Self-Criticism: The Bullying We Can All Address

 

Sagging chin.  Need to lose weight.  Flabby here, saggy there.  Why does that jiggle?  That neck, oh my god that aging neck. 

The never-ending inventory of my aging body continues between my two ears and has been the topic of many a conversation with my girlfriends.  As we age, my friends and I seem to carve out more and more of our together time doing an inventory of all of our detestable bits and pieces.  One friend says her eyelids are too heavy. I just don't see it.  I love her eyes just the way they are, exactly, precisely the way they are.

Often friends don't see what we see.  Other times they are simply polite and offer the obligatory "I have no idea what you are talking about, I just don't see it."  Sometimes, as with my friend's lovely lids, we either don't notice or don't perceive what they do as a flaw.

A few months ago an older friend who has had several successful plastic surgeries suggested I should consider addressing my chin's unattractive saggy situation.  It appears the floor is beckoning it with a treat.  I protested inside and out, thinking I was too young to start waging this war (I'm not, it turns out) and confirming to myself "I'm not the plastic surgery type!" I have had dreams of aging gracefully and loving my body in all of its incarnations.  Methinks I doth protest too much though. 

In response to her suggestion I proceeded to get obsessed with my chin, looking in the mirror more often than I ever had before, hoping to catch a glimpse of it that would either prove my plastic surgery proponent friend right or wrong. I was keeping a tally in my head.  The more I watched it, the more swiftly it seemed to lose its elasticity, as if my vigil was encouraging the aging process.  I started thinking my obsession might actually be making me age faster!

The day after Valentine's Day I was sitting at a dinner with friends and suggested to the women at the table that it would be a great Valentine's gift to ourselves if we gave up criticizing our bodies for a year.  I asked who was up for the challenge, assuming that others would and that I, too, would rally.  But none of us wanted to commit.  

I haven't been able to stop thinking about the fact that of all the kick ass women at that table not one of us was up for the challenge.   Since that night I have found myself averting self-criticism about 50% of the opportunities that presented themselves.  It's a start, but not enough.  A higher part of myself is craving a moratorium on public floggings.  So in a few weeks on my birthday I will be taking one year off from the public self-criticism of my body.  I don't get to speak negatively about how fat or old I look in front of another human from March 22, 2015 through March 21, 2016. 

Will I slip up?  Probably, but  if I fall I'll get back on the wagon.  And I know I won't be able to eliminate the chatter between my ears, but I will get to see how much it decreases because of this experiment.

Honestly I can't imagine not speaking ill of my body's weight with someone, anyone, for an entire year.  No matter what weight I have been, it's been a lifelong topic of conversation.  The aging thing is a hot new topic of the last several years.  It's still got a lot of juice left, particularly with the recent chin debacle upon me.   I'll have to look for other adrenaline rushes.

I've got a few weeks to milk it all for what it's worth, but I don't think I will because I'm starting to enjoy the winding down from the highest heights of the self-judgment mountain.  Just thinking about the prospect of proclaiming this publicly has curbed my desire substantially, and makes me want to help my friends curb theirs as well.  Self-criticism hurts.  It's one of the worst kinds of bullying around.

Happy Birthday to me.  I get to start learning how to be my own better friend. 

 

Superhero Smoothie Wars: Vitamix Stomps the Ninja

 

My superhero food of choice is the smoothie I drink every morning to start my day.  So my blender is really important.  I was a Ninja girl for two years.  The Ninja had come highly recommended by two dear friends, so when my last blender broke I bought one and became an instant fan.  I found elements of its design to be annoying, but all of my pet peeves were overridden by its power, which now reminds me of a muscle car.   Strong looking but it tries too hard to show it.   It sounded like a jet engine and the blade demands careful handling.  I always felt like I was holding a handful of mini ninja swords when I had to insert or remove it.  But I was swayed by the seemingly kick ass ninja show.  It seemed to take the kale and frozen fruit I fed it, battering it into a smoothie with rapid fire consistency.  Or so I thought.

