More Bees with Honey than Fire

“There’s a way to do it better – find it.”

~Thomas Edison

In less than two months, I’m getting married. (Yes, in the middle of a plague – exactly as I dreamed) I had grand plans for that day, none of which included a now four-month hiatus from my typical workout routine due to a freak orthopedic injury. (With me, there’s nothing other than freak conditions) Four months (going on FIVE) of little more than physical therapy translated into some weight gain.

PRECISELY what I wanted prior to my WEDDING!

I’ve discussed my on-going battle with body issues. I’d love to say they evaporated with the impending knowledge of countless pictures in a wedding gown, but I’m not a liar. Can you say “daily meltdowns?” I’ve harrassed my physical therapist for weeks to let me go back to kickboxing, knowing it’ll burn the most calories. He’s firmly refused. The most I’ve received permission for is walking and LIGHT exercise.

What’s a girl to do?!

After breaking down in a monumental way (and considering bludgeoning my fiance’ with the scale when he mentioned how much weight he’s lost through quarantine), I reached out to a friend who coaches an exercise program. Turns out barre doesn’t irritate my stupid hip excessively. It doesn’t grant the calorie burn of my beloved HIIT kickboxing, but it ranks above walking around the neighborhood.

I was hesitant about agreeing to the program. (Ticking clock and fucking bathroom scale and all) See, I’ve been down this road before, and it was the worst experience of my life. Not because of the exercise or diet – those are nothing big. No, it boiled down to the way the program decided to motivate you. Because, let’s face it, exercise doesn’t work without motivation. Eating right doesn’t happen without motivation. And while I’m the first to admit everyone reacts to prodding in different ways, I firmly believe there’s a right way to do it and a WRONG way.

The majority of people don’t join such programs because they like the way they look. No, we HATE some aspect of ourselves. Maybe it’s everything. Or it could just be our knees, our legs, our arms. Whatever – something needs work. For people like me, if you gave us the chance to blow the whole thing up and start again, we’d sign on the line. Depression has corrupted the way we view ourselves in the mirror. Society reinforces that twisted sight every day, crushing us under constant negativity.

Fucking heaven forbid you even LOOK at a doughnut!

So why the hell would you FORCE such people to post images of themselves? Why would you claim that it’s a NEED in order to improve and lose weight? How does that accomplish anything? As one of those people, let me clarify loud and clear, it does the complete OPPOSITE! It motivates me to throw on as many layers of clothing as possible and hide in a corner. Because even the THOUGHT of someone else seeing such an image throws my anxiety into overdrive. I can HEAR the laughter and ridicule. And now I need a banana split to soothe my sobbing psyche.

You don’t motivate people that way. That’s something people need to make a choice about on their own. When they feel safe, confident, proud. People may NEVER feel that way, depending on how their brain is wired. Being a Nazi about things and barking orders and demands is not how you motivate everyone. It doesn’t uplift people who are more fragile. Some of us have trauma buried inside, and the nasty edge pushes us further into our walls. It’s never going to bring us out.

And when I dared to speak up, I got slapped in the face for it.

The usual pattern I’d come to expect. Disheartening isn’t a strong enough word. And then, throughout this summer, I had to sit and watch my fiance’ enganging with my kickboxing crew without me. THEY are an example of how to motivate properly. Probably why it hurt so much. Instead of beating people down or barking at them, they encourage the best in a person. They never ask for more than you have to give. They’ve built up a determination and belief in myself I didn’t realize I had (which is why I didn’t completely crash after the Nazi bitch got ahold of me).

My fiance’ started going to classes while I was in physical therapy. He felt it lessened the blow to me, eased my depression. I got supportive messages from the class instructors, telling me they missed me, and asking how things were going. I WANTED to hear those encouraging words in every class. I still want to be there, to get the drive to be better than I was the last class. They’re always beside us, working with us. The message is positive, affirming, and when you can’t do something, there’s a reassurance you’ll get there. The motivation is 100 times better.

But I’m not allowed back yet, not for at least another month.

