Elin Stebbins Waldal's Blog, page 4

1 Lie, 5 Truths

Well that was fun. Running around visiting friends sites and guessing about their lies. And it was also fun to see friends pop up over here and guess about mine too. So — 1 Lie, 5 Truths — I bet you want to scan down and see if you were right or not. I get it. […]

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Spy the Lie

Last year during the month of November and the insanity that was NaBloPoMo several of us played the game, 5 Truths and 1 Lie. This is where the writer (me) posts 6 fun facts on my blog, then the reader (you) has to see if they can “spy the lie.”

We (Lois and I) liked it so much we decided to play again, thankfully some of our friends (thank you NaBloPoMo Midlife FB group) decided to play along this year too.

Five of these things are true about me. One is not. Can you “spy” the lie? Answer in the comment section, the answer will be revealed on Friday, November 21.

 

1).  My first near death experience–that I remember–involved a horse.

2).  My Grandfather was born 100 years before me.

3).  Strong smells make me gag.

4).  I think long hair on men is sexy.

5).  I worked in a wallet factory in Lyman, NH.

6).  I love to gamble.

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Three Years Later — Where do we go from here?

Three years ago my daughter, Chandler, wrote a poem for her 8th grade English class.

Now–here we are–three years later. And I find myself shaking my head because not only has nothing changed since she wrote her poem, I’d argue things seem to be getting worse. Here’s the poem–she was 14 when she wrote it. Fourteen.

Make a change, be the change

Punching, Slapping, Shooting, Strangling, Killing;

Actions that take part in relationship violence;

Day by day, Around the world, are girls,

Victims, Abused by their lovers; Their “soul mates”;

Minute by minute, Innocent women

Dying, Suffering, Crying; Shredded to pieces,

Left scattered in the wind;

Feeling shame and humiliation, Nowhere to turn to;

No one to tell, Just lost in the unknown.

The bells, bells, bells; Bringing happiness to all,

But one; The woman, the object to power for him;

No smile, Just pale and melancholy;

Against her will, Not able to choose,

No one makes the decision, but Him;

He is the Male, The controller of the house;

The Alpha; He is her Father.

Innocence being robbed, From her very body;

Blood gushing, Split apart, Sold, Lost, Cold,

Scared, Taken. From a child to a tool,

She is traded for pleasure, For lust, For money;

Childhood ripped from her tiny, shaky hands,

She is not a virgin anymore; She is a prostitute,

A target, for human trafficking.

Here I am, At home, Safe with my family,

Family who care, about me;

What about the girls my age across the globe?

My sisters, Not by blood, But by gender;

Why can’t they have the opportunities I do?

Why do we have to live in a world full of hate and discrimination?

Why can’t we have the same respect Men do?

Why, why, why?

We, The givers of life, Are disregarded,

Disrespected, And discriminated against;

I call upon the good men around the world;

I call upon the strong women throughout the world;

Link arms everybody! -Make a change, -Be the change.

I ask myself…what sort of world have we created for our children to inherit?

Take advertising, look at the way women are portrayed. I made this film a few years ago too. Watch it and ask yourself, what do these pictures say about how our culture values women?

Today, we can’t turn on the news without hearing about Bill Cosby, alleged serial rapist, a man who stole the hearts of the American people while secretly robbing young women of their right to emotional and physical safety.

A while back a woman I respect was in the news after being terrorized for speaking out about women in gaming.

Then there’s the swift public unraveling of “asshole” culture and Uber that began with an outspoken journalists decision to delete her Uber app for a number of issues, in particular, the company’s flagrant disregard for the safety of it’s female drivers and passengers. Her experiences and observations only further expose the fall from civility that exists in this country.

Remember my daughter’s words:

We, The givers of life, Are disregarded,

Disrespected, And discriminated against;

I call upon the good men around the world;

I call upon the strong women throughout the world;

Link arms everybody! -Make a change,-Be the change.

What’s wrong with this picture? And where do we go from here?

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It’s A Wonderful Life

One of my favorite holiday films is the timeless classic, It’s a Wonderful Life.

In the opening scene people all over the bucolic town of Bedford Falls are praying. Their pleas to God are for the benefit of the well loved man, George Bailey. As the chorus of voices drifts upward they are replaced with the booming voices coming from the constellations of stars…

Even as a child this heavenly conference between God, his Angel-Assistant and the Angel-Hopeful, Clarence, was one of my favorites scenes.

