Cindy A. Christiansen's Blog, page 5

Stay Strong; Stay Happy; and Keep Moving Forward!

 
I had a good friend call me the other day and tell me I have received the spiritual blessing of long-suffering.
What? A blessing of long-suffering?
At first, I wondered if her brain had slipped a cog. Long-suffering certainly didn’t feel or sound like a blessing to me, especially when you were living it. It felt more like a punishment; a curse. I thought of all the physical pain I had suffered since being diagnosed with chronic health issues at the age of seventeen. I thought of struggling through college never knowing when a seizure would hit; always needing a bathroom or the side of the road to be sick; feeling endless pain; and my mind being constantly riddled with brain fog. And, that was only the beginning.
An extremely difficult marriage, a miscarriage, and two high-risk pregnancies (that lead to two special needs children) added to that long-suffering. The loss of my parents and my closest brother early in their lives had been distressing and challenging at best.
No. I couldn’t see that God had given me a special blessing. My road felt devastatingly hard, and I could only wonder what I had done to displease Him that He would shoulder me with this much tribulation.
I said nothing to my friend as all of this raced through my mind. She told me her daughter was preparing a lesson for church and together they were researching spiritual blessings. She had never explored the blessing of long-suffering before and when discussing it with her daughter, she immediately thought of me.
God had given me a special blessing—not one that many could withstand—she said. She told me I must have been very close to Him on the other side to receive such a spiritual blessing. I still scoffed. My mind associated long-suffering with hardship and punishment—not a blessing. Maybe my friend’s brain had slipped two cogs.
But as she continued to explain this special blessing, an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude filled me. She told me that despite my trials, I was living my life with a smile on my face and always doing for others during the most difficult of times. She said I was truly “enduring to the end” with grace.
It took time, days really, for the meaning of her words to sink in and to accept the blessing I have been given. I want to thank my friend for sharing this with me so that I can share it with all of you.

I know that I am not the only one here who has been given this special blessing. I know many who are dealing with much strife in their lives. May you now look upon it as a special spiritual gift and feel His loving arms around you as you journey through this mortal life filled with long-suffering. Stay strong; stay happy; and keep moving forward.


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

You Really Don’t Want This Diagnosis, Do You?

In 2005, I almost died after an easy laparoscopic gallbladder operation. The doctor made mistakes (internal bleeding), the OR team made mistakes (pinched a nerve in my left leg), and the nurse made a huge mistake (didn’t hook up my IV right and I bleed out on the floor). I’m not sure to this day why they didn’t give me blood transfusions because I fell way below transfusion level. Maybe it had to do with admitting they had made a mistake.
I started having seizures and developed a systemic infection with a fever of 103 degrees F. I also developed other health issues. I eventually ended up seeing a neurologist. I scheduled an appointment to get the results of my MRI so that my husband would be with me. I had to go into his office for some other reason and his staff immediately told me I had Multiple Sclerosis (MS). They had me on the table, ready to inject me with Interferon before I knew what was happening. I refused.
I got several other opinions. If you don’t know, MS is not a conclusive diagnosis. Two doctors said I had MS, three said they weren’t sure. The doctor I trusted most told me it didn’t matter at that point. He said to hold out as long as I could without treatment because it is expensive and can make things worse. I took his advice.
Exactly ten years later, I started having symptoms on the left side of my head, including extreme pain and pressure at the base of the skull, ringing in the ear, eye pain, cognitive issues and frontal lobe pain. I ended up seeing another neurologist and having several MRIs done.
At our next appointment, she said, “I think you have MS, but that isn’t causing your current symptoms.”
“Let’s just focus on my head issue.”
She turned and looked at me. “You really don’t want this diagnosis, do you?”
I stared at her and blinked a few times. Seriously? Would anyone want a diagnosis of MS? Did she think I should be jumping for joy? Frankly, my head hurt too much to respond to that question.
I said, “I thought it wasn’t a conclusive test?”
“You have a lot of new lesions in your brain and on your spine. Let’s get things started.”
On the way home, my mind kept asking me if I was ready for this. I was, and had been, in a lot of pain. Could I take more? Or, had I had enough? Would I just be making things worse by going on medication?
The phone rang as I came through the door.
“Is this Cindy Christiansen?”
“Yes.”
“We would like to come out and get your trained on your first injection.”
Really? That fast?“I need to think about this first.”
I hang up, my mind reeling and my hands tingling with confusion. The phone rang again. It was my doctor.
“I’ve talked with the radiologist that read your MRIs,” she said. “I’ve decided you don’t have MS.”
“But the company just called me to schedule the in-home—”
“I’ve cancelled that.”
I hung up, bewildered and numb. So, if I am not a willing to make a rushed decision, I don’t have MS? I guess my doctor was right.
“You really don’t want this diagnosis, do you?”  