I should have known my love was blind when I would proudly serve my kale smoothies to guests who would find themselves concentrating on the surprising opportunity to chew something from the glass I had proudly served as a drink. 

I was always trying to figure out what foodie memory was evoked by Ninja smoothies.  Recently I saw a box of cornflakes at the store, and all my childhood cornflake memories came flooding in to explain why I didn't question chewing my smoothies.  Kale smoothies made in a Ninja remind me of what I consider the perfect cereal eating moment, where the balance of soggy to crunchy is just right.   I really actually DID enjoy the flavor and texture.  Truly I did.  BUT, it’s not called sog-crunchie.  It’s calls a SMOOOOOOOOOTHIE.  Vitamix understands that.

When the carafe for my Ninja cracked and I had to replace it for the second time in two years I started researching blenders.  I had heard wonderful things about the Vitamix over the years but never wanted to go to spend that much.  But after reading a bunch of blogs and watching some great YouTube videos that compared them, I realized that the perfect fit for me, and the most cost-effective solution (last longer, less breakage) was the Vitamix.   The article that ultimately swayed me mentioned the Vitamix Certified Reconditioned option and I knew that was the answer for me.

You can buy them on the Vitamix site but if you buy on Amazon it's a little cheaper and with free shipping.  The downside is you don’t know the exact model you are going to get when you order.  I was hoping for a 5200 because I had seen comparisons that put it ahead of the 6300 in my mind.  But I got the 6300.  And, thank god I did, because man oh man is it the perfect blender for me!

The 6300 has an automatic smoothie setting, so you turn it on, walk away and do other stuff and it shuts off automatically when it’s done!  There’s also a frozen dessert and soup setting.  Yes, it makes HOT SOUP out of cold ingredients out of your refrigerator!  One day I accidentally hit the FROZEN DESSERT button and it started to make a beautiful sorbet out of my smoothie ingredients - in seconds!

Let me count the ways I think the Vitamix wins the blender superhero wars:

·         Blade – That damn blade that looks so ferocious in the Ninja is dangerous.  I have accidentally cut myself a couple times.  It's a pain to clean too. Getting between the blades without slicing a finger is a feat.  Frankly, I couldn’t keep it perfectly black so it never appeared perfectly clean even when it was.  It developed a film on it that I could never scour off completely.  With the Vitamix, you don’t ever have to touch the blade and it's so damn small it's baffling how it works.  Seriously, I don’t get it. Amazing.

·         Clean-Up – There is simply no comparison.  To clean the Vitamix you put soapy water in it,  blend it up, and then rinse.  I usually have to do a little more sponge work than that, but not much.  Ninja clean-up is a huge, unsatisfying hassle. 

·         The Lid – Again, no comparison.  You have to line up the Ninja lid (which I always found to be awkward) in just the right way to get it to work.  There is only one way to put on the lid and it takes three steps to do it!  With the Vitamix you put it on from any angle any old way and you don't even have to push hard to see that it's secure.  Done!

·         Affixing Carafe to Base – Yet again, no comparison, there is no lining up in just the right way that the finicky Ninja demands. You just put it on the base.   Done.

·        Noise – One of the blogs said the Vitamix was loud.  Have you ever heard a Ninja?  It sounds like you are inside a jet engine.  The Vitamix is a lullaby in comparison.  I put a ton of frozen fruit in my smoothies.  With the Ninja, it sounded like a bunch of marbles being ground up.  With the Vitamix, if you were in another room, you would never guess the level of grounding up that was taking place in that thing.

 

This is a ton of kale, an orange and a bunch of frozen mango (plus coconut oil and protein powder) and it barely let on what a big job it had to do...

 

·         Carafe Shape – The Vitamix carafe shape is far more beautiful and user friendly being wider at the top.  And the pour spout is wider and works better.  It feels lighter to me, although I didn’t weigh my Ninja carafe before I tossed it.  Bottom line: it's far easier to work with, and far better looking than the Ninja.

·         Beauty – I noticed that a few blogs said the Vitamix isn’t great looking. I disagree. If nothing else it is far more attractive than the Ninja in shape and proportion.  I have no issues keeping it on my counter and I'm pretty adverse to all things unattractive.