Clarence: You sent for me sir?

God: Yes Clarence, a man down on earth needs our help.

Clarence: Splendid! Is he sick?

God: No. Worse — He is discouraged –

He is discouraged. Think about that. How often in life do we trip over something that discourages us.

Last night as I was looking back over my shoulder at the day I began to feel a bit discouraged. And as I reached to turn out the light I had a sinking feeling that somehow I was at risk of slipping into what I have long referred to as — “my old wooly ways.”

And in the stillness, waiting for sleep to pull me in, the internal chatter began to ramp up.

See that? You never stick to an exercise routine…”

Oh no you don’t.

I flipped on the light and wrote down the following message…

While I was at the gym this morning I thought of a blog post that I wrote at the beginning of 2011, A Decade of Achieved Harmony. It occurred to me that feelings of discouragement can lead to the harboring of negative messages inside my head. And those are anything but harmonic.

When I got home I attended to a few things that had to get marked off the list. Then, in the quiet of the kitchen, I sat down and re-read that old post. So much of it still resonated with me. That was a good feeling. From there I decided to make a quick reference — something I could pin above my office desk — a reminder of my commitment to achieve harmony this decade.

So with modifications here it is…

Approach each day with a grateful heart:

I am grateful for;  A loving marriage, healthy engaged children and a sweet dog. Extended family. Safety. A body that moves and is disease free. Friends near and far. A home that provides a sanctuary of sorts. Freedom to express myself. Work that has meaning, purpose and brings me joy.

Get outside:

Make time to sleep under a star lit sky. Be still enough to hear the call of birds. Be awake when the sun breaks across the horizon. Walk the beaches. Go barefoot. Find more dirt under the soles.

Practice Health:

Nourish body and soul by design—

The body—Smile. Move. Exercise. Laugh. Dance. Sing. Stretch. Meditate. Play. Do things that build physical strength. Eat clean.
The soul—Choose your thoughts. Seek out individuals vested in making a difference. Be involved. Do things that help. Read. Learn. Listen. Attract people who are committed to living an examined life.

Attitude:

Have an attitude that–if you were contagious–you’d be worth catching.
Read. Volunteer. Be generous. Cultivate and grow the spirit of abundance—lift up others and celebrate what they offer. Take risks. Use your voice. Be brave with your life.

Be Present:

Now is what you have. Allow the moments to unfold. Your time here is a gift. Cherish the the all of it. Notice.

I have plenty of days where my mind is at peace, but when old ways of being try to creep in and usurp me, I need to grab onto tools that I know will help me remember how wonderful life really is — visual queues help.

What about you, what do you do when you feel discouraged?

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Losing Ellie

Losing Ellie, my husband’s mother, was one of the most difficult things our family has experienced. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared us for her unexpected loss of life.

What I have found is emotions stay. They don’t remain at the surface the way dried blood does as a scab to the skin.

No, emotional wounds are different.

All that trauma burrows deep into the marrow and sometimes the slightest incident leaches that trapped emotion. Then, much like anesthesia injected into ones vein, it enters the system with a burning sting, courses through your blood and has the power to pull you under. And even if but temporarily — it can knock you out.

Just before dawn the sky is brilliant — sprinkled with stars and planets — enough to chart a course by.

I can run, my mind tells me.

I can run, but I cannot hide, I know this about me. I am pushing what just yesterday was imperceptibly perched on my shoulders — away. It pushes back. And unable to stop it, I yield to the effort made by my memory.

Something is tugging me into the 1995 time warp. It’s there. I feel it…

And in a sideways glance I see it. Before me now is the dashboard of the Toyota 4Runner — unwillingly my brain, much like a rewound tape in a cassette deck — pulls to a stop with a click.

Now — the ugly information of loss that leached through the retched cell phone all those years ago — begins to play.

“Elin, pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“I need you to pull over.”

“What? What’s wrong just tell me — I’m just outside Boulder there’s no where to pull over, what’s wrong?”

“My Mom died, she’s dead.”

“WHAT? No — you mean Grandma — right?”

Sobs cascade through the phone. The road before me appears riddled with question marks.