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:http://www.dragonflyromance.com 
Photo of dog: www.123rf.com



    Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Write Puppy

As you know, I write sweet romance, always include dogs in my books and feature them on my book covers. Readers who don't know me ask, "So, are your books about dog characters who fall in love?" The answer is no. I don't write fantasy.

Solving Our Dog’s Weight Problem

SpriteAfter the loss of our Schnauzer terrier, Sprite, we decided to rescue another dog. This was a difficult decision after all the issues we had faced with Sprite. He had been abused (causing brain damage), needed immediate surgery upon adoption, and very quickly started having seizures because of the abuse. Although we loved him very much, he never improved and we faced many trials throughout his nine-year life.
We heard about an event put on by Best Friends Animal Society at our local fair grounds. My husband took off work, and we headed up to look over hundreds of dogs available for adoption. I first spotted this cute little dog from the other side of the cages. She was in with a group of Chihuahuas. I kinda rushed my husband through the rest of the dogs to get around to other side to see her.
ChloeShe was a small thing, only four pounds but nine months old. She was emaciated and had bites from the other dogs all over her. We asked if we could walk around the grounds with her. As we did, a young couple rushed up to us, claiming they had looked at her. The husband really wanted her, but the dog had bitten his wife. That made us nervous.
The pup apparently liked us, though. She cuddled in our arms and gave us a lick. Her paperwork said she was a Tibetan terrier mix. We looked up the breed on the Internet to see that they were a medium-sized dog that can get up to thirty pounds—not exactly what we were looking for. As small as she was, it was hard to picture her getting that big when she was already nine-months-old. We took her back inside and found out she was a rescue from Los Angeles. The Humane Society had rescued her from being euthanized.
Tibetan TerrierWe went through with the adoption.
We named her Chloe Rose and quickly fell in love with her. She started to get bigger and bigger, or should I say wider and wider? It didn’t seem like she ate much, but she had been starved. Five pounds, seven pounds, ten pounds… Her weight kept going up. Her little legs were so short. She started to waddle. Friends would come to the house and comment on her plump, little body.
I took her to the veterinarian where they did testing on her, mainly thyroid testing. Everything checked out. I asked why he thought she was overweight. He said dogs are like people, they come in all shapes and sizes. He gave us a script for expensive, specialized dog food that should balance her weight. Her weight didn’t change. She reached thirteen pounds.
During this time, we adopted two more rescue dogs. They are both taller than Chloe but weigh around seven or eight pounds. They eat more and are less active than Chloe. I thought I was going to go crazy trying to figure out why she kept gaining weight.
Shih Tzu
One day, I happened to be looking through a dog reference book. My mouth fell open when I spotted a picture of a Shih Tzu that looked just like Chloe. I quickly started reading about the breed: The oldest and smallest breed of the Tibetan holy dogsLion-like appearanceSat around the palace of the Emperor of China and barked to warn of intrudersLong, flowing double coatSturdy build, solid and compact — carry good weightIntelligenceFriendly, lively attitudeShort snoutLarge eyesHeight at withers (9-10 ½ inches)Weight (9-16 pounds)Short legs


Oh, my gosh! This is totally our Chloe! And as James Mumsford, an American teacher and composer, described the Shih Tzu: "Nobody knows how the ancient eunuchs managed to mix together: a dash of lion, several teaspoons of rabbit, a couple of ounces of domestic cat, one part court jester, a dash of ballerina, a pinch of old man, a bit of beggar, a tablespoon of monkey, one part baby seal, a dash of teddy bear, and, for the rest, dogs of Tibetan and Chinese origin." Hilariously, this is our girl!

No more diets. No more testing. No more calling her fat or chubby. She is solid and compact, the way she should be. Chloe is Chloe—perfect the way she is. Problem solved.



Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com






Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Death at Ten

Roo at Five
Roo was five years old when we headed to a summer family reunion. With both my boys being special needs, I didn’t let them run around on their own. Other, older, wiser family members said they would be fine playing with the other kids. I nervously let go and took a deep breath. I joined in the adult activities and started to relax. Little did I know, five years later my family would still be paying for not keeping the boys close at hand.
Oh, we had a great time at the reunion. I had thought everything had gone well. There weren’t any incidences with my kids that I had heard about, and I enjoyed seeing all the relatives. Both of my boys were diagnosed as speech-delayed around two-years-old, and they both still struggle to express themselves. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t heard about what happened at the reunion or even months later.
Roo’s sixth birthday neared. He started having anxiety attacks. I thought he was anxious about his birthday. I tried to talk to him, but the communication didn’t go well. He brought up the family reunion from a year ago, but I didn’t understand what he was going on about.
Another year passed. His seventh birthday. He hadn’t really talked about the family reunion but he brought it up as his birthday neared. Odd. He had sessions with a licensed clinical social worker. I mentioned the reunion and how he brought it up around his birthday. Why would he be upset? The therapist tried to talk to him with me out of the room. After, he agreed that Roo seemed troubled but he wasn’t clear enough to know why there was an issue.
Roo’s eighth birthday came. He had started to dig and injure the skin around his fingers until they bled. He’d dug at them so much, he deformed his nail beds. Therapy continued on a regular basis, but his anxiety continued to escalate. By now, he was seeing a speech-language pathologist in school. He had started to communicate more effectively.
My husband and I sat down with him to discuss the reunion, his feelings, and what might have happened. It wasn’t easy. Emotions were high. The events didn’t come in order. It took hours to finally piece together what had actually happened. To our dismay, we learned that the group of kids he had been playing with told him he would die on his tenth birthday because he drank bad water from the drinking fountain at the campground where the reunion was held.
Unbelievable! Could he really believe that it would take five years for him to die? My husband and I looked at each other in disbelief. We tried to explain to him that he was fine. The water he drank wouldn’t kill him five years later!
No. He was certain he would die on his tenth birthday. Time after time, we discussed the impossibility of that happening, but we couldn’t convince him otherwise. We had many sessions with his therapist and therapists to follow. Roo was convinced he would die the day of his tenth birthday.
Honestly, it was hard to understand why he would believe these young cousins and relatives who he hardly knew rather than his own parents and therapists who had had training in dealing with children who had anxiety disorder, but he did.
The demons continued. His ninth birthday came and went with much anxiety.
I still can’t wrap my mind around how he could believe something would happen five years after the fact. I later learned that situations in his mind are blown up enough to cause him post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). PTSD is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. With Roo, the actual event might not be terrifying, but in his mind, it becomes absolutely petrifying.
His ninth year was riddled with emotional issues, behavioral problems, anxiety, damaged fingers and bitten and bruised lips. The number of therapy sessions increased but did little good.
Roo at Ten
The night before his tenth birthday, he was inconsolable. He knew he would die. The kids had told him so…five years ago. He believed that if he stayed awake, he wouldn’t die. He forced himself to stay awake and stay up all night moving and pacing and worrying and crying.
What can a parent do but to help their child through a traumatic event like this? Yes, I was angry…angry that this incident happened, but I realized those kids had no idea what they had caused. How could I be mad at them? I was angry at Roo. How could he believe those kids and carry it with him for five years? But, that wasn’t his fault either. I was angry at the therapists. Didn’t they have some idea how to have helped him through this ordeal over the last five years? But, how often had they dealt with a situation like this? It seemed surreal that something like this could happen.
The night wore on. The sun started to rise. I had to find a paper bag for Roo to breathe into so he wouldn’t hyperventilate. There was no consoling him. He screamed he didn’t want to die, over and over again. All we could do is try to comfort him and wait for the day to be over. A day that should have been joyful but turned into an emotional nightmare.
He lived.
Is he still traumatized at times? Very much so. Has he experienced PTSD over other situations? You bet. But, nothing as colossal or over such a long period of time. It’s something the whole family still feels on an exhausting level.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Photos are the property of C A Christiansen and cannot be reproduced.







Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A Christmas Past

With the recent auto/pedestrian accident of my youngest son’s girlfriend, it brings to mind another Christmas…
The snow laid over the city in a thick, lumpy blanket of pure white. Snowplows had done their job and left a pile of snow deep on the sides of the roads while vehicle exhaust left them covered in black, reminding passersby of coal and thoughts of naughty or nice. Christmas Eve had come. Lights on houses twinkled in the magic of red and green. Party-goers were rushing home to prepare for Santa to come.
Gloriously, my brother had come home that Christmas on leave from the army. Excitement filled our home to have him with us at this special time. He decided to spend the evening with a few old friends to catch up on all that had taken place in his absence. He’d sold his old Plymouth car when he’d went in the military, so he decided to walk and use his thumb. After all, his friend didn’t live far.
The bitter-cold, below-freezing air stung his face as he left his friends to rush home to us and what was left of the special night. He scurried along the road, trying to stay out of the path of cars and fighting for a path along the piles of plowed snow. His lungs ached from the cold. He wrapped his green, wool coat a little tighter around him and increased his step.
Do you really remember the moment of impact? Or do you imagine it in your head after someone has told you the millionth time in the hospital?
The snow had started to fall again that Christmas Eve. Randy was walking down the street when a drunk driver hit him from behind. The car’s antenna broke as he was thrown up and over the car. It ripped him down the back, through the buttocks and down his leg. Massive breaks. Massive injuries.  Massive bleeding.
The car screeched to a stop, and then bolted down the road in the falling snow. Who knows how long my brother laid there, bleeding and injured. Not a Christian soul stopped to help. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in a pool of blood-covered snow. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t walk. With missing eyeglasses, he could barely make out a moving shadow at the window of a nearby house. He dragged himself up the driveway, up the few steps and banged on the bottom of the door, all the while as someone watched from the window.
They didn’t open the door. They didn’t welcome in the injured soul bleeding to death, if not for the bitter cold that stopped his blood from flowing so quickly. They called the police; not an ambulance.
Randy lie there with the snow falling thicker and thicker, in and out of consciousness. Halfway here; halfway there. Waiting. Floating. Pain. Cold. Wet. Frightened, I’d imagine.
The police finally came after a difficult slick drive and assessed the situation. They called for an ambulance that also struggled to arrive on the slick roads.
My brother was not to return to the military. He spent many months in the hospital after blood transfusions and surgeries and casts. I remember that next summer as he laid on a cot on our front lawn, still healing, still unable to walk. I was told that he might never walk again. He did, but only out of sheer determination. Many of his dreams went unfulfilled.
Need I say it? Take driving seriously; seriously drive. And, do the Christ-like thing and help others.
Oh, and how did I know it was a drunk driver? Eventually, a woman came back to see what had happened. Her husband was the hit-and-run driver, and he already had three DUIs. He didn’t want to get caught. All in all, there was nothing the police could do because he had left the scene.
Be safe, my friends, and remember the reason for the season,


Cindy


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright of winter scene: byrdyak / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Oh, That Funny Mother...

Recently, I found some of my mother’s old papers that I’d saved and found this article posted by Ethel Bradford from the Green Sheet dated December 19, 1985 and credited to an unknown author. I put it in the pile to throw away and then the title struck a chord with me—Oh, That Funny Mother…
I remember my brother, Randy, saying that to Mom and both of them laughing. I pulled it from the pile and started reading it…and laughing. Maybe you’ll remember a Christmas like this. Hope you enjoy it too.
Oh, That Funny Mother…
See mother. See mother laugh. Mother is happy. Mother is happy about Christmas. Mother has many plans. Mother has many plans for Christmas. Mother is organized. Mother smiles all the time. Funny, funny mother.
See mother. See mother smile. Mother is happy. The shopping is all done. See the children watch TV. Watch, children, watch. See the children change their minds. See them ask Santa for different toys. Look. Look. Mother is not smiling. Funny, funny mother.
See mother. See mother sew. Mother will make dresses. Mother will make robes. Mother will make shirts. See mother put the zipper in wrong. See mother sew the dress on the wrong side. See mother cut the shirt too short. See mother put the material away until January. Look. Look. See mother take a tranquilizer. Funny, funny mother.
See mother. See mother buy raisins and nuts. See mother buy candied pineapple and powdered sugar. See mother buy flour and dates and pecans and brown sugar and bananas and spices and vanilla. Look. Look. Mother is mixing everything together.


