"Wow... you're so sweet , I'm a mess right now. Let us see what the future will hold. You amaze me, with your kindness. I will see you again. Thank you so much for so much i don't deserve; you're great."
That was the last thing Josh said to me. I woke up this morning and found out that he died almost a week ago. I immediately thought he had killed himself. His friends told me that he had died at home, in his bed. One explanation is a brain aneurysm, while another has to do with a new medication that was possibly combined with alcohol or something else. Apparently, there's going to be an autopsy because there are a lot of questions surrounding his death. But, ultimately, it doesn't matter... the fact is, a beautiful young man is dead. His funeral is on Sunday and my heart is fucking broken for his family and all who were close to him.
I met Josh at the drum circle on his 25th birthday. We talked a lot that night, and I told him about the book I'm writing. He listened intently to what I said, and I was amazed to learn that he was even familiar with one of the suicide prevention organizations I support.
When we said goodbye, he told me that he couldn't wait to see me again. He gave me a soft kiss on the neck, and it wasn't until I drove away that I realized we hadn't exchanged contact information. I thought about him non-stop until I saw him again the following week.
Our first date was perfect. We smiled, laughed and kissed the whole time. A random gentleman asked us if we were newlyweds. Josh said that I made him nervous, but in a good way. I told him that I felt like I've known him for a long time... he seemed familiar, even though we had just met. We kissed goodbye in the rain that night.
I went to visit my family for Thanksgiving, and we communicated every day. He said that he was thankful to have met me, and I told him the same. I got back to St. Pete on a Sunday evening. I couldn't wait to see him, and I was so excited for my best friend to meet him for the first time. We hung out at the drum circle, and before heading back to my house, we took a walk on the beach. He brought me to an area where there was a sandcastle building competition days before. The sandcastles were starting to fall. We admired some of the broken sculptures and ran on top of the ruined ones. I felt playful and full of joy around him.
We stayed up for most of the night, and he shared with me... he had just gotten out of a four-year relationship and was having a hard time. He told me that he had anxiety and that he sometimes drinks too much. We talked about writing. Poetry was his release.
In the days that followed, things began to change. I started to receive text messages in the middle of the night. Scary messages that worried me. One said, "It's nights like these when I feel like giving up. It's nights like these when I don't give a fuck." Another text: "last thing you want to say." I tried to shower him with positive words and make him feel valued. I know that he was suffering from a broken heart... trying to drown it in alcohol, which only made things worse. During one of the late night calls, he said that he never sleeps and that he drinks every night.
Soon, the phone calls and text messages became less frequent. I wanted closure and I needed to know that he was ok. So, I tried to reach out to him. I brought him journals... a place to keep his words when things were bad. In the big journal, I wrote this: "Set good intentions and surround yourself with positive people. Happiness is inevitable if you just listen and embrace it." I also gave him a pocket sized journal, so he could carry it with him and write whenever he needed it. That one said, "When inspiration strikes, take the time to honor it."
Then, a couple weeks ago, I stopped hearing from him completely. I told him that I was here for him if he ever needed someone to talk to and that I honored him and valued him. The last thing he said to me was the message I started this blog with. I knew he was suffering, but I didn't want to bother him, so his message to me was our last communication.
I've been visiting his Facebook page every few days because I've been worried about him so much. In doing so, I always found poetry that scared me even more. These are some of his last words...
and my body lies as it hits the ground , i hear them start the statement, he was such a good soul but then they catch themselves, this is my hell this is my hell
grab my hand and let us pray, i scream please get the fuck away
I'm reckless and free now. You can't touch me now. My heart breaks for no one.
DIE YOUNG AND SAVE YOURSELF!!
I don't know what was worse... the scary messages or none at all. I was out of town for Christmas. I thought about him, though, and secretly hoped I would run into him at the drum circle on Sunday. I logged onto his Facebook page this morning... it had been almost a week since I last checked, and the first thing I saw was information about his service, along with RIP messages. My brain is fucking jumbled right now. I'm sharing this because I have to.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Patience
I've taken a break from the book project, and I'm not entirely sure if it was a conscious decision. In the midst of leaving my office job and pursing my hoop dance business full-time, I got side tracked. Not to mention, the last time I wrote, the content was pretty emotional. Diving into my journals can be an emotionally draining experience. I'm balancing those times out with inspirational books, movement meditation and other healing practices. The books are very helpful... Some of my favorites include: Peaks and Valleys, A Short Guide to a Happy Life, Where Did the Gift Go?, and The Mastry of Love. There are more that are escaping me right now. These books tend to leave me with positive thoughts that remind me to approach each day with gratitude. But, at the same time, I've been feeling a little guilty about my break from writing. A few months ago, I was on a roll... writing every evening, feeling very inspired. Now, it's quiet time. Time to listen and absorb the thoughts and feelings within.
I returned from Citrus County this morning. I visited my home town to host hoop dance workshops over the weekend. I was pleasantly surprised that the workshops were a big hit. I didn't know if people would show, and if they did, would they connect with it? The answer is yes to both, and it felt good.
Afterwards, I met up with my good friend, Jeff. I've been craving face time with Jeff, to tell him about the book project that I'm working on. I didn't want to talk about it over the phone. I wanted to tell him, in person, about my plans for the book. Growing up, Jeff was one of Brad's best friends. Over the years, he became one of my best friends too. His mom was my tennis coach and guidance counselor in high school. I was also great friends with his sister, and our families were connected as well. We all played tennis, and we spent countless hours hanging out after school and on the weekends. Following high school and college, we remained close. Jeff and I leaned on each other after Brad's death - and it was important for me to share with him about the book.
So, on Friday evening, Jeff and I talked. I explained that I've kept journals my whole life, and I have everything documented... all of the grief and emotions that followed Brad's death. Jeff is an amazingly supportive friend, and I'm grateful that I had the chance to speak with him about it. I ended up staying at the house that night since I had a couple drinks and didn't want to drive. The next morning, I woke up at 6 a.m., with the thought that I had to rush back to St. Pete in order to teach class. But as I cranked up the car, I realized that it was Saturday, not Sunday. I don't teach on Saturdays, so I no longer needed to rush. The sun wasn't up yet and as I approached the boat ramp (where Brad took his life), I decided to stop. I hadn't been there in a long time, and I felt compelled to visit his cross and absorb the energy of the lake. We grew up on that lake and spent so many days on the water... swimming, wakeboarding, boating, and playing. I thought about the lake being the last vision Brad had before he died. And as I pulled my car up, I grabbed my Ipod and went to plug it in. But, I quickly decided I wasn't in the mood for my own music, so I switched on the radio instead. At that exact moment, the beginning of Patience by Guns n' Roses came on. It sent a chill through my body. This was Brad's favorite song, and it's what we played at his funeral. I've listened to this song thousands of times but at that moment, the message resonated in a different way...
Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing you. I'm still alright to smile...
There is no doubt you're in my heart now.
Said woman take it slow. It'll work itself out fine. All we need is just a little patience.
Take the time... 'Cause the lights are shining bright.
All we need is just a little patience.
As I sat there, listening to the words, I felt like Brad was speaking directly to me - about the book that I'm writing in his name. I felt his presence.
Before this moment, I was feeling anxious and guilty because I had taken a break from writing. I had been on a roll at one point and then I stopped. I was disappointed in myself because of it... until this moment, at the boat ramp.
It was a confirmation that I'm on no one's time frame. If it takes me years to write, that's OK. Brad deserves only my best work, so when inspiration strikes and the moment is right to write again, then I will. I think my quiet time is also part of the process. I'm reading, absorbing, remembering and thinking... I'm realizing that writing a book doesn't necessarily mean you're actually writing it the entire time. I want it to naturally evolve into a piece of work that does the story justice... it doesn't matter how long it takes. I will have patience.
I returned from Citrus County this morning. I visited my home town to host hoop dance workshops over the weekend. I was pleasantly surprised that the workshops were a big hit. I didn't know if people would show, and if they did, would they connect with it? The answer is yes to both, and it felt good.
Afterwards, I met up with my good friend, Jeff. I've been craving face time with Jeff, to tell him about the book project that I'm working on. I didn't want to talk about it over the phone. I wanted to tell him, in person, about my plans for the book. Growing up, Jeff was one of Brad's best friends. Over the years, he became one of my best friends too. His mom was my tennis coach and guidance counselor in high school. I was also great friends with his sister, and our families were connected as well. We all played tennis, and we spent countless hours hanging out after school and on the weekends. Following high school and college, we remained close. Jeff and I leaned on each other after Brad's death - and it was important for me to share with him about the book.
So, on Friday evening, Jeff and I talked. I explained that I've kept journals my whole life, and I have everything documented... all of the grief and emotions that followed Brad's death. Jeff is an amazingly supportive friend, and I'm grateful that I had the chance to speak with him about it. I ended up staying at the house that night since I had a couple drinks and didn't want to drive. The next morning, I woke up at 6 a.m., with the thought that I had to rush back to St. Pete in order to teach class. But as I cranked up the car, I realized that it was Saturday, not Sunday. I don't teach on Saturdays, so I no longer needed to rush. The sun wasn't up yet and as I approached the boat ramp (where Brad took his life), I decided to stop. I hadn't been there in a long time, and I felt compelled to visit his cross and absorb the energy of the lake. We grew up on that lake and spent so many days on the water... swimming, wakeboarding, boating, and playing. I thought about the lake being the last vision Brad had before he died. And as I pulled my car up, I grabbed my Ipod and went to plug it in. But, I quickly decided I wasn't in the mood for my own music, so I switched on the radio instead. At that exact moment, the beginning of Patience by Guns n' Roses came on. It sent a chill through my body. This was Brad's favorite song, and it's what we played at his funeral. I've listened to this song thousands of times but at that moment, the message resonated in a different way...
Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing you. I'm still alright to smile...
There is no doubt you're in my heart now.
Said woman take it slow. It'll work itself out fine. All we need is just a little patience.
Take the time... 'Cause the lights are shining bright.
All we need is just a little patience.
As I sat there, listening to the words, I felt like Brad was speaking directly to me - about the book that I'm writing in his name. I felt his presence.
Before this moment, I was feeling anxious and guilty because I had taken a break from writing. I had been on a roll at one point and then I stopped. I was disappointed in myself because of it... until this moment, at the boat ramp.
It was a confirmation that I'm on no one's time frame. If it takes me years to write, that's OK. Brad deserves only my best work, so when inspiration strikes and the moment is right to write again, then I will. I think my quiet time is also part of the process. I'm reading, absorbing, remembering and thinking... I'm realizing that writing a book doesn't necessarily mean you're actually writing it the entire time. I want it to naturally evolve into a piece of work that does the story justice... it doesn't matter how long it takes. I will have patience.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Girls From Brookwood
When inspiration strikes, honor it.
I wrote that sentence in a blog a while back, and I needed to remind myself today that it's OK to take breaks. I was in the middle of running around with a million things to get done, but I can't stop thinking about the incredible experience I had yesterday morning. I need to write about it, because the girls from Brookwood inspired me...
I was contacted about a month ago by a newly-formed organization called High Hopes in High Heels, asking me to do a hoop dance workshop at a place called Brookwood. Brookwood is a housing dorm dedicated to providing troubled adolescent girls with an alternative living environment and therapeutic program encompassing education, employability skills, independent living training and counseling that will prepare them for self-sufficiency and/or successful family reunification. In other words, these girls have been through a lot and Brookwood is helping to set them up for success in life.
Our workshop was scheduled to begin at 10 a.m. on Sunday. When Shellie and I got there, a few of the girls looked at us like we were crazy, as we carried about 40 brightly-colored hoola hoops into the cafeteria. I think others were curious, but the reception certainly was not warm. The majority of the young women who live at Brookwood are between the ages of 12 and 18. Apparently, they like to sleep in on Sunday mornings and aren't required to be downstairs until 11 a.m. But on this morning, the supervisors made rounds, waking up the girls who were still sleeping, to notify them of our workshop. I'm sure that the early morning wake up call didn't make us more popular among the group. About 20 girls showed up, many rolling their eyes or groaning, and most were still wearing their pajamas.