I pull over and hold my pregnant stomach. I can hear Max breathing. Feel his eyes on me. I stare straight ahead, listening.

“No. My—mom—Mojo. There was an accident. He fell asleep at the wheel. He called me. Oh God this cannot be happening—”

The bile of truth churns inside me, not a good time to throw up.

Max, sensing that something is deeply wrong, is silent. Cars barrel past us, what seconds before seemed a cocoon of safety inside the vehicle, now feels dangerous. The Toyota lurches from side to side in the force of air and velocity from the passing cars.

Disbelief dangles before me and I shut my eyes.

“I’m turning around, we’re coming home.”

It was surreal. I have no idea how I excavated the words I needed out from the pile of my jumbled thoughts that conveyed to my eight year old Max, that his new Grandma, had been ripped from all of us.

I have zero recollection of the retraced miles backward from Boulder to Edwards.

And when we pulled into the driveway there was Jimmy, hands clenched to the lawn mower handle, eating away the over grown lawn outside what was then our Colorado home, as if doing so would change the trajectory of our life.

We had just been with her days before the accident.

She was so effervescent in life. You could literally feel her from miles away. It was incomprehensible that she was gone, extinguished.

We locked the doors to our house on Hackamore Road without a backward glance — my catatonic husband beside me and our son, paralyzed with uncertainty, in the backseat — meanwhile the cruelty of it all banged at me as I navigated the car down the road.

The miles between Colorado and California slowly disappeared. San Diego, an ethereal beacon, pulled us toward her.

Some pieces from the days that followed are clear, while others remain dormant in what was then a haze.

Jimmy and I — cleaving to one another and our grief — in the church where we were married. Max, graveside, head bowed, eyes on the coffin, his small squared shoulders showing me he was trying to be brave. Jimmy and I huddled on the beach anchored in a pool of sorrow larger than the Pacific Ocean before us.

And somehow, despite the labyrinth of anguish we were in, we made our way through the cold dense California fog.

Light there was light.

I can run—I can run—I do not hide.

We are born — between that day and our last — we live in the balance of all that we cherish. The fragility of it all dangles before us from time to time. It calls us to our purpose. It begs us to be real. It asks us to share. Reminds us to remain authentic.

The morning light has crept in and there in the sky the clouds have been brushed pink by the rising sun.

Ah, there is light. I feel the light. I send her the light.

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Black Tie

Black tie events, some people love them, while others cringe at the thought. I for one love an excuse to dress up. The end to most days find me un-showered and still clothed in whatever I threw on to exercise. If not that, then in jeans, sporting a pony tail of unbrushed hair… I may order my food like Sally in the movie, When Harry Met Sally…

— I know, Jackie, I know…I can feel your disdain from here –

But,when it comes to my general appearance, I could be described as low maintenance.

Earlier this past week a good friend of mine sent me a text asking if Jimmy and I were available to join her, along with her husband, Saturday night. They were going to a black tie charitable ball and due to a cancellation, they had two extra tickets.

Were we available. Just typing those words makes me chuckle, truth is, we usually are.

Over the past few years Jimmy and I have been less social. Friday and Saturday nights often find us in each others company. We both love to cook a great meal, share a bottle of wine, maybe take a jacuzzi or watch sleep through a movie. More times than not it’s just the two of us. Our daughter, who is the last of three, is the only one left in the nest, between school, her job, lacrosse and friends, she is often anywhere but at home.

So our availability was wide open–we gladly accepted.

As soon as we accepted my first thought — of course — was about what to wear. Long dress, short dress, suit or tuxedo. I have to say I was thrilled over the prospect of seeing Jimmy in a tuxedo again–I am a sucker for a tuxedo–especially when it’s Jimmy wearing it.

Last night could not have been more fun.

The gala itself was beautiful. It was a benefit for the Tri-City Medical Foundation, celebrating 50 years of providing medical service to the community. During the event there was a beautiful tribute to long time volunteers, we watched as a short video honored them, clips of people in the Tri-City community who shared how this couple had helped the foundation. I was reminded how important individuals are when it comes to community building. No act of volunteerism is too small, for it truly does take a village to make services like what Tri-City provides, possible.

