's know, worrying is just what we do. In need of a practical solution, I sacrifice myself for Kat's needs. A no frills, downright real description of what it looks like for me to track down Kat, a six foot tall super model pretty blond girl on the fourth of July follows. After Kat is an hour late I take to foot on the beach she was dropped off at four hours prior. Trying to stay on the walking path because I have trouble on uneven ground, my heart racing, and fists clenched,  I walk as fast as I can, amazed at myself for not having any walking assistance, but also terrified at the police helicopters lighting up and circling above this downtown Long Beach, California area. I’m telling myself not to look up as my walking quickly starts veering off to the side and off the concrete path. The drug addicts and drunks are all that are left out after curfew and very aware of my safety, I pretend not to notice a gentleman, probably a good two hundred pounds more than me, breaking into a car to my left. As fights occurring on the other side of me, I look down at myself, and feel grateful I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and long shorts, which is nothing that will attract unwanted attention from anyone. I try to look straight ahead so I do not make eye contact with anyone, and want so badly to watch behind me, but I know what quickly turning my head without holding on to something will do- cause me to fall hard on the ground, looking more vulnerable. Horrified, I make it about a mile when I get a call, saying Kat is now at the pick-up location, some two hours late, but gratefully in one piece. Now at a section of the beach where there is about a hundred steep stairs to walk up to get to the road, I am cursing my daughter's name left and right. Awaiting double hip surgery, I have grand plans to inform my carless teenage daughter about the physical pain she has caused me. After getting Kat home safely it takes me a couple days to cool down. I get it, this is just teenager stuff, but I also feel like I just don’t have the stamina to deal with it.  Do I try to live by the, "if you love something let it go" theory? Or clamp down harder on rules and drive myself insane when Kat breaks them? I hate that I have to take my health in consideration when doing my God given duty of raising this soon to be an adult. The better I feel the more quality mother daughter time I'll have with Kat, and I just want to maximize those days so damn bad. Now knowing the TBI diagnosis, I find myself constantly reflecting, and like probably a huge majority of people I share this diagnosis with; it often leads me to wishing I had my old life back for a thousand reasons. What else can I do, or we do, but just try to remember to take a breath and sit with these feelings? Though I know my daughter is stronger because of my struggles, and will most likely be hugely successful someday because of these hurdles we face, I still have to make it a strong priority to have this thought enter my mind before the mounting self-destructive thoughts regain control. Ah the joys of parenting.

My Big Vacation

Finally after seven months of planning for a huge splurge on a mini vacation after what has been one of the hardest and least mobile years of my life, I attended the Hay House, Writing from Your Soul Workshop this weekend, in Maui. The information I received was invaluable, and each person I met was defiantly sent to me for a reason. Really amazed at the dozens and dozens of coincidences with the people I met, but not surprised.Not sure why I didn’t see it coming that I would have a hard time with the long days ofsitting as the fibro really locked my body up quite well. It’s a dammed if you do dammed if you don’t situation sometime, but I roll on. My face started to slump again on the one side. I thought with all the TMJ massages and head muscle loving I've been trying my face was looking better when I got to Maui, but each morning I took a picture of myself before going into the event and I was really sad to see the muscle spasms on one side and the slight slumping was even a little bit worse than before my trip come Sunday morning. But no worries, now I know it is something I can work on to improve and I will. I just got to get over having any expectations about my looks. It doesn't do me any good to have these attachments anyhow.I had mistakenly thought the conference was at The Grand on the more remote South Maui, even though I had a million reminders via the hosting publishing company, consequently the event was being held at the Westin on West Maui. I booked my room near the Grand on the other side of the mountain, about 50 min away, not the 5 minute commute I already stressed over.Being all studious and stuff I even had my boyfriend, Chris take a test drive by The Grand the day before so I knew how to get there and I would be on time. Doors were to open on Friday at 6:00pm with the event starting at 7:00pm so I was shooting to arrive at 5:45pm to give myself time to get out of the car, collect my belongings, and find the room alright, since I get lost and turned around a lot. This was just something I didn't want to stress over, and it’s important to methat my seminar and mini vacation started off on the right foot so we left at 5:35 though my anal inner voice still wanted to leave the day before!Anyway, in the car I remember all the times my absolute surety in remembering something important has failed me, so just for good measure I take out my iPad and search for the original email confirmation sent last fall, containing the event information. Looking back I don’t know why I even put myself through the stress of searching on an electronic device because I had already made myself a manila folder full of items for the event including a large colored post card I received and more importantly my event pass, which laid right by my feet. Soon I realized the mistake and Chris just drove as fast as he safely could to the correct venue, and I now had a fifty-seven minute drive to try to give myself some self-love, and reassure myself everything would be okay. And what do you know, I somehow got there, got a seat, and sat down with my note pad and pens before it started! Yippee! Thank god for my sweetie driving me everywhere! The seminar was going well, but I did notice I was dealing with physical challengesbeyond just the sitting. My old and ancient body does have a hard time hearing, and I did stress about the position I sat in the room quite a bit. I don’t like the feeling of people behind me, but I also needed to sit near the front so I could see and hear the presentations, as I just spent thousands of dollars on coming to Maui for this workshop. After just the first few hours I noticed I was becoming fatigued by the other attendees approaching me to talk and share stories and asking me questions. Remembering my spiritual training, I try to just acknowledge this, and give myself some love, though I really didn’t have enough energy to ground myself and certainly felt beyond the point of a recharge, but I am an insanely stubborn one so I was sure I’d make it through a little conference.Funny but no belly laugh, once again, I didn't drink enough water through the weekend. Probably just because I didn't want to miss any part of the presentation and during breaks I knew I wasn’t moving at any great clip and questioned making it to the dreaded women's room line fast enough to get back before break ended, and as usual I worried quite a bit about getting lost. I did make it a few times though, as I always stop and ask for directions like a good girl, and to my delight met some really awesome women in line! So I'll promise to hydrate myself better in the future so my migraines, body aches and knots, and digestion can stop being taxed and work on rebuilding physically but reality is I do this shit all the time. How can I forget important stuff like eating good and drinking, but it really is a daily challenge for me. Maybe it's the PTSD maybe it's the TBI, I don't know and I'm really starting to care less and less about the reasons behind it. I just need to focus on the how to fix it. Trying to remind myself of self-care will hopefully,eventually, start to sink in, right?!? Ha-ha just have to laugh, all I can, or better yet choose to do.