I knew that we had to make a good impression in order for them to take us seriously (or even express an interest in what we were doing). So, as the young ladies filed into the room, Shellie and I had the music pumping and were busting out all of our tricks. We freestyle hoop danced to high-energy music as the girls watched. Afterwards, I talked about the art of hoop dance and how the hoops we use are made for adults, which make them easier to use. I told them that they could learn all of the things that Shellie and I were doing, too.
When we invited the girls to participate, about half of them chose to sit out. But the ones who did give it a try were feeling good and accomplished as they danced with their hoops. They must have inspired the others... It was a beautiful thing watching the seated girls get up and join in.
As they danced, I asked them if they've ever had a bad day, felt ugly or sad. They all raised their hands. I told them when I feel that way, I start hooping and the rhythm makes me feel better. I explained that it's really hard to be pissed off when you're hoola hooping. We talked about how hoop dance automatically makes you smile and is a good way to feel good and let go of stress. I encouraged them to explore the space around them and be creative with their movements. Shellie and I then split the girls into two groups, and we taught them some tricks. I loved watching them giggle and smile, especially the ones who were most skeptical in the beginning. It was really interesting, though. It seemed as though some of them were afraid to smile and be happy. I remember one of the young ladies telling us that she never has fun, and she never laughs.
But as Shellie and I played, the girls loosened up. We wanted to provide them with a safe space and communicate a message that they are all beautiful and worthy of love. Each of the girls had stories. I can only imagine what they've been through. It's hard enough being an adolescent girl, much less one who has been abandoned or abused. We were there to provide support and encourage them to dance, move, play. Throughout the workshop, we told them they were beautiful and that they were blowing our minds with how quickly they were learning. We were just speaking from our hearts because everything we said was true.
As the workshop came to an end, we had a group hoop jam. The girls formed a circle. Those on the outside clapped and cheered for the girl in the middle. One by one, they rocked out with their hoops - while we all supported each person during their turn. Girls who were snapping at each other at the beginning of the class were now cheering for one another. When the hoop jam ended, they begged us to stay just a little longer. Some asked for hugs, and others actually had tears in their eyes when we said goodbye. One sweet young lady even wanted our autographs. The funny thing is, I felt like they were the celebrities. They brought us so much joy and melted our hearts.
We left a hoop behind for them to play with and gave them our contact information and asked them to stay in touch. I know that we'll be back soon. This is one of the many reasons why I love what I do. Movement meditation heals, and I'm grateful for experiences like these. There is beauty all around us. We just need to take the time to stop and notice it.
I wrote that sentence in a blog a while back, and I needed to remind myself today that it's OK to take breaks. I was in the middle of running around with a million things to get done, but I can't stop thinking about the incredible experience I had yesterday morning. I need to write about it, because the girls from Brookwood inspired me...
I was contacted about a month ago by a newly-formed organization called High Hopes in High Heels, asking me to do a hoop dance workshop at a place called Brookwood. Brookwood is a housing dorm dedicated to providing troubled adolescent girls with an alternative living environment and therapeutic program encompassing education, employability skills, independent living training and counseling that will prepare them for self-sufficiency and/or successful family reunification. In other words, these girls have been through a lot and Brookwood is helping to set them up for success in life.
Our workshop was scheduled to begin at 10 a.m. on Sunday. When Shellie and I got there, a few of the girls looked at us like we were crazy, as we carried about 40 brightly-colored hoola hoops into the cafeteria. I think others were curious, but the reception certainly was not warm. The majority of the young women who live at Brookwood are between the ages of 12 and 18. Apparently, they like to sleep in on Sunday mornings and aren't required to be downstairs until 11 a.m. But on this morning, the supervisors made rounds, waking up the girls who were still sleeping, to notify them of our workshop. I'm sure that the early morning wake up call didn't make us more popular among the group. About 20 girls showed up, many rolling their eyes or groaning, and most were still wearing their pajamas.
I knew that we had to make a good impression in order for them to take us seriously (or even express an interest in what we were doing). So, as the young ladies filed into the room, Shellie and I had the music pumping and were busting out all of our tricks. We freestyle hoop danced to high-energy music as the girls watched. Afterwards, I talked about the art of hoop dance and how the hoops we use are made for adults, which make them easier to use. I told them that they could learn all of the things that Shellie and I were doing, too.
When we invited the girls to participate, about half of them chose to sit out. But the ones who did give it a try were feeling good and accomplished as they danced with their hoops. They must have inspired the others... It was a beautiful thing watching the seated girls get up and join in.
As they danced, I asked them if they've ever had a bad day, felt ugly or sad. They all raised their hands. I told them when I feel that way, I start hooping and the rhythm makes me feel better. I explained that it's really hard to be pissed off when you're hoola hooping. We talked about how hoop dance automatically makes you smile and is a good way to feel good and let go of stress. I encouraged them to explore the space around them and be creative with their movements. Shellie and I then split the girls into two groups, and we taught them some tricks. I loved watching them giggle and smile, especially the ones who were most skeptical in the beginning. It was really interesting, though. It seemed as though some of them were afraid to smile and be happy. I remember one of the young ladies telling us that she never has fun, and she never laughs.
But as Shellie and I played, the girls loosened up. We wanted to provide them with a safe space and communicate a message that they are all beautiful and worthy of love. Each of the girls had stories. I can only imagine what they've been through. It's hard enough being an adolescent girl, much less one who has been abandoned or abused. We were there to provide support and encourage them to dance, move, play. Throughout the workshop, we told them they were beautiful and that they were blowing our minds with how quickly they were learning. We were just speaking from our hearts because everything we said was true.
As the workshop came to an end, we had a group hoop jam. The girls formed a circle. Those on the outside clapped and cheered for the girl in the middle. One by one, they rocked out with their hoops - while we all supported each person during their turn. Girls who were snapping at each other at the beginning of the class were now cheering for one another. When the hoop jam ended, they begged us to stay just a little longer. Some asked for hugs, and others actually had tears in their eyes when we said goodbye. One sweet young lady even wanted our autographs. The funny thing is, I felt like they were the celebrities. They brought us so much joy and melted our hearts.
We left a hoop behind for them to play with and gave them our contact information and asked them to stay in touch. I know that we'll be back soon. This is one of the many reasons why I love what I do. Movement meditation heals, and I'm grateful for experiences like these. There is beauty all around us. We just need to take the time to stop and notice it.
For confidentiality reasons, the faces of these beautiful girls have been blurred.Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Confirmations
Lately, I've been getting confirmations that I am moving in the right direction in writing this book. Last night, for example, I turned on the TV. I haven't watched TV in months. In fact, I don't even have cable at my house. But I am currently enjoying some alone time while I house sit for a friend, and I was in the mood to see a movie.
I flipped on HBO just as a documentary was beginning called Boy Interrupted. It's about a boy named Evan Perry who committed suicide at age 15. His parents are film makers and they created this documentary to honor Evan's life; process the events leading up to his death; deal with the grief, and communicate a message that it's not only OK to talk about mental illness, it's vital. Here is a link to the documentary preview:
Boy Interrupted Trailer
In it, we also learn that Evan's uncle (father's younger brother) killed himself when he was 22 years old. I have to believe that depression, bi-polar disorder and being at risk for suicide is genetic/ hereditary. There are instances of suicide on both my mom and my dad's side of the family, and it was interesting to see that this connection had occurred with the Perrys as well.
This is the first time that I've come across a work about suicide that I felt a solid connection with. It was real, honest, intense and true. I wrote last night and I cried for the Perry family. I cried for my family too. I compared the similarities and the differences between Evan and Brad (and even myself at times). I think that more people need to see this documentary. Every parent should see it, as should every teenager. Anyone who's suffered from depression or bi-polar disorder should watch, and so should families who have dealt with such a tragedy.
Confirmation #2: I woke up this morning and I turned on the radio station to hear the DJs talking to a man who had called in about this story:
http://www.tampabay.com/news/health/medicine/article1005344.ece
It's about a 7-year-old boy in Foster Care who committed suicide. He was given psychiatric drugs without parental consent, and he killed himself by hanging from a shower hose at the facility.
The man who called the show was outraged because his daughter had also attempted suicide. He was trying to make a point about how terrible it is that children are administered psychiatric drugs without the parents' knowledge. This gentleman was also placing blame on the radio show, insinuating that this boy may still be alive had the station done something to increase awareness about mental illness in children. Apparently, the man had tried to contact the DJs on numerous occasions but his attempts were unsuccessful. I think the man's initial message was stemming from a good place, but he came across like a jerk. In turn, the show hosts questioned his parenting skills and called him crazy.
This is a prime example of how mixed up and confused people become when the topic of suicide arises. This man was angry and his words were coming from a place of deep emotion and fear for his daughter's well-being. I'm sure that he also felt grief for the boy who died. The way that he approached the radio DJs, though, was threatening and accusatory. The DJs were immediately defensive, and they responded with mean words. The man's message did not come through the way that it should have. Instead, the listener was made to think that the father was responsible for his daughter's suicide attempt. The reason for his call was masked over with conflict and rage between the show hosts and the father.
Things like this keep happening... I randomly met a man at Target a few months ago. We were wearing the same shirt, in support of the organization, To Write Love on Her Arms... it's a charity that aims to increase awareness about depression, bi-polar disorder and cutting. I asked him about his shirt, and he told me that his mother had killed herself. I drove over the Skyway Bridge recently, just after a young woman had jumped to her death and then I heard the news story hours later on the radio. People are sending me emails and messages, speaking out about their own battles with mental illness.
I believe that these are confirmations - that the universe is telling me I'm on the right path and I need to write this book.
I flipped on HBO just as a documentary was beginning called Boy Interrupted. It's about a boy named Evan Perry who committed suicide at age 15. His parents are film makers and they created this documentary to honor Evan's life; process the events leading up to his death; deal with the grief, and communicate a message that it's not only OK to talk about mental illness, it's vital. Here is a link to the documentary preview:
Boy Interrupted Trailer
In it, we also learn that Evan's uncle (father's younger brother) killed himself when he was 22 years old. I have to believe that depression, bi-polar disorder and being at risk for suicide is genetic/ hereditary. There are instances of suicide on both my mom and my dad's side of the family, and it was interesting to see that this connection had occurred with the Perrys as well.
This is the first time that I've come across a work about suicide that I felt a solid connection with. It was real, honest, intense and true. I wrote last night and I cried for the Perry family. I cried for my family too. I compared the similarities and the differences between Evan and Brad (and even myself at times). I think that more people need to see this documentary. Every parent should see it, as should every teenager. Anyone who's suffered from depression or bi-polar disorder should watch, and so should families who have dealt with such a tragedy.
Confirmation #2: I woke up this morning and I turned on the radio station to hear the DJs talking to a man who had called in about this story:
http://www.tampabay.com/news/health/medicine/article1005344.ece
It's about a 7-year-old boy in Foster Care who committed suicide. He was given psychiatric drugs without parental consent, and he killed himself by hanging from a shower hose at the facility.
The man who called the show was outraged because his daughter had also attempted suicide. He was trying to make a point about how terrible it is that children are administered psychiatric drugs without the parents' knowledge. This gentleman was also placing blame on the radio show, insinuating that this boy may still be alive had the station done something to increase awareness about mental illness in children. Apparently, the man had tried to contact the DJs on numerous occasions but his attempts were unsuccessful. I think the man's initial message was stemming from a good place, but he came across like a jerk. In turn, the show hosts questioned his parenting skills and called him crazy.