The award ceremony was followed by a live auction. Against better judgement, I held up my number when the auctioneer began open bids for the custom surfboard on display. Not sure if it was that secret desire I have to learn how to surf that took hold of my hand or the need to join in the fun, thankfully there was a bidder in the room who usurped my bid to take it home.

The fun was fueled by the free flowing included libations and the great company we have in our friends. We all managed to step out out onto the dance floor, where in 80’s fashion, I jumped up and down to the music, while my rhythm gifted husband and friends, actually danced.

As we were leaving Jimmy leaned in and whispered;

That was really fun, we really should make a point of getting out more often.”

This morning, as I clicked through the series of silly photos we took during the evening, I find I couldn’t agree more.

It’s the month of November, a time when so many of us pause to consider all we have to be grateful for, a ritual that certainly should not be reserved for only 30 days in a calendar year.

Today I am grateful for the near 20 years of marriage Jimmy and I have enjoyed. For it is the time spent living outside the edges of the days that has enriched, if not grown, what we have all along shared.

I am also grateful for friendships–friends new and old. If success was measured by the depth of friendship alone, then I feel as if we have reached a new pinnacle.

And health. Health has been on my mind a lot these days, to inhabit a body that is free from illness is a gift not to be squandered.

2015 is in the headlights, but for now I want to be in the now.

Rather than race through the holiday season — I hope to slow my pace — celebrate the bounty found in family, friends and the freedoms we all benefit from living in The United States. In a world that daily wakes one up to atrocities committed, our ability to move, think and speak freely demands appreciation, if not respect.

Black tie events are few and far between, moments worth appreciating happen every day. And really it is in the string of extraordinary moments that we find a life well lived and for that I remain eternally grateful.

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Colonoscopy, the Awful Must Do

To say that I avoided setting an appointment to have a colonoscopy, would be the grossest of understatements ever. But, like it or not, having a colonoscopy is the quintessential — awful-must-do — and yes, pun intended.

Jimmy went first. I am a giver that way. I watched and observed as he drank the magical system-flushing-liquid-drug. And I will add, I also observed that he didn’t complain. Not one little bit. I’m not saying he was raving about drinking the stuff, but he didn’t whine. At. All.

I will note that he mentioned he was hungry….ahem, while I greedily ate dinner the night before his procedure. Looking back? That was not nice. A hungry person doesn’t want to watch you chew, much less smell, the delicious meal they can’t indulge in.

The loving wife that I am, I drove him to his scheduled appointment, then later picked him back up. As soon as he was settled on the couch sleeping off the knock-out drugs, I went to a friends, had a glass of wine, maybe two, then went back home and checked up on him. He was sleepy, but again, he did not complain.

One of our best friends is a Gastroenterologist. He lives in that other country we know as Texas. Don’t be offended, I lived there for nearly 6 years. And Texas is like another country-to me. So our friend is privy to all things gastro, we I have called him to ask complain about the dumbest stuff. One of the kids is throwing up? What should they eat when they stop. I think one of them has food poisoning? Guess who gets the call. A friend has an issue that is in his wheelhouse? Guess who gets that call, and theirs, too. Once I had an issue, unpleasant as it is, it happens. I was, shall we say, plugged. You’d think the world was going to end. Well I was wishing my world would end anyway. Yeah that time Jimmy was on the phone with him consulting about how to get me to stop praying for my life to end.

I digress.

Finally, after ruthless badgering on the part of my husband loving reminders followed by a threat to schedule said appointment himself, I made the appointment for the awful-must-do.

When the scheduler offered up November 14th I saw it as a good sign, that was my dad’s birthday, I told myself it was the perfect day because Dad would see to it that I woke up after the procedure.

Enter the week of. There are a lot of foods on the “DO NOT EAT” list that I love. Salad. Nuts. Fruit with peels. But I did it, without too much kvetching.

Then came the wicked evil.

Also know as– Lemon-Lime Flavor PEG-3350, Sodium Chloride, Sodium Bicarbonate and Potassium Chloride for Oral Solution–Oh Joy.

Said absolutely no one ever.

Potassium, in my book, comes from a banana. All that other stuff? Good God what the hell is it besides things I was told I should avoid, yes I’m looking at you, sodium.

Our poor friend. He no doubt was wishing he never shared his cell phone number with the likes of me. It began here.