TBI fun days

TBI is Fun Article​Typical clumsiness kind of follows me like a cloud. Learning not to bend over to pick up something I’ve dropped, takes memory power, and this Super Hero sometimes forgets that at home too. How do I manage to have a day so filled with blunders? Well, I manage mostly because I’m a TBI survivor. Nineteen years, Baby, that’s right! Part of my ability to do downright silly stuff is fueled by only getting sleep in a maximum of two hour increments. Yes, I’m going to blame most of my problems on lack of sleep today, why not, right? However, I’m ready to pass on the title of my long running insomniac record. It simply does me no good, and consumes most of my thoughts which are about how my body desperately feels the need to sleep. So, does obsessively thinking about sleep help me much? Sometimes it does, because I am so determined to get more sleep that I’m the thirstiest river in the Wild Fires of California right now. Any conversation about sleep intrigues me. Any tweet, any article, I just want to print it all up and juice them, as I couldn’t possibly swallow it fast enough. ​Sometime last fall, at least I think at the moment that’s when it happened, I stumbled upon an online article about a sleep study in Asia. Wow, I remembered while being stationed in Germany, how starkly different the European News about U.S. events where compared to news channels in the U.S. I somehow trusted this source of news more as it did seem more objective. More importantly I got a completely different view of the situation, which can be refreshing or terrifying, but important all the same. This is the same reason I really love watching the Food Matters Network, it’s derived by several independent sources globally. Now gracefully praying in thanks for my easy access to pertinent news. The article I was so thrilled about relayed a concept of getting sleep when you can. I remembered from my graduate studies envying big companies like Amazon and Google for allowing employees down time and naps and the positive impact on productivity and employee dedication. Giving people a down moment when they need or crave it not only helps them get through their day, but also lets them come back to their day refreshed and renewed, which is a beautiful thing, right? For me if I was able to get a nap during the day of just forty-five minutes, depending on the night before, it could mean I have just double the amount of sleep I got in a twenty-four hour period which is huge.​Napping started to take on a self-loving aspect in my life. My daughter grew up with me literally falling asleep at the dining room table at night. Mashies still on my plate, it didn’t matter. I was destined to have sleep marks of the table’s wood patterns nestled across my forehead like most people would with a comfy down pillow. Right there at the table, hopefully after I ate my veggies, corplunkk went my head. Way too tired to move out of the chair, and definitely too tired to bounce myself off the sides of the hallway leading up the stairway to my bedroom. That table worked just fine for me. Thank God this was before my daughter had a camera phone or Face Book account, because though I’m a Super Hero I still get very self-conscious about the silly stuff I do…twenty-four seven. I reiterate…its twenty-four seven with my silliness.​Nice family outing to Hollywood last week, had a memorable end for my out of town visitors. To them, I strangely requested to sit in the back seat for the drive back to Long Beach. I no longer drive since I got my diagnosis about two years ago for several really good reasons; and am known for riding shot-gun and mixing the tunes for everyone on the iPod- D.J. style. I go out and buy cars I can easily slide into from the passenger side, measure out trunk space for my wheelchair days, and never even sit behind the wheel. A tough thing to do as an all-around motor lover. So after I make everyone uncomfortable about switching seats around and make my cousin take the copilot spot, I get in the back seat, roll down the window, and proceed to give myself a super nice vertical back window face print, and pass out. The call of nature for me, is sleep, potty breaks come second. The relative in the back middle seat offers to let me lay on their lap as everyone laughs and jokes about me. I tell you I could not care less, and don’t even think I spent the extra energy to open my second eye when she nicely offered. Oh hell no I was perfectly comfortable where I was, and now I’m drifting off to wonder if I ever even replied or thanked her for the offer. Doggy in the window, yep that was me. I probably had a nice string of drool going on too. I will make a note to carry a bib next time, and yes most likely misplace that sticky, as it’s another one of my Super Powers. Oh the fun times just keeping rolling on in TBI land. All brought to you my choosing to have an outlook of being on an adventure, whether it’s stormy or all rainbows- it’s real and its here and it’s all about how I choose to deal. Rhyming was indeed necessary just then.