·         Smoothie Perfection –   Throw ingredients in the carafe.  Set to SMOOTHIE.  Turn it on.  Drink the blissful concoction that doesn’t leave one morsel-unblended. End of story. 

 

 

 

 

Racing with Nature: A Superhero Errand

I slept in and awoke to the beautiful sound and view of rain falling in the canyon.  Snuggled in bed with Lucy and Tulle at either side I had a moment of sheer bliss, and yet again thanked my lucky stars that the bank and I own this amazing house.  Wow, wow, wow...OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

 

I suddenly realized that my convertible was outside the garage with the top down.  I sprinted to the car which was already soaking, put the top up, because I couldn't pull it into the garage.  A couple days ago I had to tear apart the garage looking for something and had filled the car's space with a sea of boxes and crap (aka treasures from the past).

 

I moved in exactly four weeks ago and had committed to getting the garage organized this weekend.  It was supposed to be yesterday but after a 3.5 hour hike my body would have none of that.  So I jumped into action to organize it as quickly as possible so I could get the car in there and put the top down again so it could dry.

 

Now I have 11 boxes in my living room.  All need to have their contents properly put away where they belong in the house.  One of the boxes had to be immediately emptied because its box had already been water-damaged on the bottom.  Yes the rain had already made its way into the garage.

 

I've been waiting for the plumber to have time to put a drain outside the garage to avoid rain damage like this, but he's been busy.  So, this whole rain-in-the-car debacle was a blessing because I immediately got to work moving the cardboard boxes to the back of the garage.  The damaged box (just wet on the bottom) was full of first aid supplies. 

 

My dad's business was first aid and rescue supplies, and he loved nothing more than keeping me safe, sound and happy.  Therefore I have a ton of first aid supplies.   I ran in the house and dumped the contents of the box into a big basket.  The basket wasn't quite big enough so a bunch of stuff fell at my feet including... Cortaid for poison oak!

 

 

 

Yesterday's amazing 3.5 hour hiking trails were lined with poison oak which the girls brushed against many times.  Look how innocent they look in this photo!

 

 

 

As soon as my friends left after the hike yesterday, I bathed the girls, and threw all my clothes in the washer, but apparently not fast enough (again, racing nature) to avoid the poison sinking in.  My dad always had the magic elixir for body, heart and mind.  One week ago would have been his 77th birthday.  He's still giving me gifts.

 

Today's race with nature had some fun rewards.

 

 

 

The Grief Joy Rollercoaster

This Friday I will be moving to a beautiful new house with a 180 degree view of a lovely canyon.  It's a beautiful modern house, just what I wanted. It's more than I thought I could afford.  It will be a stretch for me, but I decided to jump and grow wings on the way down.  Fingers and budding wings crossed.

With less than a week left, it's mighty inconvenient that I have the flu for the first time in several years.  So much to do, so little time.  Still not enough energy to do anything physical.  When I do, my cough doubles me over and zaps me of all life force.

I thought I must have the flu due to my first time home buyer stress whittling down my immune system. I thought I must not have been handling it as brilliantly as I thought I was.  But yesterday a friend reminded me of that body/mind connection of lung issues.  Lungs represent grief.  I remember being quite conscious of this when my father was battling three different lung ailments in the last years of his life.  It was true for him.  My dad bore the weight of many losses - his own and his friends' and family's.  He was a very sensitive man.   His beautiful blue eyes even when sparkling with joy or excitement would belie the sadness underneath.

We aren't taught in school how to process grief.  That would be a handy class.  I might not have the flu now if I had taken it, because I didn't realize until my friend pointed it out that I too am grieving the loss of my current house, a most magical rental that I have been in for almost 4 years.  A lot of amazing things happened in my life while I was here: I wrote my book, ran the marathon, made a lot of new wonderful friends, started creative projects that will hopefully come to fruition in the next couple years.  It was a fruitful, miracle-making house for me. 

I moved here just a year and a half after my dad passed away. I lived here when I experienced harrowing dramas with my dad's business, where I really grieved his loss, and developed a new relationship with him, where I lived when I spread his ashes finally.  