Yes. We do call him Fly. And no that is not his given name.

He called me. Listened to me share cry, then proceeded to tell me I had to drink it all. Every. Last. Drop.

And I did throw up. And I did throw some of it down the sink. And I did manage to drink all of it most of it. After, when I announced to my saint of a husband that I was going to bed, he offered to sleep in our spare room so I would be assured a good night’s sleep.

I woke up at 3:30AM.

Thoughts of the procedure danced through my head. I proceeded to drop, going to the dentist, from number 1 to number 2 on my, things I fear most list. After stewing for too long, I turned on the light. Remembering it was my dad’s birthday, I turned to my parents letters to keep me occupied and there, in the wee hours, I began a post about The Magic Hat.

Only a person who knows how neurotic I can be would text me at 5:39AM. And know I would be awake.

I love Fly.

And I am guessing he still loves me too given he actually was still talking to me the next day after all of my whining.

Needless to say I was blind with exhaustion when I finally reached the surgery center for the dreaded procedure.

Jimmy dropped me at the curb, clothed in PJ’s, I shuffled my way to the office door. Thankfully the entire staff there were wonderful. The receptionist and the nurses all were nice to me, they even told their own stories of the awful-must-do, then reassured me that I would in fact survive.

The Doctor was great too.

We had never met, he was very thorough in making sure all my questions were answered. He nodded when I said I barfed up his prescribed medicine, then nodded again when I told him I drank most of it. I liked him. I felt safe. He didn’t scold me. I was actually very comfortable.

Then came the knock-out drug. I was told later that they just let me sleep. “You must have really been tired because I had to actually wake you up.” said the nurse with a smile. You think? I guess the majority of their patients don’t suffer from an over active imagination the way I do. And as another bonus for them, I’m going to guess most of their other patients probably aren’t writers.

Happily I received a clean bill of health.

And isn’t that what the point is? Colon cancer is one of the most preventable cancers. Key word–preventable. And the only way to prevent, is to have a colonoscopy.

How about you, have you had a colonoscopy or are you one who is putting it off?

Special thanks to Fly, My Dr, the nurses whose names began with “E” and the receptionist who managed the paperwork –people like you are my version of modern day hero’s.

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The Magic Hat, A Love Story

Stories. Every family has them.

My family’s story began with my parents both on skis. Legend has it they were at the top-turn-of-the-nose-dive in Stowe, Vermont when they met, the year was 1950.

Once home, my mother, along with the yarn, cast her spell of love onto the needles she used to knit a long stocking hat for my dad — The Magic Hat — complete with tassel and bell.

Later, when he opened his mysterious package from E. L. Fairchild of Pelham, NY, he found a note:

CAUTION This is a magic hat, only wash in melted snow.

E.L.F.

I am assuming, dear reader, that you have already figured out that my mothers mystical powers worked. Less than 2 months later they were engaged to be married. Theirs was a marriage that would span over 50 years.

But I am getting ahead of myself…

Monday evening, February 20, 1950

Hey you–

How nice can people be! Talk about surprises! You certainly left this poor boy just a bit dazed. I am truly pleased (and touched, to be perfectly frank). To make something as nice as that represents time and work, but I assure you the hat will get to the land of snow and be christened with due ceremony before very long.

But I don’t understand. Things like this don’t happen very often. This all deserves explanation and maybe we could expedite matters by finding out when and where you expect to be skiing in New England next. Unfortunately M.I.T. is not the easiest of places to get away from, but certainly you’ll be skiing the Ravine before too long and even M.I.T. can not keep people away from there.

In the meantime maybe you should inform me of your other talents, as if skiing, cooking and knitting were not sufficient for any pretty gal to have. One would have to either be blind or a complete fool (and my pride tells me I can see–with the aid of adequate spectacles!) not to wonder about and be interested in anyone, let alone an attractive female, that bothers to make an enviable ski hat complete with tassel and bell for him. So–tell me more of you and your life at 622 Pelhamdale Ave.

For now it is suffice to say thank you very much. It is a terrific hat and pretty darn nice of you to build it.

Skoll, gluewein, and a ski heil!!

Steb

P.S. Your instructions for washing will be heeded.

And I imagine her, my mother, tearing open the envelope from Steb when it arrived.