Imagine my fear and terror at trying another exercise program. My hands were shaking when I talked with my friend. I had to force my teeth not to clench. My stomach was so nauseous, I had to consider reaching for one of my precious stock of Zofran. (Can we say trauma reaction?) I was ready for more of the same. But I needed some kind of framework. Trying to piece things together on my own wasn’t working. I told myself I trusted her.

My trust paid off. The positive motivation mirrors what I get from kickboxing. There’s no demand for anything. There’s gentle encouragement, promises that if I can’t balance today, I will down the road. (I want to laugh since my ankles are atrocious, but it’s nice to hear) It’s the kind of motivation someone with a fragile body image needs to hear. No threats that if I don’t do something, I’ll fail. Just encouragement to keep trying. No demands that I cut this, this, and this from my diet. Suggestions on what to eat, and if I happen to have a cupcake, it’s not the end of the world.

I get to be a human being. And I’m acknowledged as a human being. Better, I’m seen as a human being with bruises and tender spots. I don’t have to be a brick wall bracing for the cannon ball. To me, that makes all of the difference.

Biggest Piece of the Puzzle

Stop me if this sounds familiar: you spend HOURS reciting conversations in your head. Whether they be arguments, lengthy discussions for ways to better things at work, or just elaborate plans for your future. In your mind, your carriage is always upright, you don’t stumble over your words, and the other participants always hang on your every word. (They also don’t interrupt, talk back, or break from the script – something they fail to do in real life)

Do you recognize that person in those flights of fancy? (I’m not trying to demean your exercises, but if you never follow through on them, they are little more than imaginings) That’s who you WANT to be. It’s the confident person you carry around inside, buried under layers of self-doubt, questions, and years of ridicule. Which is why those rehearsed speeches never see the light of day.

Which is an absoltute crime.

Those words MEAN something to you. You wouldn’t take the time to craft those speeches if they didn’t. You don’t stand in front of a mirror and talk to your reflection for nothing. (Yeah, I know you do that; I’ve done it, too) That core of SELF is trying desperately to reach the surface, to break through the abuse and lack of self-confidence. YOUR voice wants to be heard, to come through into the atmosphere. It’s why you spend so much time in your head. It’s the only life that voice gets (most of the time).

Anxiety KILLS confidence. That niggling condition buries those speeches under an avalanche of “what if” scenarios until you crawl away to the shadowy corner where you’re happiest. And most of those situations are ridiculous. (I mean, what are the odds of Godzilla bursting through the building because you suggested a new chart to hold people accountable for tasks?) Meanwhile, your confidence is screaming in its cage, asking you to be reasonable. But you can’t hear it. Because it’s often too small, too quiet in comparison to that thundering roar of insecurity and doubt.

Freeing your confidence is HARD.

Taking the step off the ledge to becoming a freelance writer took me four months. Not because I needed to figure out how to write. I’ve had that down since I took home my first award in the second grade. It wasn’t even a matter of figuring out the freelance system. I read articles and advice columns starting in January when the idea first took root (and I realized I no longer wanted to do my previous line of work). No, what took so long was having the confidence to admit I COULD do the job. Having the confidence to stand up and assure people I was the right person for the their projects.

That scared the SHIT out of me.

My anxiety went into overdrive at the very thought. What if I was wrong? What if I wasn’t the right person? What if I couldn’t write after all? (As I said, anxiety gets kind of crazy) What if no one wanted to take a chance on me? What if I had to give up and go crawling back to that hateful job? What if I was going to be miserable for the rest of my life? I circled down the drain for weeks, convincing myself out of the very idea. And depression decided to join in on the fun. Pretty grim.