This is a prime example of how mixed up and confused people become when the topic of suicide arises. This man was angry and his words were coming from a place of deep emotion and fear for his daughter's well-being. I'm sure that he also felt grief for the boy who died. The way that he approached the radio DJs, though, was threatening and accusatory. The DJs were immediately defensive, and they responded with mean words. The man's message did not come through the way that it should have. Instead, the listener was made to think that the father was responsible for his daughter's suicide attempt. The reason for his call was masked over with conflict and rage between the show hosts and the father.
Things like this keep happening... I randomly met a man at Target a few months ago. We were wearing the same shirt, in support of the organization, To Write Love on Her Arms... it's a charity that aims to increase awareness about depression, bi-polar disorder and cutting. I asked him about his shirt, and he told me that his mother had killed herself. I drove over the Skyway Bridge recently, just after a young woman had jumped to her death and then I heard the news story hours later on the radio. People are sending me emails and messages, speaking out about their own battles with mental illness.
I believe that these are confirmations - that the universe is telling me I'm on the right path and I need to write this book.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Birthday Bliss!
Today is my 30th Birthday, and I feel good. That, in itself, is a huge accomplishment.
As mentioned in my previous blog, July 22 has not always been a day of celebration for me. In fact, for many years, I would grow anxious, bitter and sad as my birthday approached. Because July 22 is also the date of my cousin's funeral, I associated my birthday with his death.
I have a "Brad Box." It's a red and yellow tin box with a sun on it. Inside, there are pictures, poems, stories, newspaper articles and small items that remind me of my cousin. The box also contains a stack of birthday cards that were given to me at his funeral. I've read the messages many times, and most of them are filled with sorrow and grief.
It's interesting how a specific event can affect your mindset on that same day, moving forward...
For a long time, I would have my friends and family promise not to make a big deal out of my birthday. I would opt to stay home and be alone with my thoughts instead. The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate my life on the anniversary of his death. During my deepest throws of depression, I would question my purpose in being here. I hated the idea of celebrating the day I was born, and I found myself wishing that it would have been me who passed on instead of Brad.
And then there were the years where I would go out with my friends and try not to think of it... this typically resulted in me drinking myself into complete and total inebriation. I would end up arguing with someone - usually my sister or a friend - and the night would always end with me in tears.
I remember one particular birthday (my 27th), where a group of friends suggested that we go out for a nice, relaxed birthday dinner. A couple of them knew that I was sensitive about my birthday, and they ensured me that we would just have dinner. No bars, clubs, etc. At first, I hesitated but they convinced me that it was a good idea. After all, it was the weekend and I hadn't done anything on my birthday the previous year. So, we decided to meet at a restaurant, and I made the reservation for a party of 12.
On the morning of July 22, I received a phone call that my stepdad's sister had died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage. She was home, cooking dinner the night before, when she fell to the kitchen floor and was pronounced dead about an hour later. She was young, in good health, and her sons were the same age as me and my sister. They had spent every holiday with us for the past 8 years, and while I wasn't extremely close with her, the news was devistating and heart-breaking for the family... especially for my stepfather who was battling cancer then.
Throughout the day, I started to receive more calls. Jaime couldn't make it to dinner. Then, Cathy had something come up. Ashley wouldn't be there, and neither would Katie. One by one, my friends were bailing on our dinner plans. When I arrived at the restaurant that night, only two of my girlfriends had showed up. So, my boyfriend at the time called his buddies to fill some of the empty seats. I took the event as a sign... my birthday was not worthy of celebration.
Now, three years later, I can honestly say that I am in a good place on my 30th birthday. The past two years, in particular, have been transformational. I've changed so many things about my life, including: my thought process, my food choices, the activities that fascinate me, my creative outlets, and the overall outlook that I now have regarding my purpose here on Earth. I am no longer a victim of circumstance, and I will not feel sorry for myself.
I also choose to be surrounded by positive people who inspire me. The company we keep holds so much weight on our mental health and well-being...
So, as I enter my 30's, I've decided to make the following promises to myself. This is my credo:
As mentioned in my previous blog, July 22 has not always been a day of celebration for me. In fact, for many years, I would grow anxious, bitter and sad as my birthday approached. Because July 22 is also the date of my cousin's funeral, I associated my birthday with his death.
I have a "Brad Box." It's a red and yellow tin box with a sun on it. Inside, there are pictures, poems, stories, newspaper articles and small items that remind me of my cousin. The box also contains a stack of birthday cards that were given to me at his funeral. I've read the messages many times, and most of them are filled with sorrow and grief.
It's interesting how a specific event can affect your mindset on that same day, moving forward...
For a long time, I would have my friends and family promise not to make a big deal out of my birthday. I would opt to stay home and be alone with my thoughts instead. The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate my life on the anniversary of his death. During my deepest throws of depression, I would question my purpose in being here. I hated the idea of celebrating the day I was born, and I found myself wishing that it would have been me who passed on instead of Brad.
And then there were the years where I would go out with my friends and try not to think of it... this typically resulted in me drinking myself into complete and total inebriation. I would end up arguing with someone - usually my sister or a friend - and the night would always end with me in tears.
I remember one particular birthday (my 27th), where a group of friends suggested that we go out for a nice, relaxed birthday dinner. A couple of them knew that I was sensitive about my birthday, and they ensured me that we would just have dinner. No bars, clubs, etc. At first, I hesitated but they convinced me that it was a good idea. After all, it was the weekend and I hadn't done anything on my birthday the previous year. So, we decided to meet at a restaurant, and I made the reservation for a party of 12.
On the morning of July 22, I received a phone call that my stepdad's sister had died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage. She was home, cooking dinner the night before, when she fell to the kitchen floor and was pronounced dead about an hour later. She was young, in good health, and her sons were the same age as me and my sister. They had spent every holiday with us for the past 8 years, and while I wasn't extremely close with her, the news was devistating and heart-breaking for the family... especially for my stepfather who was battling cancer then.
Throughout the day, I started to receive more calls. Jaime couldn't make it to dinner. Then, Cathy had something come up. Ashley wouldn't be there, and neither would Katie. One by one, my friends were bailing on our dinner plans. When I arrived at the restaurant that night, only two of my girlfriends had showed up. So, my boyfriend at the time called his buddies to fill some of the empty seats. I took the event as a sign... my birthday was not worthy of celebration.
Now, three years later, I can honestly say that I am in a good place on my 30th birthday. The past two years, in particular, have been transformational. I've changed so many things about my life, including: my thought process, my food choices, the activities that fascinate me, my creative outlets, and the overall outlook that I now have regarding my purpose here on Earth. I am no longer a victim of circumstance, and I will not feel sorry for myself.
I also choose to be surrounded by positive people who inspire me. The company we keep holds so much weight on our mental health and well-being...
So, as I enter my 30's, I've decided to make the following promises to myself. This is my credo:
- When inspiration strikes, I am going to honor it. I will not put the things I'm passionate about on the back burner. Passion and inspiration are now my driving forces.
- I will finish writing my first book, and when it's done, I will have it published. I will share my story with as many people as I possibly can. And when I'm busy promoting my first book, I will be simultaneously working on the second.
- I will make a difference in this world.
- I will accept the things that I can not change, but I will not dwell on them.
- I will not question my self-worth. I know that I am appreciated and valued.
- I will spend more time with nature. I will sit with sunsets and sunrises, and I will camp out as often as possible.
- I will make it on my own as a young entrepreneur on a mission.
- I will respond to the negativity I encounter with kindness.
- I will become a fire staff-spinning badass.
- I will tell my family and friends that I love them as often as possible.
- I will be the best me that I can be.
- I will not only face my fears, I will crush them
- I will invest much more time at the bellydance studio and at the gym. I want to be a freak of nature like Evelyn Tosi (the jazz instructor from the studio where I teach). She is a 50-year-old in a 20-year-old's body.
- I am going to transform my body, just like I transformed my mind. I am being realistic, though, and I'm not setting weight loss goals. Instead, my intentions are to feel good, eat right and make sure that my exercise routine is a direct reflection of the activities I enjoy.
- I will read as many books as I possibly can.
- I will take the time to LISTEN, BREATHE and BE
- I will inspire my hoop dance students to feel good and accomplish their goals - not just in class, but in life.
- I will smile, laugh and love
Monday, July 20, 2009
11 Years
Today is the anniversary of Brad's death. I am always emotional on July 20. I woke up feeling sad. It's been 11 years, which seems surreal.
I sometimes worry that I will forget what his voice sounded like or that I won't remember his facial expressions. Other times, I feel guilty because I don't think about him as much as I used to. I actually think this is a good thing, even though the guilt creeps in, and here's why:
July 20 was the most hellacious day of my life. I've never felt grief like that before. At first, I would cry so hard that I'd make myself sick - literally. I would hide in my room from the rest of the world, feeling awful... being sucked into the black hole in my heart.
Thinking of him is one thing. Thinking of the aftermath is something else. So, when I say that it's a good thing that I don't think of him as much as I used to - it's because for a long time, it was all wrapped into one... thinking of Brad was directly linked to hurt and pain. Thankfully, I am now able to separate the two.
Thinking of him looks like this: a bright, clear blue sky. Us on the boat. The sun beaming down, water sparkling and a grin on Brad's face as he tilts his head toward the warmth and closes his eyes. Every time I think of him, that same image appears: Sunshine.
Thinking of the aftermath looks like this:
The hurt in my uncle's eyes, the first time I saw my aunt after it happened, the piercing pain in my chest, my sister's face crumbling with sadness, my grandma holding my hand at the funeral while people handed me birthday cards, my younger cousin withdrawing from the family and then becoming an asshole. The fucking aftermath...
I still feel sad and heartsick because I miss him but now, I am more aware. I also know that I'm not "cured" from depression. I will always be more fragile on this day. It's something that I have to be conscious of. The triggers set off episodes. Triggers are the hard things in life that cause your thoughts to spiral out of control. Some of my worst episodes were on July 20 - the day he died - and July 22 - the day of Brad's funeral (and also my birthday). The triggers will always be there, and I understand that I need creative outlets to deal with them... writing is one way. Meditation through the hoop is another. These outlets keep me in check.
Chrissy wrote something in the Brad book that comforts me (The Brad book is the journal that stays at his cross)... "May the sun always shine on you." I know that the sun IS always shining on Brad, because when I think of him now, I can't see him any other way.
I sometimes worry that I will forget what his voice sounded like or that I won't remember his facial expressions. Other times, I feel guilty because I don't think about him as much as I used to. I actually think this is a good thing, even though the guilt creeps in, and here's why:
July 20 was the most hellacious day of my life. I've never felt grief like that before. At first, I would cry so hard that I'd make myself sick - literally. I would hide in my room from the rest of the world, feeling awful... being sucked into the black hole in my heart.
Thinking of him is one thing. Thinking of the aftermath is something else. So, when I say that it's a good thing that I don't think of him as much as I used to - it's because for a long time, it was all wrapped into one... thinking of Brad was directly linked to hurt and pain. Thankfully, I am now able to separate the two.
Thinking of him looks like this: a bright, clear blue sky. Us on the boat. The sun beaming down, water sparkling and a grin on Brad's face as he tilts his head toward the warmth and closes his eyes. Every time I think of him, that same image appears: Sunshine.
Thinking of the aftermath looks like this:
The hurt in my uncle's eyes, the first time I saw my aunt after it happened, the piercing pain in my chest, my sister's face crumbling with sadness, my grandma holding my hand at the funeral while people handed me birthday cards, my younger cousin withdrawing from the family and then becoming an asshole. The fucking aftermath...
I still feel sad and heartsick because I miss him but now, I am more aware. I also know that I'm not "cured" from depression. I will always be more fragile on this day. It's something that I have to be conscious of. The triggers set off episodes. Triggers are the hard things in life that cause your thoughts to spiral out of control. Some of my worst episodes were on July 20 - the day he died - and July 22 - the day of Brad's funeral (and also my birthday). The triggers will always be there, and I understand that I need creative outlets to deal with them... writing is one way. Meditation through the hoop is another. These outlets keep me in check.