After all, she had mailed a hat with a CAUTION to a veritable stranger. A stranger she had in fact intentionally collided with while skiing — because by simple prophecy — she knew he was the one.

She got enough goods on him that her own mother would later spy his ski-race results in the newspaper, circle them and then ask her daughter if this, Robert Stebbins of M.I.T., might in fact be the Steb her daughter had swooned over when she returned home from the slopes.

And that is how she came to mail the magic hat to one Robert Stebbins. And I can picture her, package in hand, hope in her heart, sidling up to the post-masters counter and leaving it all to fate.

Now, his first letter–the first of what one day would be many–opened on her desk, she penned her response.

March 1, 1950

Dear Steb,

Hey yourself–I’m awfully glad you like the hat! It was not very difficult to make, really, –except for casting the bell.

As for an explanation. If, as you say, things like that don’t happen very often, it’s because people don’t very often meet people who like magic hats.

Besides, you introduced me to “Ho-la-hi, Ho-la-ho.” I know the words now and can play it on the piano. It is such a free little tune. Sounds as if it escaped from a music box.

Now tell me–how did you happen to come from Seattle to M.I.T. and what kind of engineer do you want to be, and do you like New England?

I was in Seattle just once — for a few days when I was nineteen, and very unhappy at the time. But I liked it.

Haven’t skied any farther away from home than Catamount lately. Went with some kids last Sunday and the snow was wonderful! –good packed powder with just a few ice crystals on top, like sugar on a cookie. It was fast and you could feel your skis bite in. When the tow stopped we hated to go home, so climbed once and came down slowly to make it last.

But vacation is coming soon. According to Joe Dodge, there will be plenty of snow in the Ravine this spring. I’m planning to go up there for a week from March 25 to April 2.

That’s a little earlier than usual, but they are scheduling the Inferno Race for April 1 and 2 weekend, and if they hold to it this year it would be nice to see it. Staying up the following week might be better, but would mean being away on Easter. This year mother would be alone so I’d kind of like to be home.

Do you have a spring vacation anywhere near that time? Maybe I should wish on my magic hat–

  El

P.S. If you lose the bell on your hat, I still have the mold.

Then, telephone calls were horribly expensive, it was 1950–no cell phones, no computers–they had letters that took days to arrive and visits that were few and far between. Yet fall in love they did…

Were he alive today, my father would have turned 90, an age I always believed he’d see.

Now, re-reading his youthful thank you note for the gift of his magic hat, I hear his enthusiasm and curiosity ring through. And it is there between the lines that I imagine him, pen in hand, thinking–lucky, lucky me…

And though they have both been gone for some time now, I can still hear my dad today–as if in a whisper–thanking my mom for “building him the hat.”

Happy Birthday Dad–today it is me who thanks you for believing in magic and wearing that long stocking cap–you were an incredible father. What a gift, I love you, Elin

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Getting Clean

What does “getting clean” mean to you?

It could be as difficult as speaking a truth that has been hard to share or as complex as shaking yourself free from addiction. Regardless of what we are faced with, sometimes “getting clean,” is harder than it appears.

Seven weeks ago my friend and fellow writer, Mary, announced to her Facebook friends that she was co-leading a week long “eat-clean” challenge with her friend Michele. Really her announcement was an invitation for anyone to join, however she did say the group would be limited to a small number. Without knowing what I was signing up for I raised my hand and said I wanted to join–little did I know–that decision would launch me into a life transformation.

Today I realize my decision to join the challenge was exactly what I needed.

The 10 pounds I had gained were triggering me back to a time in life when I battled with my weight. Very old emotions had been surfacing, but rather than face them, I had slipped into a mode of denial.

The clothes I loved most were left to hang because they didn’t fit. I had been telling myself that weight gain and feeling weak were results of aging. In other words I was making excuses and allowing myself to be stuck.

Although I longed for a better sense of health, I needed that push to help me take the first step. When Mary sent her message out I told myself I was joining because… I liked the idea of eating with intention. And if I am completely honest, when I said yes, I was also telling myself… I really didn’t need it, it just sounded like fun.

As it turns out I did need it. I also needed a safe group to keep me inspired. Today I am so glad that I took a leap of faith without over analyzing why.

To be clear, eating-clean, is not a diet.