I’d love to tell you some magical switch flipped to pop confidence out from under the mountain. I wish I could say I had a spontaneous moment of clarity. But I’m not a liar. The truth is, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and jumped off the damn cliff. Because I wasn’t getting anywhere in the anxiety spiral. Because it was something I WANTED enough to try. Because, in the famous words from We Bought a Zoo:

“Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrasing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”

~Benjamin Mee

And, in the end, that’s what confidence IS: stupid, ridiculous courage. The courage to embrace YOURSELF. It’s getting to your feet, opening the cage, and letting your voice come out. I won’t deny that confidence is frightening (horrifying, and your anxiety passes out from conjuring possible scenarios), and it doesn’t get any bigger even if you use it daily. I wish it did. Maybe for people that don’t crawl out from avalanches every day – maybe it’s a larger concept for them. For those of us that battle other monsters, it’s feeble and needs coaxing and protection.

I still rehearse conversations in my head, but I think I do it a little less. My hands shake every time I compose a pitch, but I DO submit pitches for my writing. I’ve stood up for my abilities more and more often. I feel that my confidence in my writing has grown. I proudly call myself a successful freelance writer, at this point. (I mean, I’m not world-reknowned or anything) I’m brave enough to use MY voice.

Is my confidence still on life support? Yeah. But it’s alive. And that’s the most important part. Take your twenty seconds and give yours a chance. You won’t regret it. I promise.

Even if Your Voice Shakes

“We need someone who is going to stand up, speak up, and speak out for the people who need help, for the people who have been discriminated against.”

~John Lewis

No one is ever going to question that I have ZERO qualms speaking my mind. Actually, most people that know me would prefer I had a mute button, off switch, or at least a little modicum of tact to moderate the words that come out of my mouth. I won’t deny that my words (spoken and written) have gotten me into trouble. Has it stopped me or curbed the habit? Not a bit.

Why?

Because I spent A LOT of my life with what I felt buttoned behind my lips. I was afraid to speak up. Even if I felt something was wrong, or saw a cause that needed support, I sat in the corner in silence. I didn’t want to “rock the boat” or draw attention to myself. After all, people who raised their hands became the target of everyone around them. I didn’t want to deal with opposition or ridicule. My psyche wasn’t capable of handling the abuse. And silence was (is) so much easier.

But it doesn’t accomplish anything.

Once I found the ability to accept myself for ME – which meant acknowledging my anxiety and depression – my voice came with it. So did my spine, oddly enough. I’m not saying I enjoy the heckling (no one does), or that the barbs don’t still play directly into my depression’s hands. I have to pry every spine out of my brain at the end of the day and push the resultant shadow back. I have to swallow my panic before I utter a single word, cope with shaking hands (okay, my entire body vibrates like I’m having a seizure), and go through breathing exercises to reassure my body the world isn’t ending. But I still SPEAK UP.

And I’m BETTER for it!

Why? I’m finally standing up for what I believe in. Instead of holding those causes inside (where they do absolutely no good), I’m letting them out into the air and providing one more voice where it’s needed. I place my feet, stand up, and meet opponents directly in the eye. I reaffirm myself as a person by saying “yes” or “no” to something that defines ME.

Starting this blog took a lot of debate in my head. Acknowledging that you have a mental illness is still taboo. People look at you sideways. They laugh, they cross to the other side of the street, or they do much worse. There’s a negative stigma attached to mental health, even in this so-called advanced age we live in. Making the decision to openly discuss and PROMOTE discussion of mental health took weeks, three nervous breakdowns, and multiple silent pep talks. What if people reacted negatively? What if I faced nasty pushbacks? What if no one responded? I went around in circles. But I kept coming back to a single thought:

I felt it was important.

This meant something to me. I wanted to put my voice out there. I wanted to reassure someone – anyone – out there that I, at least, understood what it was like to cope with such things. That’s what standing up for a cause DOES. It tells other people you get it. You understand. No one says you need to champion a major cause if you don’t feel up to it. But I bet there’s something you feel strongly about. Something that you catch behind your teeth for fear of ridicule. Something you want to say but hesitate to out of fear. Believing in something is part of who you are. And denying those words denies a part of you.

I had someone close to me remark that they were glad I had made a post that wasn’t about mental health last month. It stung. BECAUSE of how important a topic it is to me. And also because of the hell I endured through my younger life coping with anxiety and depression. When I was afraid to speak. When it was taboo. When you shut such things behind locks and bars and pretended it didn’t exist. The comment told me that they still believed I shouldn’t speak about the state of my mind. That I should confine my thoughts to whispers, at best.