See the children press out cookies. See the flour on their elbows. See the cookies burn. See the cake fall. See the children pull taffy. See mother pull her hair. See mother clean the kitchen with the garden hose. Funny, funny mother.
See mother. See mother wrap presents. See mother look for the end of the scotch tape roll. See mother bite her fingernails. See mother go. See mother go to the store 12 times in one hour.
Go, mother, go. See mother go faster. Run, mother, run.
See mother trim the tree. See mother have a party. See mother make popcorn. See mother wash the walls. See mother scrub the rug. See mother tear up the organization chart. See mother forget the gift for Uncle Harold. See mother get the hives. Go, mother, go. See the faraway look in mother’s eyes. Mother has become disorganized. Mother has become disoriented. Funny, funny mother.
It is finally Christmas morning. See the happy family. See father smile. Father is happy. Smile, father, smile. Father loves fruit cake. Father loves Christmas pudding. Father loves all his new neckties. Look. Look. See the happy children. See the children’s toys. Santa was very good to the children. The children will remember this Christmas.


See mother. Mother is slumped in a chair. Mother is crying uncontrollably. Mother does not look well. Mother has ugly dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Everyone helps mother to her bed. See mother sleep quietly under heavy sedation. See mother smile. Funny, funny mother.


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright of exhausted dog: stephaniezieber / 123RF Stock Photo 
Copyright of dog with cookies: sinnawin / 123RF Stock Photo 
Copyright of white dog with lights: baronb / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Opening a Deep Wound

I'm going back thirty years to an emotional pain that still hurts today. But, first I have to tell you about my mom.
She was an only-child. Her parents divorced in a period of time when divorce was not acceptable. Her father remarried and had a family. He sent her a comb and mirror set every Christmas, but she didn’t see him much. He died at the age of 38.
Her mother moved from Cedar City, Utah to Salt Lake City. When she found out that my mom was being abused, she sent her back to Cedar City to live with her grandmother until she was old enough to take care of herself. My mom moved back to Salt Lake to live with her mom and start the school year.
That very Christmas Eve, her mother was hit by a car and severely injured. Her skull was cracked all the way around her head, and her brother moved his family to Salt Lake to take care of her. She lived for two agonizing years and died at the age of 38. Meanwhile, my mom was shipped back to Cedar City to live with her grandmother. That only lasted a couple of years because her grandmother died when my mom was 16. She was sent to Redmond, Utah to live with her aunt and uncle, but her uncle was so abusive she couldn’t stand to stay with them.
Now you know a little about my wonderful mother. Family was extremely important to her. My parents had five children. I am the youngest. They both had health issues and died in their early sixties. They knew how precious family and time were.
So thirty years ago, we had three birthdays in a row; two of them being my oldest sister’s family and one being my unmarried brother’s. Everyone was busy with life, but my mom wanted to have a birthday dinner for the three of them. She planned; she cleaned; she shopped; she cooked. All she expected was for us to show up.
My oldest sister and her family didn’t come. My oldest brother and his wife didn’t come. The meal was ready. My mom finally called my brother. He wasn’t home. She called my sister. They were busy, but they were coming. My mom anxiously waited. She turned down the heat on the food. An hour passed. She called again. “We’ll be there.” Still nothing from my oldest brother. Another hour passed.
Finally, my oldest brother and his wife came. They had been at my sister’s house. He told my mom they were busy, so we should eat without them. My mom hesitated. Something seemed odd to her. Two of the birthdays we were celebrating were my sister's family. Mom continued to wait. My oldest brother continued to prompt her to go ahead without them.
Mom eventually gave in, and we sat down to eat. When my sister and her family arrived, she was uncontrollably angry. She came without gifts. She came without her part of the meal. She came without appreciation. She accused my parents of not caring about her; that she was always the outcast.
I have no idea what exact words were exchanged between my mom and my sister out on the front lawn, but I do know that my mom told her she had had enough. She told her it was my sister’s responsibility to have a relationship with her brothers and sisters.
While they were arguing, my brother and his wife left…never to be seen again. My sister’s family left in anger and tears…never to be seen again.
My parents were crushed. They tried to call. They tried to find out what really happened that day. My brother and sister would not say. They would'nt try to work it out. They wouldn’t give my parents the slightest chance of reconciliation after all my parents had done, sacrificed, given-freely, helped and loved them. They walked away. 
Until the day each of my parents died, this ate at them. They stewed about it, hashed it over, and ached inside, especially my mother. They couldn’t make sense of it. Family had been so important to to them. They had given so much. My sister was killed before a reconciliation could happen. My parents had hoped for that. They died with a deep ache in their hearts, not knowing what went wrong.
It pains me. Their pain still pains me. I’m sure now in heaven they know the reason our family had to endure this heartache, and I’m comforted by that. They never deserved the pain.
I guess why I am sharing this with you is because of all of the contention in the country over the election and the anger, division, disrespect and cruelty that some people are expressing. That they are carrying it so far as to "unfriend" family and friends. It is extremely troubling to my soul. Must we continue to hurt one another? What do we gain?
I look at old family photos with the happiness I had as a child and the pain I saw in my parent’s eyes thirty years ago. It hurts.