Eating clean is a lifestyle. There are no magic pills. No “food” in a package. It simply is a matter of choosing fresh healthy foods to eat. Vegetables, fruits, nuts and, if you eat meat, lean meats.

The guidelines promote steering away from cow’s milk and cow’s milk products. It also recommends eliminating products laced with sugar and starchy foods that, although make you feel full, provide little to no nutritional value. Last, part of the challenge was to also forego alcohol.

I needed to move more too.

Along with the commitment to eat-clean I revamped my exercise routine. Even though I had always been pretty good about working out, I was in a rut where I relied on walking as my only means of exercise.

That first week I began by alternating between running/walking outside to using our neighborhood gym. At the end of that first week I felt great. I had dropped a little over a pound and had more energy.

Interestingly enough my biggest challenge had nothing to do with selecting good foods, giving up my beloved glass of wine or getting myself out the door to exercise.

My biggest obstacle was between my ears.

The volume of negative self talk was on full blast during that first week.

OMG you are so out of shape, really Stebbins? What the hell is wrong with you…what makes you think this time will be different, you know you’re going to quit, you never……blah blah blah.”

Um. Really? How about, shut the hell up.

In order to combat the noise inside my head I tried a few things.

I smiled while I was running. It’s hard to beat yourself up when you’re smiling. There’s just something about it that makes a person happy.
I wrote down everything the voice had to say. Then I took to heart the pieces of truth that were on the page and rewrote them on a fresh page.
After, I crumpled up, then threw away, the parts of what I had written down that only made me feel bad. Things that if I really absorbed or believed would derail me.
Removing the ammunition my brain had stored to hurt me with, allowed me to give the power I needed to remain strong, back to my best-self.
I joined a challenge group. By surrounding myself with people who were new to “eating-clean” I found that although we didn’t always have the same stumbling blocks, we gained strength in our resolve by having a safe place to share.

Two weeks in I had a break through.

I took one of my favorite hikes near my house. It’s a four mile loop that makes it’s way far above the community with vista views of the lagoon and ocean. I hiked to the top then ran the trail down.

And when I hit the road that leads to the car, I realized that the only things I had been thinking about were the music I was listening too, the nature and how lucky I was to be alive.

Now that was more than a step in the right direction.

Just when I joined the challenge  my sister-in-law, Kathy, introduced me to PiYo an exercise she was trying and loving. In the Facebook group I heard Mary and Michele refer to PiYo. After that first week I decided to give it a try. Later I joined another 21 day challenge with Michele and Mary that incorporated eat-clean and PiYo.

You may be wondering about results, the physical ones.

Since September 29th I have lost 9 pounds and over 11.5 inches from all over my body. I measured everything at the end of that first week–arms, butt, thighs, waist and bust–I wanted proof if my efforts worked, so I recorded everything.

Some people would say I was thin to begin with. And that would be true. But here’s the deal, I wasn’t eating well and I sure as hell wasn’t in shape.

Today I am on the right track.

I have added muscle and strength. And best of all I feel good. Have I had days when I deviated? Yes. That’s life, but choosing a glass of wine or a piece of chocolate here and there have not derailed me.

Eating-clean is a lifestyle.

Saying no to the trappings of foods that add little value has led me to feel great. These subtle changes have refocused my attention on what matters most–my health–for without it? I am little good to anyone in my life, least of all myself.

Special thanks to Mary, Michele, all the ladies who participated in the 29 Sept. Eat Clean Challenge and 21 day East Clean/PiYo Challenge FB Pages and my sister-in-law Kathy.

 

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Frog in the Pot

Have you heard about the frog in the pot?

When you think about a frog…maybe you think of the prince from childhood fairy tales.

Not me.

I think of the metaphorical frog. You know…put a frog in a pot of boiling water? What does the frog do? She jumps!

Same frog.  Room temperature water. She swims, she relaxes…

She just simply is.

Add heat.

Now add some more.

Same frog remains in the heat and even though she feels the temperature rising? She acclimates.

And if the temperature reaches a boil?

She cooks.

Dating abuse doesn’t happen on the first date.

In the beginning? Room temperature…

It all feels great. And then, ever so gradually, the temperature rises. And it gets hotter and hotter…

Yet if you’re the frog?

…Yup. I. Was. The. Frog.