His portrait is in the center of the house so I see it multiple times a day.  And the house is surrounded by birds and squirrels, both of which my dad taught me about when I was a tiny little girl.  We would pour over his many books on birds when I was little and he would tell me about each one. I wish I had retained any of the knowledge, but the most important thing was that it daddy time where I got to share his passion. 

The birds seem to know change is coming.  They greet me at every entrance and exit a little more dramatically than usual.  And one sits just outside the patio door, perched on the firewood cart, between sessions of banging repeatedly into the window.  No, he's not trying to get in, because the door is wide open.   When not there, he is about 25 feet away outside another window sitting on a table looking into a mirror, at intervals, repeatedly flying into the mirror as if attacking his mirror image.  It's not violent looking.  Here is a snippet, from the end of one of his rounds. Excuse the through-the-screen bad quality!

 

 

This little bird has never exhibited this behavior before this week.  I think he was trying to tell me something about my grief.  As my friends have all reminded me, it's OK to be sad about leaving one magical house for another.  And this place will always have a place in my heart.

 

And now I know one of the first things I will do is plant two trees like the ones just outside the patio door - jacaranda and bottle brush-- in my dad's honor.  The birds and squirrels adore these trees.  That plan even eases the grief a little bit.



 

 

Stretching Out Into 2015

 

 

 

Today is the day I write my Manifesto 2015.   First step was to check in with my Manifesto 2014, which is conveniently taped under my glass desk so I can see it every single day.  I don't necessarily LOOK AT IT every day, but it's there to remind me from time to time. 

 

While I did not get a publishing deal this year as intended in Item #1, I did a few short weeks ago received excellent notes from a potential publisher, who believes in my book,. So I am busily addressing all of her brilliant suggestions.  That item will go to the top of my Manifesto 2015. 

 

And while I am not done "buying" a house with grace and ease, I'm smack dab in the middle of escrow.  With no competition on my offer in this uber-competitive LA real estate market, I am calling that a win. 

 

All the other items on my Manifesto I did accomplish to varying degrees and will continue to work on in 2015.  One can never open one's heart too much or listen to too much music!

 

In contemplating my new manifesto I looked up the derivation of the word INTENTION and found this:

 

Intention: "purpose," early 13c., from Old French entente, from Latin intentus "a stretching out," in Late Latin "intention, attention," noun use of past participle of intendere "stretch out, lean toward, strain," literally "to stretch out"

 

I love the image of "stretching out."  You don't have to know how you are going to accomplish something to make it happen.  On 1/1/14 I still had no clue - literally none -- as to how I was going to finish a marathon.  I had no idea how I could afford a house on my own in LA. 

 

 

 

Just yesterday, I showed a friend this vision board I created when I started looking for a house in November.  I remember thinking when I created that it was mostly a picture of trees.  I wondered how on earth am I going to afford a view like THAT!  Well, somehow this vision board helped me stretch out, reach out and find it.  I kept it right next to my TV to remind me every single day.  I was showing my friend the photos of my new house next to the photos on this board and even she had to admit how extraordinary it was that my vision board is now fully translated into a 3D reality.

 

The main lesson I got from 2014 was that my timing on when things should happen is not necessarily for my highest good.  I don't necessarily have the widest bird's eye view.  And, very time I stopped trusting, I felt pain.

 

For instance, I fell in love -- mad love -- with a house.  I was the first back-up offer but I didn't get it.  That house was AMAZING and yet this house is far, far, far better!  Thank God I didn't get the first one I fell in love with!  Rejection is God's protection.

 

I didn't get the book published this year, and I was in pain for a good part of the year as I waited and wondered and ran into closed doors, etc.  Now I know this book will be born when it is meant to be born, so that it can help the most people in the optimal way.

 

I don't think I will ever be done with this lesson of trusting that I don't always know what, where, when and how things should happen.  But 2014 was certainly a gift in delivering the lesson on a silver platter -- over and over and over again!