Chrissy wrote something in the Brad book that comforts me (The Brad book is the journal that stays at his cross)... "May the sun always shine on you." I know that the sun IS always shining on Brad, because when I think of him now, I can't see him any other way.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Turning the Page
When one chapter closes, take a deep breath and sit with it for a moment but do not dwell. Accept what is, and then turn the page.
We don't choose what happens in our lives, but we do choose how we handle things. The old me would have spent last night in tears. The new me went out dancing.
I am proud of myself for the way I handled the end of this particular chapter. I confronted my truth, and I told him how I feel. Now, I am free of worry and distress. Reflecting on this situation, I have no regrets. I know what my spirit needs, and I am going to feed it with the things that make me happy. If and when a partner joins me on the journey, I will be grateful, but I won't sit and wait for him to arrive. I will move forward on my path, and I will stay true to who I am.
So the story goes...
We agreed to see each other yesterday evening. It was his last night here before going back to California. We spoke on the phone as I drove home from work, and he said that he was having dinner with his family. We talked about going bowling, hanging out at my house or I might come to meet him at the beach. I was planning to enjoy my time with him and be present in the moment. I was hoping for a happy, relaxed evening full of smiles and laughter. I had a book to return to him as well.
During our phone conversation, I mentioned that I had to go home, change and let the dog out. I would text him when I was ready so we could make plans. I sent him a message around 7 p.m. asking if he would be at the beach a while longer. He messaged me back, saying he was still eating but he'd be done soon. Some time went by, and I asked if I should head his way or if he preferred to come to my house. His response: 'not sure.' By this time, it was approaching 8:30. I could feel the disappointment, frustration and hurt rise up inside of me. So, I wrote back: 'your book is in my mailbox.'
Normally, I wouldn't throw in the towel so quickly, but I should mention that there was confusion the last time he went home to California, surrounding the fact that he left without saying goodbye. In addition, we had specifically talked about meeting up early yesterday. I tried not to have expectations, but I really didn't envision him letting me down, in the same way as last time. It was happening all over again.
I took a deep breath and sat with the feeling for a moment. I then grabbed my journal, got in my car and drove to my favorite restaurant. I called my friend Kristin on the way and asked her if she wanted to meet me there. As I waited for her to arrive, I ordered a glass of wine and my phone rang. I talked to him briefly. He invited me to his parents' house, but I explained that I had made other plans at that point. He seemed surprised to hear that I wasn't interested in coming over. It was 9 p.m. I told him I wasn't home and that he could come pick up the book from my mailbox. I expressed my feelings of disappointment. I hung up the phone, and I wrote in my journal as I waited for Kristin.
When she got there, we had a great conversation and ordered some appetizers. Towards the end of our meal, two of our other friends showed up. It was a nice surprise to see them, and they told us that a good band was playing at the bar downstairs. About an hour later, the four of us were drinking sangria, laughing, dancing and taking silly pictures. Kristin had a hoop in the car, so we busted that out. Everyone wanted to try it - from the band members to the servers and customers at the restaurant.
What had the potential to be a really shitty night was completely transformed into an impromptu girls' night out. I got home around 2 a.m. with a stomach sore from laughing.
We are the masters of our own destiny. Do not be a victim of circumstance. Create the reality you want.
We don't choose what happens in our lives, but we do choose how we handle things. The old me would have spent last night in tears. The new me went out dancing.
I am proud of myself for the way I handled the end of this particular chapter. I confronted my truth, and I told him how I feel. Now, I am free of worry and distress. Reflecting on this situation, I have no regrets. I know what my spirit needs, and I am going to feed it with the things that make me happy. If and when a partner joins me on the journey, I will be grateful, but I won't sit and wait for him to arrive. I will move forward on my path, and I will stay true to who I am.
So the story goes...
We agreed to see each other yesterday evening. It was his last night here before going back to California. We spoke on the phone as I drove home from work, and he said that he was having dinner with his family. We talked about going bowling, hanging out at my house or I might come to meet him at the beach. I was planning to enjoy my time with him and be present in the moment. I was hoping for a happy, relaxed evening full of smiles and laughter. I had a book to return to him as well.
During our phone conversation, I mentioned that I had to go home, change and let the dog out. I would text him when I was ready so we could make plans. I sent him a message around 7 p.m. asking if he would be at the beach a while longer. He messaged me back, saying he was still eating but he'd be done soon. Some time went by, and I asked if I should head his way or if he preferred to come to my house. His response: 'not sure.' By this time, it was approaching 8:30. I could feel the disappointment, frustration and hurt rise up inside of me. So, I wrote back: 'your book is in my mailbox.'
Normally, I wouldn't throw in the towel so quickly, but I should mention that there was confusion the last time he went home to California, surrounding the fact that he left without saying goodbye. In addition, we had specifically talked about meeting up early yesterday. I tried not to have expectations, but I really didn't envision him letting me down, in the same way as last time. It was happening all over again.
I took a deep breath and sat with the feeling for a moment. I then grabbed my journal, got in my car and drove to my favorite restaurant. I called my friend Kristin on the way and asked her if she wanted to meet me there. As I waited for her to arrive, I ordered a glass of wine and my phone rang. I talked to him briefly. He invited me to his parents' house, but I explained that I had made other plans at that point. He seemed surprised to hear that I wasn't interested in coming over. It was 9 p.m. I told him I wasn't home and that he could come pick up the book from my mailbox. I expressed my feelings of disappointment. I hung up the phone, and I wrote in my journal as I waited for Kristin.
When she got there, we had a great conversation and ordered some appetizers. Towards the end of our meal, two of our other friends showed up. It was a nice surprise to see them, and they told us that a good band was playing at the bar downstairs. About an hour later, the four of us were drinking sangria, laughing, dancing and taking silly pictures. Kristin had a hoop in the car, so we busted that out. Everyone wanted to try it - from the band members to the servers and customers at the restaurant.
What had the potential to be a really shitty night was completely transformed into an impromptu girls' night out. I got home around 2 a.m. with a stomach sore from laughing.
We are the masters of our own destiny. Do not be a victim of circumstance. Create the reality you want.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Here and Now
To be happy, one must acknowledge things for the way they are at any given moment in time. We must make a conscious effort to seek acceptance. It may not be easy, but it's necessary for our well-being, mental health and spiritual growth.
So often, we set expectations, and many times, these expectations lead us to internal conflict. It's human nature to fantasize and to envision the way that we want things to be. Setting goals and developing positive intentions is important. But if things do not manifest the way that you envision them to, that does not mean you should give up on the end result. I spoke with a dear friend about this last night, and his words resonate. My friend lives this way (in the now), and he's one of the most positive people I've ever met.
These revelations are coming to me as I work to seek clarity in a situation that is/was clouding my thought process. Relationships tend to confuse me most.... I think that everyone wants love, and I am hopeful that my life's path will lead me to it. My intention is set. I envision myself in a loving, healthy relationship because my heart craves it. However, I know that patience is a virtue, and I recognize the need to honor each and every experience along the way. All I can do is be true to myself and true to the moments that I am blessed with. I'm learning to have faith in knowing that things will unfold the way they are meant to.
I met someone about eight months ago. There was an instant connection, and I began to develop feelings for this person right away. When we met, he was only here for a few months, visiting family and friends. And even though our time together was short, it was significant. When he returned home to California after his extended vacation, I was heart-broken to see him go.
In the months that followed, we did not do a very good job keeping in touch, for multiple reasons (he doesn't have a computer, our work schedules often conflict, the time change between FL and CA, etc.). So, when he told me he would be visiting for a week, I wasn't sure how I would feel when I saw him again. Would the connection be as strong as it was before? And if so, would I be willing to open up my heart to the sadness that I will inevitably feel when he leaves again? These fears and reservations are natural, but they can be powerful and toxic too.
I'm realizing now that my fantasy, my expectation, of the way I want things to be (even if only in my subconscious) may prevent me from being present in the moment. I develop scenarios in my mind, and I worry... wondering how he feels, if the relationship would/ could ever work, etc. These are natural thoughts, but at the same time, I'm recognizing that there is beauty in the unknown. Being here now is what matters most. For example, who's to say that if we lived in the same city and tried to make it work that it would be an ideal situation?
Life is not black or white. We live in color, and I choose to ride the wave of emotion and have the full experience of each and every moment. Projecting fears for the future and exerting energy worrying about what could happen or what might not happen will only prevent you from enjoying the beauty of now.
We experience emotion, and we may not like the fact that our reality is different than the way we envision things to be. But it's important not to lose sight of where we are right now. Enjoy the journey. There will never be another moment exactly like this one, so embrace it and know that you are more powerful than your fears. You only have so much energy to exude, so use it wisely. Quiet the thoughts and feelings that stem from negativity, worry and distress. In doing so, you will create more space for the moments that fill your heart with love and light. Tomorrow will be what it will. Be present in the now.
So often, we set expectations, and many times, these expectations lead us to internal conflict. It's human nature to fantasize and to envision the way that we want things to be. Setting goals and developing positive intentions is important. But if things do not manifest the way that you envision them to, that does not mean you should give up on the end result. I spoke with a dear friend about this last night, and his words resonate. My friend lives this way (in the now), and he's one of the most positive people I've ever met.
These revelations are coming to me as I work to seek clarity in a situation that is/was clouding my thought process. Relationships tend to confuse me most.... I think that everyone wants love, and I am hopeful that my life's path will lead me to it. My intention is set. I envision myself in a loving, healthy relationship because my heart craves it. However, I know that patience is a virtue, and I recognize the need to honor each and every experience along the way. All I can do is be true to myself and true to the moments that I am blessed with. I'm learning to have faith in knowing that things will unfold the way they are meant to.
I met someone about eight months ago. There was an instant connection, and I began to develop feelings for this person right away. When we met, he was only here for a few months, visiting family and friends. And even though our time together was short, it was significant. When he returned home to California after his extended vacation, I was heart-broken to see him go.
In the months that followed, we did not do a very good job keeping in touch, for multiple reasons (he doesn't have a computer, our work schedules often conflict, the time change between FL and CA, etc.). So, when he told me he would be visiting for a week, I wasn't sure how I would feel when I saw him again. Would the connection be as strong as it was before? And if so, would I be willing to open up my heart to the sadness that I will inevitably feel when he leaves again? These fears and reservations are natural, but they can be powerful and toxic too.
I'm realizing now that my fantasy, my expectation, of the way I want things to be (even if only in my subconscious) may prevent me from being present in the moment. I develop scenarios in my mind, and I worry... wondering how he feels, if the relationship would/ could ever work, etc. These are natural thoughts, but at the same time, I'm recognizing that there is beauty in the unknown. Being here now is what matters most. For example, who's to say that if we lived in the same city and tried to make it work that it would be an ideal situation?
Life is not black or white. We live in color, and I choose to ride the wave of emotion and have the full experience of each and every moment. Projecting fears for the future and exerting energy worrying about what could happen or what might not happen will only prevent you from enjoying the beauty of now.
We experience emotion, and we may not like the fact that our reality is different than the way we envision things to be. But it's important not to lose sight of where we are right now. Enjoy the journey. There will never be another moment exactly like this one, so embrace it and know that you are more powerful than your fears. You only have so much energy to exude, so use it wisely. Quiet the thoughts and feelings that stem from negativity, worry and distress. In doing so, you will create more space for the moments that fill your heart with love and light. Tomorrow will be what it will. Be present in the now.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Hoop Path Retreat Reflections Part 2
After work on Wednesday, I drove home to find Cassandra and "Big Momma" (her jeep) waiting for me at my house. We went to grab some Thai food and made a list of items we would need for our 12-hour road trip and weekend adventure. Hoola Monster Kiyla joined us as we finished up dinner, and Amy arrived at the house a few hours later. The four of us chatted with excitement about the upcoming retreat. We had to wake up and hit the road by 5:30 a.m., so we eventually called it a night.On Thursday morning, we loaded up Big Momma and made our way out of Tampa. Cassandra was amazing and drove the entire time, with brief pit stops for hooping, stretching and food.