But here is the deal. I did jump…

And here’s another thing. I don’t care if it took a day, a week, a month, a year, a lot of years.

I jumped.

First I jumped out and then jumped back in. And then I jumped out. Only to jump back in.

But eventually I did jump out and away.

Maybe right now as you read this you are thinking:

“That would never happen to _____.”

Fill in the blank: “to me, to my daughter, to my sister, to my brother, to my friend.”

Even if you think: “That would never happen to me, my daughter, my sister, my brother, my friend.”

Good. I hope beyond all hope that you are right.

BUT.  Statistics beg to differ.

IF the statistics are right. Then chances are if not you, t hen someone you know or love will fall victim to intimate relationship abuse in their lifetime.

And really?

Maybe even now as you are reading this?

Maybe you are in that water…

And you want to jump?

You can do it…
JUMP!

It does get better. There is life after abuse.

“My life has been shaped by my survival, and allowing what I endured to settle into my marrow has infused me with a strength that will not waver. Abuse had an effect on me, but it has not made my life any less worthy, any less important, or any less valuable. I refuse to walk around leaning on that experience like a pair of crutches. I am not damaged goods, I am me.” –Elin Stebbins Waldal, Excerpt from Tornado Warning

J-U-M-P

Ending a dating or domestic violence relationship requires a safety plan…make sure you have a safety plan in place before breaking up. And even if you’ve determined your relationship is abusive or unhealthy, that doesn’t mean ending it will be easy.

How to Prepare for a Breakup

You may feel pressure from your friends and family to break up with your boyfriend/girlfriend and move on, but it doesn’t usually feel that simple.

Here are some things to keep in mind when thinking about breaking up:

The person you’re dating has probably become a huge part of your life. You might see more of them now than friends or family. Being scared about feeling lonely after the break up is normal. Talking to friends or finding activities to fill the new time you have will make it easier.
You will miss your boyfriend/girlfriend after you break up. Perhaps you will miss them a lot or only on occasion. Even if they’ve been abusive and controlling, it is normal to miss them. Try writing down the reasons you want to end your relationship now and keep the list as a reminder for later on.
If your boyfriend/girlfriend is controlling and jealous, they more than likely made a lot of decisions for you. It will take time to adjust to making your own decisions again. Be patient with yourself.
You may be scared to end the relationship. If you are, take that fear seriously. Ending a relationship with an abusive or controlling person is not the same as ending a healthy relationship.

How to Break Up

Ending an abusive relationship is not only difficult it can be dangerous. Your boyfriend/girlfriend may become angry and violent, even if they have not been violent in the past. If you are thinking of ending your relationship first review these safety tips:

If you don’t feel safe, don’t break up in person. It may seem cruel to break up over the phone or by email, but these ways can provide the distance needed to stay safe.
If you decide to break up in person, choose a public place. Have friends or your parents wait for you nearby. Take a cell phone with you.
Don’t try to explain your reasons for ending the relationship more than once. There is nothing you can say that will make your ex happy about the break up.
Let your friends and parents know you are ending your relationship, especially if you think your ex will come to your house or try to get you alone.
If your ex comes to your house when you’re alone, don’t go to the door.
Trust yourself. If you feel afraid, you probably have a good reason.
Ask for help. A Peer Advocate at the National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline can help you make a plan or locate local resources if you need.

When It’s Over

Just because an abusive relationship is over doesn’t mean the risk of violence is over. Use these tips to stay safe after ending your relationship:

Talk with your friends about what you are going through so they can support you.
Tell your parents or guardian what’s going on, especially if your ex might come by your home.
Talk to your school counselor or a teacher you trust. Together you might alert security, adjust your class schedule or come up with other ways to make you feel safe.
Avoid isolated areas at school and local hangouts and don’t walk home alone.
Stick with friends at parties or events you think your ex might attend.
Save any threatening or harassing emails or text messages your ex sends. Set your profile to private on social networking sites and ask friends to do the same.




If you ever feel you are in immediate danger, call 911.



Author note: I wrote a modified version of this post in 2011 and published it on my first website, given it remains relevant I decided to re-publish it again. The “Frog in the Pot” is a widely known metaphor used for describing gradual change. The frog photo above was credited to thepeoplesvoice.org which no longer seems to be available.

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