 

So, now as I sit down to draw up my Manifesto 2015, I will stretch into my vision, do all that I can do to make all of my intentions a reality, and then I will stretch several notches more into TRUSTING that all is well, all is perfect, and the timing is nothing short of miraculous -- no matter what I say!

 

Here's to stretching, stretching, stretching into our 2015 dreams!



Don't Forget to Fly!

Superhero of Love Boot Camp is Back in Session

I have had a week of tears.  They weren't all sad tears, most were the really good ones that come from being moved or inspired.  Some just happened to come during professional meetings for a couple of creative projects.  So, while they are proof that my heart is open and full, they were a wee bit inconvenient, like today.

I was being interviewed by a lovely friend, Ted Lyde, for his podcast.  At the end of the interview I was acknowledging him for being a superhero dad and husband.  He is one very moving dude, but I'm not sure he was up for tears on his mostly comedic podcast!

Ted has been married 23 years, has a son and a daughter, and his son is disabled.  Ted has had to face his fears, his push-back against being in charge of the lives of his precious children, and his basic humanity around parenting.   He's had to look at some uncomfortable pieces of himself to negotiate the daddy seas, that everyone  knows can get choppy from time to time.   And, when dealing with disabilities, the waters can become quite treacherous. 

But even the simple daddy chores can call for heroic responses.  Ted was describing the delicate balance he tries to achieve with encouraging his daughter to really know her true power while giving her the reality check warning that she may run into people from time to time who won't share his, her mom's, or her friends' view of her, and that that's OK.   What spectacular coaching, which I wish on some level my dad had given me: not everyone is going to like you and that's just dandy.

I told Ted that I had uncovered a wound only a week ago around the issue of being liked.  I have a hard time when people I like don't like me back.  It happened last week, that a friend of two years came to this conclusion.   I wondered how at my age I was so affected by him no longer liking me. 

So, I dug in and went back to Superhero of Love Boot Camp.  I did a Debbie Ford-inspired shadow exercise.  I had done Debbie's Shadow Process workshop years ago and still actively use the techniques I learned.  This work is mentioned throughout my book Superhero of Love: Heal Your Broken Heart & Then Go Save the World.   I think shadow work is so helpful to coming into our light, our full power, and to opening up our hearts to love and be loved as much as possible.

So, the Ford-inspired question I asked myself was "When was another time that I felt that I wasn't liked, that devastated me like this?"  My memory immediately shot to a place I would never have imagined.  My dad moved to Alaska when I was 11 years old.   I never had been conscious that my 11 year old brain made his moving to Alaska mean that he didn't like me.   It wasn't, of course, the truth, but it was what my little girl self thought was the truth.  It was the story I made up about it to have it all make sense.
 
Ironically, one of my favorite memories of my dad was not long after I gave birth to that shadow self, during one of my first summers I spent with him in Alaska.  We were leaning against his truck and he said "I know you know I love you.  And, I know you love me.  But I want to be sure you know that I actually really like you."  I will never forget that moment for as long as I live.  Yet, the year before, very likely at the moment he told me he was moving, my 11 year old said "He doesn't like me. If he really liked me he wouldn't move so far away."

I had a good long cry for that little girl.  I felt like a bad parent who left her on the side of the road all those years ago.  After my cry was over, the pain in my heart completely disappeared.  The world was no longer collapsing because a friend no longer liked me.  That shadow self, born at age 11, whose disempowering mantra "he doesn't like me" had been partially running my life, and used to grab the wheel from time to time, like it did last week.  Uncovering this shadow, though, I no longer have to be disempowered when someone doesn't like me.  She will always be there.  Our shadows don't disappear.  But, now that I am conscious of her and her mantra, I can listen to her concerns, but not let her drive the car.  She's not even 16, after all!   

When Ted and I were talking about this today, I remembered that a Shadow Process workshop is coming up in Los Angeles on December 5th through 7th.  I couldn't more highly recommend this workshop if you are looking for more freedom and power in your life.  It was a very big part of my Superhero of Love training.  It is work I will always practice because it allowed me to love and be loved more than ever before.

Check it out here:  The Shadow Process