We eventually arrived in Carborro and set up at Camp Mary Water, our Retreat 'home away from home.' There were approx. 15 campers and house guests staying with Mary. She was a warm and inviting ray of sunshine throughout the entire weekend, and we couldn't have asked for a better hostess. (We love her!)After setting up camp, we hopped back in the jeep with our hoops and made our way to the Opening Ceremony and Flow Showcase. Walking into the room was like a hoop family reunion. I saw lots of familiar, smiling faces including: Lauren, Christabel, Claudia, Tara, Ann, Beth, Rebecca, Nicki, Geoff, and the list goes on... I was giddy with excitement meeting new people as well. It warmed my heart just being present in that environment, surrounded by 150 beaming hoopers. I couldn't help but think how we were all brought together in that moment due to our shared passion for the blissful, powerful art form known as modern hoop dance.
Bax said a few words before the Flow Showcase began. Performances included belly dancing by Anastasia, an interpretive dance by the amazing Christabel (a.k.a. HoopGirl), some badass hooping by the one and only Spiral and a heart-warming "Life of the Party" poem by our very own Cassandra. We were also blessed with a beautiful song by Hoop Pathers Beth and Ann. There were other talented artists who showed their stuff too, but the names are escaping me now. Afterwards, we all hooped together at the farm before heading back to Camp Water for some much needed R&R.
Friday morning began with excited squeals as Kristin and Kacey arrived at Camp Water. I hadn't seen these two in about a year and a half, and I was like a little kid on Christmas morning being reunited with my friends. After some brief catch up, we took part in an outdoor, guided meditation at Bonnie's house. It ended with peacock feather take-aways with inspirational words attached. Calm and blissful, the group headed out for the first workshop of the weekend.
In the workshops, Bax encourages students to "go blind." Blindfolded, meditative practice enables you to focus on the experience in a different way. When blindfolded, I find that I'm able to feel and respond to the rhythm and energy created between me and the hoop. I get into the zone, or "flow" and I'm able to lose sight of the world around me. It's truly a beautiful experience.
Day 1's Focus: The Vessel. We did lots of core hooping and balance techniques. As always, Bax provided wonderful instruction and guidance. We were all on a hoop high afterwards, so we met up with some of the locals to celebrate Lauren W's birthday before calling it a night.
Saturday began with a group breakfast. Day 2's Workshop Focus was The Mind. Baxter's soothing words filled the room, as he coached us through each technique. When teaching, Bax has a habit of repeating things three times. "Unlock, unlock, unlock." "It's okay, It's okay, It's okay." Self-love and acceptance were key themes in the Saturday workshop. I remember feeling a deep connection to the experience during blindfolded practice.
Saturday began with a group breakfast. Day 2's Workshop Focus was The Mind. Baxter's soothing words filled the room, as he coached us through each technique. When teaching, Bax has a habit of repeating things three times. "Unlock, unlock, unlock." "It's okay, It's okay, It's okay." Self-love and acceptance were key themes in the Saturday workshop. I remember feeling a deep connection to the experience during blindfolded practice.
Afterwards, we met with our Mini Tribe to discuss the fire ceremony, which would take place later in the evening. Our group agreed upon a "Recipe for Positive Transformation." Matthias did a great job constructing a basket out of vines and wood, which would serve as our contribution to the fire.
After a quick shower, we headed over to Beth's house for the Kava ceremony and fire ritual. Bax began by holding silence for a friend who had recently passed. I knew that I wouldn't make it through the weekend without sheding tears, and this was my moment to do so. It was obvious that this man had touched the lives of many. My heart went out to The Hoop Path and to all who suffered from this great loss.The evening continued with fire offerings from the Mini Tribes, with fire hooping and fire dancing to follow. Our Recipe for Positive Transformation included: greasing the bowl with hope, a dash of fear balanced with support from family and friends, a whole lot of self-love and courage, a bit of pain, loads of love and sprinkles of glitter. Cassandra and Matthias did a fabulous job presenting it. Afterwards, we had the pleasure of watching Rich (a.k.a. IsoPop) kill it with double mini fire hoops and Miss Rosie (from Hero Hoops) rock out with an amazing fire hoop performance. I lit up as well, and then we headed back to Mary's to sleep.
Day Three: Waking up outdoors is one of my favorite things to do. The fresh air, birds chirping and sunshine always put me in a good mood. So, on Sunday morning, I woke up early feeling great. Kacey, Kristin, Amy and I decided to go for a morning hike. We heard there was a lake nearby, and we wanted to go for a swim. It was an absolutely beautiful way to start our final day in Carborro:
Afterwards, we re-convened with our mini-Tribe over brunch with Mary. Needless to say, it was another great experience with lots of laughter and smiles.
The workshop on Day 3 was different than any of the other Hoop Path workshops I've been to. It began with "Hoop Church." We entered the gym in silence and proceeded to watch Bax hold up a series of signs. Music and movement then followed. On Day 3, Ann taught a section on sustained spinning, which was a definite highlight for me. I've been working on spinning but it's been difficult for me. With Ann's visualization techniques, I was able to finally break ground with spinning. For the first time, I got into flow with this technique, and it felt great. Taylor, Kristin and Kacey had similar experiences and we couldn't stop chatting about it on the way back to Mary's.We arrived back at the campsite and immediately started getting ready for the Hooper's Ball. We had to pack up our gear because we needed to be on the road after the ball ended. The thing is... we didn't thoroughly think it through. We got ready before packing, so it was a pretty hilarious sight watching a bunch of girls in fishnets and feathers pack up camping equipment. We met in front of Mary's house to take photos before the ball. It felt a little bit like prom, but with glitter and leg warmers in place of corsages and prom dresses.
The Hooper's Ball was simply amazing. The workshops are an introspective experience, so it's sometimes difficult to see the incredible talent of the other hoopers in the room. But the Hooper's Ball was a chance for me to take in my surroundings. A HUGE highlight for me was watching Brecken hoop. She has this unique, smooth dance style... that, combined with her MAD HOOPING SKILLS, is a sight to see. I couldn't stop watching her. Of course, Rich, Christabel, Ann, Bax and Michelle were highlights for me as well. And watching Beth hoop with her daughter, Erica, was truly heart-warming. The beautiful thing about it is that I could take away something positive from every single hooper that I laid eyes upon. One of the great things about hoop dance is that each person brings his or her own, unique style into the art form.
Finally, it was time to pack up and head out. While it was sad to say goodbye to all of my Hoop Path sisters and brothers, I made it a point to remind myself that I have these amazing memories now. I also have a full year to prepare and look forward to HP4. The retreat was cleansing, meditative, heart-warming and soul-fulfilling. I'm truly grateful for the experience and for the incredible hooping community. I feel blessed, thankful and HAPPY today.
Hoop Path Retreat Reflections Part 1
Light. Bliss. Acceptance. Positive Transformation. Meditation. Gratitude. Happiness. Calm. Silence. Beauty. Talent. Music. Hugs. Flow. Appreciation. Amazement. Tears. Fire. Warmth. Comfort. Community. Introspection. Self-Love. Smiles. Patience. Sharing. PE*A*CE.
These are just some of the words that come to mind when I reflect on this past weekend. I returned from the Hoop Path Retreat in Carborro, North Carolina yesterday evening. Before diving into my incredible experience at the retreat, I want to take a moment to explain what the The Hoop Path means to me and why this event is so significant.
When I talk about 'finding the light' and overcoming depression, I often discuss healing through movement meditation - specifically hoop dance. Hoop dance is my passion, my stress relief and my creative outlet for self-expression. It's also my portal to happiness. I began hoop dancing in 2007 after a friend (Kacey from Homespun Hoops) introduced me to it. At the time, Kacey was taking a few months off from her career to attend music festivals and sell her hand-made hoops. She invited me over one day after work. We had some wine and then ventured outside to 'hoop.' Kacey handed me a large hoola hoop and encouraged me to try it. This hoop was different than the hula hoop I remembered playing with as a child. It was larger, heavier and it rotated slowly around my waist. I watched with awe as Kacey danced with her hoop. I was blown away by the grace and beauty of her movements. I found the experience to be meditative, rhythmic and soothing. Kacey made me my own hoop that day, and this marked the beginning of my personal hoop path. It was also a low point for me, in terms of depression.
For a few months, the hoop sat in my apartment untouched. Kacey moved back to South Carolina, and my depression got worse. I was in an unhealthy relationship and negative thoughts were constantly running through my mind. The sadness was consuming me, though I hid it well. One evening, I went to see a band with some friends. I noticed a couple girls hoop dancing. They looked so peaceful as they flowed effortlessly to the music. I watched, reflecting on how much fun I had in the backyard with Kacey. I got home that evening, moved my furniture around, and danced with my hoop in the living room for hours. It felt good.
In the months that followed, I obsessively watching videos on You Tube and Tribe.net. I cyber-stalked the masters on my computer... Spiral, Christabel, Baxter, Ann, Beth, Hoopalicious, and the list goes on... I wanted to do what they did, so I visited sites like Hooping.org, and I studied video tutorials. I also researched the websites of those who inspired me.
I will never forget the day when I logged onto The Hoop Path website for the first time. I read Jonathan Baxter's story with amazement. Here was a man talking openly about his experience with depression... an illness that I had spent my entire life hiding. On the site, Bax credits his rigorous hoop practice as the healing tool that enabled him to successfully overcome depression. He says he started to notice that his depression struck less often, felt less oppressive and the breakdowns didn't last as long. As a result, he was filled with hope. He also compared the rocking sensation created by the hoop to a baby rocking in its cradle... soothing, calm and quiet. Tears slid down my cheeks as I read his words. In that moment, I realized the same thing was happening for me. It had been months since I had a breakdown. Could it be that my new-found fascination with the hoop was really helping me overcome depression? This realization floored me.
From that point on, I felt a strong connection to The Hoop Path, and I wanted to meet Bax and learn from him first-hand. So, I bought a ticket to the 2008 Hoop Path Retreat in Carborro, NC. In Hoop Path language, this makes me a 'second-ringer' (Similar to annual rings on a tree, with each retreat, the community grows and more rings are added).
In June of 2008, I traveled to North Carolina with my hoop dance troupe, The Hoola Monsters. We had recently formed our group, and a few of us had just become certified to teach classes. I was so excited (and nervous) about the event. Last year, if I had to categorize myself, in terms of skill level, I would have put myself at the 'beginner/ just branching into intermediate' category.
By nature, I am a competitive person. So, when I arrived at the retreat, I couldn't help but compare myself to some of the other, more skilled hoopers. It was a humbling experience for me. At home, people would compliment my hooping regularly. At the '08 retreat, I was a newbie with lots to learn. There were times that brought me to tears, but Bax's words provided balance in those moments of frustration. He talked about self-love and discovering your own path. I was learning not to put so much pressure on myself. I was learning how to be patient and accepting of who I am, at any given moment in time. It's not about how good you can be. It's about how good you can feel.
I vividly remember a time in one of the workshops where I started crying and broke away from the group. The tears were flowing and I couldn't stop them. In that moment, I felt arms embrace me. I didn't know who was hugging me, but I hugged back and that support was exactly what I needed. The hugger's name is Lauren, and she was there for me before we ever even spoke. Needless to say, the '08 retreat marked the beginning of some amazing friendships.
The 2008 retreat was a cleansing experience for me. I would go so far as to say that it was life-changing. I expelled the negative energy inside of me. I literally danced it away, and I felt rejuvenated afterwards.
These are just some of the words that come to mind when I reflect on this past weekend. I returned from the Hoop Path Retreat in Carborro, North Carolina yesterday evening. Before diving into my incredible experience at the retreat, I want to take a moment to explain what the The Hoop Path means to me and why this event is so significant.