Which is why I SPEAK UP.

Never feel ashamed of the things you believe in. Never hide parts of who you are. Keeping the truth behind closed lips denies everything of who you are. The world deserves to hear you, to see you. Get out of the chair and speak up. Scream your words. Make the world acknowledge you. Your voice WILL shake. Your hands will tremble. You’ll tear up. But you’ll feel like yourself.

And THAT is what’s most important.

Put Up or Shut Up

“Elections belong to the people. It’s their decision. If they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will just have to sit on their blisters.”

~Abraham Lincoln

In 64 days in this country, all legally-permitted citizens have the opportunity to partake in the presidential election (and some other elected seats). The official count of the people that have the right to cast ballots is staggering. It’s only dwarfed by the number of people that will skip out on that right, for one reason or another (according to their whine of choice). The reality is quite simple: apathy. They simply can’t be bothered to stand up and get counted. However, it won’t stop them from registering their opinion over the next four years – as if they’re somehow entitled to comment on a process they skipped out on.

Now, I’m going to refrain from delving into the politics itself. Mostly because no one wants to spend an hour reading a blog post. Also, I don’t feel this is the appropriate arena for that discussion. I’ve registered my opinion (numerous times) on my personal social media feeds, and that’s where I’ll continue to keep my personal feelings. (So you can breathe a sigh of relief)

What I want to address is the pathetic lack of action so many people engage in every year. The simple act of walking to a polling location (hell, this year you don’t even have to leave your house! You can order a ballot from online!) is just too much to ask. People provide long laundry lists as to why they can’t be bothered, but it boils down to apathy. They simply don’t care – about anything! Not when the moment calls for action, anyway.

Oh, but they have the answers later!

When the moment passes, and there’s no chance to implement a change, they have the solution in hand. From the safety of their parked butt, they extol on how they would have done things differently. Suddenly, their genius is what’s called for, and the person they WOULD HAVE voted for, would have corrected the problem. And beating the shit out of the moron is illegal.

Because they HAD the chance to make that decision, and they watched it pass them by. The opportunity to participate in the electoral process lay in their hands, and they tossed it in the trash. In my area, we’re given 13 hours to cast a vote. But that’s not enough? Your worthless ass couldn’t move in that space of time? Really?

No, you just couldn’t be bothered!

And I’m tired of it. If you didn’t participate, you lose the right to say one word about the outcome. BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T A PART OF THE PROCESS! You sat back as an observer, nothing more. If you don’t contribute, then you forfeit a right to complain or cheer or even say a single word. Stay in the background and watch. It’s clearly where you’re happiest. Let your apathy keep you company (there are thousands of people who stand with you).

An opinion is an opinion. But ONLY if you make it. And sitting on your ass is NOT an opinion. That’s laziness and callous disregard for the people in your family, your friends, the others around you. How many countries on this planet have ZERO say in what happens to them? If you have ANY chance, why would you not stand up and demand to be counted? Why would you cross your arms and invent some lousy excuse?

If you don’t cast a vote, you don’t get to complain. Sorry – active participants ONLY. Everyone else is studio audience. They’re there, but no one actually cares about them or acknowledges them as individuals. (Wow, sounds like the apathy you’re displaying by refusing to vote!)

Get your ass out and VOTE!

Don’t dissolve into an apathetic blob. Find an opinion and register your voice! Make your number COUNT! You have the right to stand up and be heard, so SHOUT! Otherwise, what’s the point of existing? If you aren’t willing to take hold of a freedom you’re granted, then you may as well move yourself to a country that makes all of the decisions for you, with zero input from its people. You can TRY to complain then (good luck).

Frankly, though, if you won’t get off your worthless, apathetic ass and hit the polls, I don’t want to hear a single complaint or idea from your mouth. You have nothing worth listening to. If you did, you’d make sure your voice was heard WHEN IT MATTERED!