Hug your loved ones. Love; listen; forgive; reconcile; for life is fleeting.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright: photodeti / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Weekend Fun Post: Wait Until You Watch This! Dog and Bunny Are Pals!

With November 8th coming upon us and all the negativity we've heard and watched, I thought it would be nice to show this video of how nicely this dog and bunny gets along.No matter what the outcome of the election, what will be, will be.We are all going to have to deal with it.Is it worth the anger?Is it worth losing friends and family over?Is it worth causing yourself health problems?
After the results, our lives will go on.Maybe it will be better than we think.Maybe it will be worse.But, we all still have options.I'm putting my new senators and representatives on my contacts list in preparation of lots and lots of complaints.  LOL
Chill and have a wonderful weekend!


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com 

Photo of voting dog copyright: adogslifephoto / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

How Do You Turn Off Negative Self-Talk?

Just read a friend’s blog about negative self-talk. It really hit home.
Does that go on in your head?
It certainly does mine. Just last night, I was washing my hands at the sink and I shook the water from them.
Flash to sixth grade, Mrs. Kennedy’s class. I remember the angered expression on her face as she yelled at me once again for touching the sink after I had washed my hands. “Don’t do that, Cindy. You’re just putting germs back on your hands. You can do that at home, but not here.”

Why do I have to remember this every time I wash my hands? Why do I have to feel hurt?
Or there’s every time I cross my legs to tie my shoes and the knot and bow end up closer to one side and not in the middle. I hear my dad say, “He was too fat to bend over and tie his shoes.”
See. It doesn’t even have to be about me to feel the emotions.
Growing up, I had difficulty with my weight. Who the heck am I kidding? I still do. Talk about negative self-talk. Even now that I have lost over 120 pounds, the negative self-talk hasn’t changed. I’m still bigger than I should be. Should be? Who says? Oh, some stupid chart designed years ago. We are not all the same or the same body shape. That chart doesn’t understand how sick I am or how difficult it is for my body to lose weight. In fact, I’m probably one of the few who lost weight while pregnant because being pregnant was too hard on my body. I gained after that, though.
I passed a full-length mirror the other day and was shocked to see myself. The picture of how I look has not changed in my mind. I see myself that 120 pounds heavier. Did I celebrate the loss?  No. I’m still over-weight. When I recently lost another 15 pounds, did my doctor say, “Good job!” Did I? No. In fact, I can’t think of a time I’ve stopped and celebrated an accomplishment or a job well done. Probably because I feel that I have never done anything well.
Talk about your negative self-talk.
My logical self tells me I should stop and celebrate my accomplishments but years of all that negative talk by myself and others just continues to play in my head. 

Did I mention that one day I went out to get the mail and was walking back to the house and a carload of neighborhood boys yelled, “Fat *itch”? It hurt. It scarred internally. Do I think about it every time I go out for the mail? Yes, unfortunately. Why? Their opinion shouldn’t matter to me. They don’t know what it’s like to live in my body or live my life.
The list goes on and on; some too painful to even write about.
Do you have a problem with negative self-talk? I really would like to know how you turn it off. Please comment below.


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!Fly into a good book at: http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright of image: pixelsaway / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author