When I talk about 'finding the light' and overcoming depression, I often discuss healing through movement meditation - specifically hoop dance. Hoop dance is my passion, my stress relief and my creative outlet for self-expression. It's also my portal to happiness. I began hoop dancing in 2007 after a friend (Kacey from Homespun Hoops) introduced me to it. At the time, Kacey was taking a few months off from her career to attend music festivals and sell her hand-made hoops. She invited me over one day after work. We had some wine and then ventured outside to 'hoop.' Kacey handed me a large hoola hoop and encouraged me to try it. This hoop was different than the hula hoop I remembered playing with as a child. It was larger, heavier and it rotated slowly around my waist. I watched with awe as Kacey danced with her hoop. I was blown away by the grace and beauty of her movements. I found the experience to be meditative, rhythmic and soothing. Kacey made me my own hoop that day, and this marked the beginning of my personal hoop path. It was also a low point for me, in terms of depression.
For a few months, the hoop sat in my apartment untouched. Kacey moved back to South Carolina, and my depression got worse. I was in an unhealthy relationship and negative thoughts were constantly running through my mind. The sadness was consuming me, though I hid it well. One evening, I went to see a band with some friends. I noticed a couple girls hoop dancing. They looked so peaceful as they flowed effortlessly to the music. I watched, reflecting on how much fun I had in the backyard with Kacey. I got home that evening, moved my furniture around, and danced with my hoop in the living room for hours. It felt good.
In the months that followed, I obsessively watching videos on You Tube and Tribe.net. I cyber-stalked the masters on my computer... Spiral, Christabel, Baxter, Ann, Beth, Hoopalicious, and the list goes on... I wanted to do what they did, so I visited sites like Hooping.org, and I studied video tutorials. I also researched the websites of those who inspired me.
I will never forget the day when I logged onto The Hoop Path website for the first time. I read Jonathan Baxter's story with amazement. Here was a man talking openly about his experience with depression... an illness that I had spent my entire life hiding. On the site, Bax credits his rigorous hoop practice as the healing tool that enabled him to successfully overcome depression. He says he started to notice that his depression struck less often, felt less oppressive and the breakdowns didn't last as long. As a result, he was filled with hope. He also compared the rocking sensation created by the hoop to a baby rocking in its cradle... soothing, calm and quiet. Tears slid down my cheeks as I read his words. In that moment, I realized the same thing was happening for me. It had been months since I had a breakdown. Could it be that my new-found fascination with the hoop was really helping me overcome depression? This realization floored me.
From that point on, I felt a strong connection to The Hoop Path, and I wanted to meet Bax and learn from him first-hand. So, I bought a ticket to the 2008 Hoop Path Retreat in Carborro, NC. In Hoop Path language, this makes me a 'second-ringer' (Similar to annual rings on a tree, with each retreat, the community grows and more rings are added).
In June of 2008, I traveled to North Carolina with my hoop dance troupe, The Hoola Monsters. We had recently formed our group, and a few of us had just become certified to teach classes. I was so excited (and nervous) about the event. Last year, if I had to categorize myself, in terms of skill level, I would have put myself at the 'beginner/ just branching into intermediate' category.
By nature, I am a competitive person. So, when I arrived at the retreat, I couldn't help but compare myself to some of the other, more skilled hoopers. It was a humbling experience for me. At home, people would compliment my hooping regularly. At the '08 retreat, I was a newbie with lots to learn. There were times that brought me to tears, but Bax's words provided balance in those moments of frustration. He talked about self-love and discovering your own path. I was learning not to put so much pressure on myself. I was learning how to be patient and accepting of who I am, at any given moment in time. It's not about how good you can be. It's about how good you can feel.
I vividly remember a time in one of the workshops where I started crying and broke away from the group. The tears were flowing and I couldn't stop them. In that moment, I felt arms embrace me. I didn't know who was hugging me, but I hugged back and that support was exactly what I needed. The hugger's name is Lauren, and she was there for me before we ever even spoke. Needless to say, the '08 retreat marked the beginning of some amazing friendships.
The 2008 retreat was a cleansing experience for me. I would go so far as to say that it was life-changing. I expelled the negative energy inside of me. I literally danced it away, and I felt rejuvenated afterwards.
I've been looking forward to this year's retreat since the day I left Carborro last year. I wanted to see my hoop sisters and brothers, and I wanted to revel in Baxter's teachings again.
In the weeks leading up to the 2009 retreat, I spent lots of time on the phone with my out-of-state hooper friends, especially Lauren and Kacey. I hadn't seen Lauren since last year's retreat, and I really hadn't hooped with Kacey since she introduced me to hooping in the first place. They were both going to be at the retreat, and I was so excited to see them.
I had a slumber party at my house the night before our Carborro road trip. Cassandra (a fellow HoopGirl Workout teacher), Kiyla (a member of my troupe) and Amy (one of my students) slept over. We had to wake up at 5:30 a.m. in order to make it to Carborro for the first event of the weekend. We were giddy with excitement, as we finished packing and went over the retreat schedule. We knew it was going to be an incredible experience...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Research Blues
Conducting research for my book is necessary, in order to substantiate my points of view and gather needed statistics. Last night, as I scanned the Internet for the number of annual suicides by way of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, I was overcome with emotion. I learned that, on average, 12 people a year die here. I should also mention that this bridge is very familiar to me. I drive over it 10 times a week... twice a day, to and from work. One of the articles that shook me up was this one...
http://www2.tbo.com/content/2009/may/22/deadly-jumps-are-darker-side-sunshine-skyway-bridg/
I understand that the writer was going for drama and shock value. But sections of this story were very difficult to read... specifically the part about the jackass who started jumperpool.com (which, by the way, I refuse to visit). Learning that most don't die a quick death when they jump and reading the count down until the moment the individual hits the water was also hard to stomach. In addition, I was amazed to discover the overwhelming number of derogatory comments posted to this story. I burst into tears, after briefly scanning the hateful words submitted by readers. It probably didn't help matters that I was conducting this research on Brad's birthday. He would have been 31 yesterday.
The quote by Forensic Psychologist Jerald Ratner also got under my skin. Is it possible that even our psychologists and psychiatrists don't understand what it's like to be depressed? And why must people pass judgement and make jokes about suicide? These are two of the questions that I'm tackling right now as I write my book.
The following video, while heartbreaking, sheds a more realistic and compassionate light on the Sunshine Skyway suicides. My heart goes out to the family featured here. I recently had the pleasure of meeting David Braughton, CEO of the Tampa Bay Crisis Center (who's interviewed towards the end of the story)... He is a good-hearted man with an important message:
http://www2.tbo.com/video/2009/may/22/skyways-suicide-attempts--66350/video-news/
I had to take a break from my work because it got too emotional last night... and that's OK. I'm learning to be patient with myself as I write. I hoop danced, got some fresh air, played with my dog, and had a glass of wine. I also prepared a nice dinner. My research is difficult but necessary. Even though it hurts, I am pleased with the progress I'm making. I'm also proud of myself for recognizing the need to take breaks, for my own mental health. Tonight is yoga night. Balance is key.
http://www2.tbo.com/content/2009/may/22/deadly-jumps-are-darker-side-sunshine-skyway-bridg/
I understand that the writer was going for drama and shock value. But sections of this story were very difficult to read... specifically the part about the jackass who started jumperpool.com (which, by the way, I refuse to visit). Learning that most don't die a quick death when they jump and reading the count down until the moment the individual hits the water was also hard to stomach. In addition, I was amazed to discover the overwhelming number of derogatory comments posted to this story. I burst into tears, after briefly scanning the hateful words submitted by readers. It probably didn't help matters that I was conducting this research on Brad's birthday. He would have been 31 yesterday.
The quote by Forensic Psychologist Jerald Ratner also got under my skin. Is it possible that even our psychologists and psychiatrists don't understand what it's like to be depressed? And why must people pass judgement and make jokes about suicide? These are two of the questions that I'm tackling right now as I write my book.
The following video, while heartbreaking, sheds a more realistic and compassionate light on the Sunshine Skyway suicides. My heart goes out to the family featured here. I recently had the pleasure of meeting David Braughton, CEO of the Tampa Bay Crisis Center (who's interviewed towards the end of the story)... He is a good-hearted man with an important message:
http://www2.tbo.com/video/2009/may/22/skyways-suicide-attempts--66350/video-news/
I had to take a break from my work because it got too emotional last night... and that's OK. I'm learning to be patient with myself as I write. I hoop danced, got some fresh air, played with my dog, and had a glass of wine. I also prepared a nice dinner. My research is difficult but necessary. Even though it hurts, I am pleased with the progress I'm making. I'm also proud of myself for recognizing the need to take breaks, for my own mental health. Tonight is yoga night. Balance is key.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Diving into Darkness
"Some of the brightest lights come out of the darkest nights."
- Ricky Roberts III
- Ricky Roberts III
It's amazing how people come into your life at just the right moment. The quote above is by an incredibly talented and inspirational writer who also happens to be my neighbor. I've lived four doors down from him for almost two years now, yet we never had a real conversation until last week.
Last Tuesday was a strange day... I was feeling a strong desire to write, but I was making excuses for not doing it. The fact of the matter is, it's been challenging to gain the courage I need to confront my truth. In order to find the light, I must first dive into the darkness.
I was struggling with these thoughts, and I was having a hard time focusing my energy on pursuing the task at hand. I knew that I needed to write, but I was being pulled away from it due to insecurity, fear and self-doubt.
Before leaving work that day, I posted a status update on Facebook, where I mentioned Christabel Zamor's new book, "Hooping." A few months ago, she asked me to provide a quote for it. I have yet to read the book, but as far as I know, my quote made it through the final round of edits. In the same status update, I mentioned Theresa Rose's book, "Opening the Kimono." Theresa is a Sarasota-based author who I met at the Hoop Path FL workshops back in February. I've stayed in touch with her via Facebook. In fact, she's scheduled to read an excerpt from her book at one of my upcoming hoopdance classes.
As I drove home from work, I kept thinking about my life and my purpose. I felt a strong desire to write but there was still hesitation in the back of my mind. Confronting the demons would be a true test of resilience.
When I got home, I took my dog for a walk and called a friend who I hadn't spoken to in a while. We talked about following your heart... even if it means making sacrifices in order to do what you love.
I hung up the phone and ran into my neighbor, Ricky. We ended up having the most amazing conversation. I found out that he's a youth advocate and published author. His books are about self-love, living life to the fullest and discovering your purpose. The conversation ended with a big hug, and he gave me a copy of his most recent book, "Where Did the Gift Go?"
Ricky's book is exactly what I needed at that moment. In the past few days, I've been able to dive into my darkness and write from the heart - raw and real, without reservation. I hand-wrote sixteen pages in my journal yesterday. I worked on at least five chapters of my book over the weekend, and I also started to bookmark pages in my journals that are relevant to my story.
The old journals are the hardest part for me. I'm reading words that bring back dark memories. I've shed a few tears in the past few days, for multiple reasons, but I'm balancing my sad moments with inspirational words from Ricky's book. When the subject matter that I'm writing about becomes too intense, I read another chapter of "Where Did the Gift Go," and I feel better.
It's been a long time coming, and I think Carol's death was a reminder (yet again) of how precious life is and that tomorrow is not a guarantee. We must follow our hearts and make the best of this life we're given.
The first journal I picked up this weekend was from 2003. When I opened it, I randomly landed on a page that listed the things I'd like to accomplish in this lifetime. The first item on that list was: Write a Book.
I know that the time is now, and I know that I'm supported. I'm erasing the word "fear" from my vocabulary. I'm letting my heart lead the way into the darkness to find the light.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I Love You
This post is indirectly related to my book in the sense that we have the ability to find light in the darkest of situations... it's more of a journal entry than anything else, and it's a message that I feel compelled to share.
If you are reading this, then the message is for you. I love you. Regardless of how well I know you or what our history may be, I have love for you.
So often, we don't take the time to tell each other how we feel. We don't let people know that we care. I want you to know that you are loved. You are supported. I care. Whether I know you well or I've had limited contact with you, something brought you here, at this moment. And at this moment, I am communicating a message of love to you. At this moment, I am making a personal vow to show appreciation for people and life, in general. I vow to approach each day with an open heart. Every moment is a gift, and there's no guarantee that tomorrow will come.
Many times, it take tragedies for raw emotion to surface. A tragedy is what prompted this blog... writing is my therapy. It always has been, and the message that I want to share is that life is precious, and it should never be taken for granted. Something bad happened yesterday. Something really bad. A beautiful soul left this world in a heartbreaking way. I received a call around 3 p.m. and was told that a friend of mine was found dead outside of her home... a block away, there was another crime scene where her husband's body was discovered. Police were calling it a murder/suicide, saying that it was domestic in nature. The details were vague.
After crying my eyes out in disbelief and total confusion, I got into my car and drove to their house. Reason being, my friend has two huskies that she loved dearly. Her family lives out of state, and I couldn't stomach the possibility of the dogs being separated or ending up in the pound. I know that if this had happened to me, she would have taken in my dog without a second thought.
I called the police department, in an effort to communicate my intent and offer to take the huskies (Sasha and Shyanne) but I didn't get much information on the dogs' whereabouts. So, I arrived at the house to find multiple police vehicles, officers from the forensics unit, reporters and neighbors gathered there. The police told me that a neighbor was temporarily caring for the dogs and that they would take my name and number. They wouldn't tell me which neighbors picked up the dogs or where Sasha and Shyanne were being held. I got in my car and started to drive away when I saw a few ladies gathered nearby. I approached them and explained that I was a friend, offering to care for the dogs. One of the ladies got into my car and took me to the house where she believed the dogs were being held. A woman answered the door - eyes red and puffy. I introduced myself and mentioned that I just wanted to leave my name and number, in case I could help with the dogs in any way. The woman recognized me, and I realized that I had met her before. She invited me in, and there were a couple other people there who I had also met in the past through our mutual friend. Come to find out, the family still had not been notified... the police were still working to contact them. Permanent decisions about Sasha and Shyanne will be made by the family. So, the dogs are in a safe place until then.
We talked for a while and I learned more about what happened. As far as anyone knows, there were no former incidents of abuse. I knew her husband also... always smiling, always joking. They were carefree, laid-back, good-hearted people. They separated about two weeks ago, and he was living with a neighbor a couple blocks away. Apparently, a few days would go by and they would spend time together again. Their marriage was rocky but they still saw each other regularly.
We won't know what happened for sure until the autopsy report comes back. It's obvious that a fight broke out, but we don't know if he pushed her, hit her, or if she fell, in an effort to flee the situation. All we know is that she was trying to exit the house when it happened. She has injuries on her upper torso, and her body was found on her front doorstep at 7:30 a.m. yesterday by a neighbor who was out for a morning walk.
The lights were turned off and the house was locked. A couple blocks away, her husband was found in her jeep. He pulled into the garage, closed the door and left the jeep running. Even though the police have not reported it yet, we know that he died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
In my experiences with death, I've found that those who shine the brightest lights are often the ones who go before their time. I want to explain for a moment about the kind of person my friend was... she hired me at the company I've been with for almost four years now. Over time, we developed a friendship, even though there was a 20 year age difference between us. I looked up to her and respected her. When I bought my house a year and a half ago, she was proud of me. I was willing to sacrifice some luxuries in order to be a home owner. I didn't have furniture for my second bedroom; I didn't have cable and I didn't care about those things. I was a home owner before the age of 30. That was a goal, and it felt good to accomplish it. Soon after I bought my house, this friend invited me over because she said she had some things for me. "Some things" turned out to be: a grill, gardening supplies, beautiful plants that she had cut and boxed for me so I could start a garden, a dog bed, a doggie house, a bed (with boxspring and mattress) for my second bedroom, and the list goes on... her generosity blew me away. Not only did she give me all of these things, she drove over with her husband and helped me move them in and get settled.
Every time a news story would run about Hoola Monsters, I would receive a call from her. I could hear the sincerity in her voice when she told me she was proud of me. A couple years ago, I went on a trip to New York City but the zipper on my winter coat was broken. I happened to mention this to her, and she came to the office the next day with three coats for me to choose from for my trip. Not long ago, she was laid off from our company due to budget cuts. I know that it was a hard time for her, but she always seemed to remain positive. She would still come to see me at the beach on Sundays... she knew that I went there to practice, and she made special trips to see me. She believed in the things that I'm passionate about. She brought friends there, and she supported me and encouraged me to follow my dreams and pursue my passions. I saw her at the drum circle two weeks ago... at the time, a crowd had gathered as I was hooping. I looked out to see her smiling face, and I threw my hoop to the ground and gave her a huge hug. We chatted for a moment, and she introduced me to her mom who was visiting at the time. My last memory of her will be that big hug, her magnificent smile and the sun setting in the distance. She's going to be missed dearly.
Death opens up the survivor's soul. It's an introspective experience that causes you to confront reality. There are no guarantees. There are no second chances.
Please do me a favor today and call or visit someone. Tell them how much you care. Approach each day with honesty and integrity. Know that life is a gift. Have no fear in seeking out truth and discovering beauty. Live in the moment, and love with your entire being. I don't know where this quote came from, but it's one of my favorites:
"Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present."
I love you.
If you are reading this, then the message is for you. I love you. Regardless of how well I know you or what our history may be, I have love for you.
So often, we don't take the time to tell each other how we feel. We don't let people know that we care. I want you to know that you are loved. You are supported. I care. Whether I know you well or I've had limited contact with you, something brought you here, at this moment. And at this moment, I am communicating a message of love to you. At this moment, I am making a personal vow to show appreciation for people and life, in general. I vow to approach each day with an open heart. Every moment is a gift, and there's no guarantee that tomorrow will come.
Many times, it take tragedies for raw emotion to surface. A tragedy is what prompted this blog... writing is my therapy. It always has been, and the message that I want to share is that life is precious, and it should never be taken for granted. Something bad happened yesterday. Something really bad. A beautiful soul left this world in a heartbreaking way. I received a call around 3 p.m. and was told that a friend of mine was found dead outside of her home... a block away, there was another crime scene where her husband's body was discovered. Police were calling it a murder/suicide, saying that it was domestic in nature. The details were vague.
After crying my eyes out in disbelief and total confusion, I got into my car and drove to their house. Reason being, my friend has two huskies that she loved dearly. Her family lives out of state, and I couldn't stomach the possibility of the dogs being separated or ending up in the pound. I know that if this had happened to me, she would have taken in my dog without a second thought.
I called the police department, in an effort to communicate my intent and offer to take the huskies (Sasha and Shyanne) but I didn't get much information on the dogs' whereabouts. So, I arrived at the house to find multiple police vehicles, officers from the forensics unit, reporters and neighbors gathered there. The police told me that a neighbor was temporarily caring for the dogs and that they would take my name and number. They wouldn't tell me which neighbors picked up the dogs or where Sasha and Shyanne were being held. I got in my car and started to drive away when I saw a few ladies gathered nearby. I approached them and explained that I was a friend, offering to care for the dogs. One of the ladies got into my car and took me to the house where she believed the dogs were being held. A woman answered the door - eyes red and puffy. I introduced myself and mentioned that I just wanted to leave my name and number, in case I could help with the dogs in any way. The woman recognized me, and I realized that I had met her before. She invited me in, and there were a couple other people there who I had also met in the past through our mutual friend. Come to find out, the family still had not been notified... the police were still working to contact them. Permanent decisions about Sasha and Shyanne will be made by the family. So, the dogs are in a safe place until then.
We talked for a while and I learned more about what happened. As far as anyone knows, there were no former incidents of abuse. I knew her husband also... always smiling, always joking. They were carefree, laid-back, good-hearted people. They separated about two weeks ago, and he was living with a neighbor a couple blocks away. Apparently, a few days would go by and they would spend time together again. Their marriage was rocky but they still saw each other regularly.
We won't know what happened for sure until the autopsy report comes back. It's obvious that a fight broke out, but we don't know if he pushed her, hit her, or if she fell, in an effort to flee the situation. All we know is that she was trying to exit the house when it happened. She has injuries on her upper torso, and her body was found on her front doorstep at 7:30 a.m. yesterday by a neighbor who was out for a morning walk.
The lights were turned off and the house was locked. A couple blocks away, her husband was found in her jeep. He pulled into the garage, closed the door and left the jeep running. Even though the police have not reported it yet, we know that he died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
In my experiences with death, I've found that those who shine the brightest lights are often the ones who go before their time. I want to explain for a moment about the kind of person my friend was... she hired me at the company I've been with for almost four years now. Over time, we developed a friendship, even though there was a 20 year age difference between us. I looked up to her and respected her. When I bought my house a year and a half ago, she was proud of me. I was willing to sacrifice some luxuries in order to be a home owner. I didn't have furniture for my second bedroom; I didn't have cable and I didn't care about those things. I was a home owner before the age of 30. That was a goal, and it felt good to accomplish it. Soon after I bought my house, this friend invited me over because she said she had some things for me. "Some things" turned out to be: a grill, gardening supplies, beautiful plants that she had cut and boxed for me so I could start a garden, a dog bed, a doggie house, a bed (with boxspring and mattress) for my second bedroom, and the list goes on... her generosity blew me away. Not only did she give me all of these things, she drove over with her husband and helped me move them in and get settled.
Every time a news story would run about Hoola Monsters, I would receive a call from her. I could hear the sincerity in her voice when she told me she was proud of me. A couple years ago, I went on a trip to New York City but the zipper on my winter coat was broken. I happened to mention this to her, and she came to the office the next day with three coats for me to choose from for my trip. Not long ago, she was laid off from our company due to budget cuts. I know that it was a hard time for her, but she always seemed to remain positive. She would still come to see me at the beach on Sundays... she knew that I went there to practice, and she made special trips to see me. She believed in the things that I'm passionate about. She brought friends there, and she supported me and encouraged me to follow my dreams and pursue my passions. I saw her at the drum circle two weeks ago... at the time, a crowd had gathered as I was hooping. I looked out to see her smiling face, and I threw my hoop to the ground and gave her a huge hug. We chatted for a moment, and she introduced me to her mom who was visiting at the time. My last memory of her will be that big hug, her magnificent smile and the sun setting in the distance. She's going to be missed dearly.
Death opens up the survivor's soul. It's an introspective experience that causes you to confront reality. There are no guarantees. There are no second chances.
Please do me a favor today and call or visit someone. Tell them how much you care. Approach each day with honesty and integrity. Know that life is a gift. Have no fear in seeking out truth and discovering beauty. Live in the moment, and love with your entire being. I don't know where this quote came from, but it's one of my favorites:
"Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present."
I love you.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Love is the Movement
Now, more than ever, I feel a calling to help people. Just days after I sent emails to the Crisis Center of Tampa Bay and the Suncoast Yellow Ribbon Chapter (in an effort to get involved with their depression awareness and suicide prevention programs), I had an interesting encounter. I went into Target, while wearing my 'Love is the Movement' t-shirt from the charity, To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA). The shirt represents a not-for-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.
On may way out of the store, I noticed a man and a woman, both about the same age as me walking ahead. Not thinking much of it, I proceeded to my car and opened the door when I heard the man yell, "nice shirt!" I looked over and saw him pointing to his chest. The man was wearing a TWLOHA shirt too.
I had never heard of TWLOHA until a few weeks ago, when I was searching online for ways to make a difference. I stumbled across the TWLOHA website and read about the organization. Inspired by the work they do, I ordered a shirt from their online store. This was the first day that I wore my TWLOHA shirt out in public, and I was genuinely surprised to see this gentleman wearing the same shirt.
I was curious to hear his story, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries, considering his reasons were most likely personal. I asked if he was involved with TWLOHA. He shook his head 'no' and explained that his mother had committed suicide last year. I told him that I lost my cousin to suicide as well. We talked for a moment about increasing awareness about depression and suicide prevention. I didn't get the man's name, and we only talked for a few minutes, while standing there in the parking lot. The encounter was brief but powerful.
The following night, I received a phone call in response to one of the emails I sent out. The woman on the other end of the line was the founder of the Suncoast Yellow Ribbon Chapter. I told her that I would like to volunteer my time, and help her out with the annual SYRC fund-raising event. I also shared some ideas that I have for a promotion to raise money for the organization during September, which is suicide prevention month. She was easy to talk to, and the tone of our conversation quickly turned more serious. She told me how she lost her 17-year-old son to suicide in 2002, and she was the one who discovered him. A couple weeks later, his best friend killed himself as well. I shed tears as I talked to this woman. I wanted to jump through the phone and hug her. I wanted to help her in some way. In order to heal from this, she needs time and support.
I share a common goal with the man from Target and the woman who lost her son, in that we are all working to communicate a message of hope and compassion, while increasing awareness about depression and suicide prevention. We want people to know that it's OK to talk about these things. If you suffer, you are not alone. There are many ways to overcome this illness, and it does not have to consume you or define you.
Here is a link to the SYRC website, if you would like to learn more: http://www.suncoastyr.org/
And if you or someone you know is suffering, immediate help is available 24 hours a day at 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433).
On may way out of the store, I noticed a man and a woman, both about the same age as me walking ahead. Not thinking much of it, I proceeded to my car and opened the door when I heard the man yell, "nice shirt!" I looked over and saw him pointing to his chest. The man was wearing a TWLOHA shirt too.
I had never heard of TWLOHA until a few weeks ago, when I was searching online for ways to make a difference. I stumbled across the TWLOHA website and read about the organization. Inspired by the work they do, I ordered a shirt from their online store. This was the first day that I wore my TWLOHA shirt out in public, and I was genuinely surprised to see this gentleman wearing the same shirt.
I was curious to hear his story, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries, considering his reasons were most likely personal. I asked if he was involved with TWLOHA. He shook his head 'no' and explained that his mother had committed suicide last year. I told him that I lost my cousin to suicide as well. We talked for a moment about increasing awareness about depression and suicide prevention. I didn't get the man's name, and we only talked for a few minutes, while standing there in the parking lot. The encounter was brief but powerful.
The following night, I received a phone call in response to one of the emails I sent out. The woman on the other end of the line was the founder of the Suncoast Yellow Ribbon Chapter. I told her that I would like to volunteer my time, and help her out with the annual SYRC fund-raising event. I also shared some ideas that I have for a promotion to raise money for the organization during September, which is suicide prevention month. She was easy to talk to, and the tone of our conversation quickly turned more serious. She told me how she lost her 17-year-old son to suicide in 2002, and she was the one who discovered him. A couple weeks later, his best friend killed himself as well. I shed tears as I talked to this woman. I wanted to jump through the phone and hug her. I wanted to help her in some way. In order to heal from this, she needs time and support.
I share a common goal with the man from Target and the woman who lost her son, in that we are all working to communicate a message of hope and compassion, while increasing awareness about depression and suicide prevention. We want people to know that it's OK to talk about these things. If you suffer, you are not alone. There are many ways to overcome this illness, and it does not have to consume you or define you.
Here is a link to the SYRC website, if you would like to learn more: http://www.suncoastyr.org/
And if you or someone you know is suffering, immediate help is available 24 hours a day at 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433).
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Telling Chrissy
Now that I'm embarking on the journey of writing my book, I feel as though it's important to communicate with those who are close to me. There's no doubt that my story will be shocking and hard to read for some, specifically - my family. I've spent my entire life hiding my depression, so it's a strange feeling picking up the phone and discussing it openly. I told my dad last week. He's one of the most caring and light-hearted people I know. He was genuinely surprised and concerned to hear that I suffered from this illness; he had no clue.
It's interesting... I must have appeared totally normal and functional on the outside, even though I was hurting so badly inside. I became a professional at hiding the pain. I didn't want my family to worry about me - especially after all that we had been through. So, I just accepted the fact that the pain was a part of me. When things got really bad, I made sure that no one saw my tears. I worked hard to keep it that way.
My sister is really the only person who knew about it, and even she didn't find out until recently. She finally figured it out, after a horrible night that could have taken my life (which I explain more about in the book). She gave me an ultimatum and dragged me kicking and screaming to a psychologist two years ago, who promptly diagnosed me. I was then sent to a psychiatrist who put me on medication. We told our mom, and that was it. Just my mom and sister knew, and I had every intention of keeping it that way... that is, until I got better and realized that I had finally found the subject matter for my book.
Yesterday, I told my cousin. This was a big conversation, and here's why:
My family is very close. Growing up, my four cousins were more like my sisters and brothers. My mom was a flight attendant, so my older cousins (Shelly and Chrissy) took care of me and my sister Vanessa when mom was away. Brad was the same age as me. We grew up in the same town, had the same friends and played the same sports. People would joke that we were "the twins" in school. Technically, he was my cousin. In my world, he was my brother. Jeff, our youngest cousin, is a year older than my sister. We were a big, happy family (or so everyone thought)... the popular kids, the athletes.
On July 20, 1998, Brad committed suicide. He shot himself while sitting in his jeep by the lake we grew up on. He was 20 years old. The police found a nine page suicide letter on the passenger's seat. One of those pages was written to me.
I know that there have been many unanswered questions over the years, and there are still open wounds - 11 years after the fact. It will always be that way. His death changed us, and we will never fully recover from it.
So, when I called Chrissy yesterday, I talking a mile a minute. I told her everything. We spent a long time on the phone... We spoke about Brad a little, but we mostly talked about my book and ways that I plan to get more involved with depression awareness and suicide prevention programs. She asked me two important questions. 1) Do I think my fate would have been different if I hadn't seen first-hand how Brad's death affected our family? and 2) Am I ready and prepared to do this (in reference to writing the book)?
The answer to question one will be its own chapter in the book. And the answer to question two is a no-brainer. Yes, I'm ready and yes, I'm prepared. If I hadn't found the light, then I would still be hiding. But I have found peace within myself now, and I know that my purpose is to help other people who suffer.
It's interesting... I must have appeared totally normal and functional on the outside, even though I was hurting so badly inside. I became a professional at hiding the pain. I didn't want my family to worry about me - especially after all that we had been through. So, I just accepted the fact that the pain was a part of me. When things got really bad, I made sure that no one saw my tears. I worked hard to keep it that way.
My sister is really the only person who knew about it, and even she didn't find out until recently. She finally figured it out, after a horrible night that could have taken my life (which I explain more about in the book). She gave me an ultimatum and dragged me kicking and screaming to a psychologist two years ago, who promptly diagnosed me. I was then sent to a psychiatrist who put me on medication. We told our mom, and that was it. Just my mom and sister knew, and I had every intention of keeping it that way... that is, until I got better and realized that I had finally found the subject matter for my book.
Yesterday, I told my cousin. This was a big conversation, and here's why:
My family is very close. Growing up, my four cousins were more like my sisters and brothers. My mom was a flight attendant, so my older cousins (Shelly and Chrissy) took care of me and my sister Vanessa when mom was away. Brad was the same age as me. We grew up in the same town, had the same friends and played the same sports. People would joke that we were "the twins" in school. Technically, he was my cousin. In my world, he was my brother. Jeff, our youngest cousin, is a year older than my sister. We were a big, happy family (or so everyone thought)... the popular kids, the athletes.
On July 20, 1998, Brad committed suicide. He shot himself while sitting in his jeep by the lake we grew up on. He was 20 years old. The police found a nine page suicide letter on the passenger's seat. One of those pages was written to me.
I know that there have been many unanswered questions over the years, and there are still open wounds - 11 years after the fact. It will always be that way. His death changed us, and we will never fully recover from it.
So, when I called Chrissy yesterday, I talking a mile a minute. I told her everything. We spent a long time on the phone... We spoke about Brad a little, but we mostly talked about my book and ways that I plan to get more involved with depression awareness and suicide prevention programs. She asked me two important questions. 1) Do I think my fate would have been different if I hadn't seen first-hand how Brad's death affected our family? and 2) Am I ready and prepared to do this (in reference to writing the book)?
The answer to question one will be its own chapter in the book. And the answer to question two is a no-brainer. Yes, I'm ready and yes, I'm prepared. If I hadn't found the light, then I would still be hiding. But I have found peace within myself now, and I know that my purpose is to help other people who suffer.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Defining the Book and Blog
About the Book
Raw and real, this book is an introspective look into the world of depression and suicide through the eyes of a survivor. Writings include reflections, journal exerpts and poetry over a 20-year period. This is a story of internal conflict, self-awareness and hope, as the author takes you on a journey into her world. It's about finding the light in unconventional ways and learning how to make positive changes to become a happier and healthier person, from the inside out.
In my own words
I am not a doctor, and I am not a psychiatrist. I can't offer you advice, and I won't tell you how to live or think. I have not spent years in classes, studying mental illness. Most of what I know, I've learned through my own experiences.
What I can offer is a different perspective. No clinical definitions or evaluations. Just my story. As someone who has both suffered from depression and coped with the loss of a loved one who committed suicide, I understand the magnitude of this illness. I know that it's just as powerful and life-threatening as cancer and AIDS. I also know that it doesn't have to consume you and that it is possible to find the light.
About the Blog
I started keeping journals at the age of 5. These hand-written books chronicle my life. For as long as I can remember, writing has been my release and it's been therapeutic for me. I wasn't "officially" diagnosed with depression until 2007, but it's been there all along, and there's no hiding it when I reflect on my writings. My journals are filled with thoughts and feelings that I never intended for anyone to read. But I came to the realization recently that I have the power to help other people who suffer by sharing my story, and that's exactly what I am going to do.
I didn't realize this at the time, but I've been writing my book for most of my life. Now, it's a matter of organizing my words and putting them into a format for a general audience... for you or for someone you know who might benefit from it. Going through my diaries is an emotional roller coaster. I put my dark thoughts on paper; I turned the pages, and I closed the books. Now, I'm opening those books again, with the intention of helping people. The organizing and writing process is turning out to be an emotional journey. The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my feelings and revelations as my story unfolds into a novel.
Raw and real, this book is an introspective look into the world of depression and suicide through the eyes of a survivor. Writings include reflections, journal exerpts and poetry over a 20-year period. This is a story of internal conflict, self-awareness and hope, as the author takes you on a journey into her world. It's about finding the light in unconventional ways and learning how to make positive changes to become a happier and healthier person, from the inside out.
In my own words
I am not a doctor, and I am not a psychiatrist. I can't offer you advice, and I won't tell you how to live or think. I have not spent years in classes, studying mental illness. Most of what I know, I've learned through my own experiences.
What I can offer is a different perspective. No clinical definitions or evaluations. Just my story. As someone who has both suffered from depression and coped with the loss of a loved one who committed suicide, I understand the magnitude of this illness. I know that it's just as powerful and life-threatening as cancer and AIDS. I also know that it doesn't have to consume you and that it is possible to find the light.
About the Blog
I started keeping journals at the age of 5. These hand-written books chronicle my life. For as long as I can remember, writing has been my release and it's been therapeutic for me. I wasn't "officially" diagnosed with depression until 2007, but it's been there all along, and there's no hiding it when I reflect on my writings. My journals are filled with thoughts and feelings that I never intended for anyone to read. But I came to the realization recently that I have the power to help other people who suffer by sharing my story, and that's exactly what I am going to do.
I didn't realize this at the time, but I've been writing my book for most of my life. Now, it's a matter of organizing my words and putting them into a format for a general audience... for you or for someone you know who might benefit from it. Going through my diaries is an emotional roller coaster. I put my dark thoughts on paper; I turned the pages, and I closed the books. Now, I'm opening those books again, with the intention of helping people. The organizing and writing process is turning out to be an emotional journey. The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my feelings and revelations as my story unfolds into a novel.
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