"Reality" TV shows are becoming commonplace in our society. And based on show ratings, it's apparent that the general public has an insatiable interest in this growing trend in TV programming.
According to a recent article published on Truth.net, more people watched "American Idol" and "Dancing with the Stars" in the past two weeks than voted in the Presidential election in 2008, one of the most definitive elections so far in our lifetime. The article goes on to say, "the statistics surrounding reality TV suggest that we have checked out from reality and what really is."
And here is a disturbing look at "what really is": There have been more than 11 instances of former reality TV show contendors who have died by suicide. What's more... their deaths have been directly linked to the emotional trauma resulting from their reality TV ventures.
Larry King tackles the issue in this shocking and informative segment:
I have included a few additional news stories about reality TV show suicides. The first, titled "Dangers of Reality Television," examines the heart-breaking truth regarding what happened to these contestants after the shows aired:
Dangers of Reality Television
Psychologists speak about Reality TV show emotional trauma in this Wrap.com feature.
And this article profiles a case in which a young mother took her own life after a terrible encounter on the Nancy Grace show. Prior to appearing in court, the show's creator/ host pleaded to silence cameras in the courtroom. Fortunately, the judge did not comply: CNN article
I should also mention that uncovering this information was not easy. Stories like those listed above very rarely make national headlines, and if they do, it's for a very short period of time. After all, news about emotional trauma and suicides directly linked to reality TV would not promote a positive image for these ever-so-popular, revenue-generating shows. Could the media have anything to do with this highly newsworthy information being omitted from the general public? I'll let you be the judge of that. I should also mention that Reality TV show contestants are required to sign iron-clad confidentiality agreements, which prevent them from telling their sides of the story.
I am very interested to hear your thoughts...
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Stop and Listen
Do you ever feel as though you're on autopilot? There are times when we do things because we just do them. Going through the motions, without much thought.... like brushing your teeth or turning onto the road where you live. I think we sometimes get into autopilot mode with music, too. We love the way a song sounds or how it makes us feel, but we don't really investigate the message behind it. Eventually, the music becomes habitual. Maybe we even sing along, without letting the words sink in.
I know that I'm guilty of this, and things slide by when I'm not paying attention. I've always considered 311 one of my favorite bands, and I've heard their songs time and time again. Same with Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers. But I experienced songs by these artists and others, in a different way tonight, after doing a Google search for lyrics about suicide...
311: Beyond the Gray Sky
Red Hot Chili Peppers: The Otherside
Both of the above songs are on my Ipod, and I've seen 311 live on four different occassions. As for the following song... not only did I see it performed live, I was sitting on the side of the stage (thanks to a friend's connection at 98 Rock). But due to a generous supply of free beer backstage, I let these lyrics fly right over my head that night. I did, however, pay closer attention when I heard the song on the radio shortly thereafter.
Papa Roach, Last Resort
It dawned on me that I need to practice the art of 'listening and learning.' And if well-known musicians can tackle the taboo topic of suicide, then so can I. There are lots of negative opinions surrounding depression and people with suicidal tendencies. I sometimes worry about that, and I often need to remind myself that this work is much more important than the mindset of asanine critics.
This is the song I heard on the radio this evening, which sparked tonight's research project:
P.O.D. Youth of the Nation
And here's one more that resonated, particularly because survivors are heard here...
I'm fucking tackling this shit, and I'm not going to worry about what people may say or think. I've stopped reading the ignorant comments posted to news stories about suicide, by people who have no compassion. There will always be critics. There will always be people who don't agree or people who won't understand. But if we fall prey to what others might think, then we lose sight of why we are here in the first place. And I am here to write this book.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I need to write about writing sometimes because the subject matter can be so emotionally draining. These blog "pep talks" help me to process thoughts and move forward with the book project.
I know that I'm guilty of this, and things slide by when I'm not paying attention. I've always considered 311 one of my favorite bands, and I've heard their songs time and time again. Same with Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers. But I experienced songs by these artists and others, in a different way tonight, after doing a Google search for lyrics about suicide...
311: Beyond the Gray Sky
Red Hot Chili Peppers: The Otherside
Both of the above songs are on my Ipod, and I've seen 311 live on four different occassions. As for the following song... not only did I see it performed live, I was sitting on the side of the stage (thanks to a friend's connection at 98 Rock). But due to a generous supply of free beer backstage, I let these lyrics fly right over my head that night. I did, however, pay closer attention when I heard the song on the radio shortly thereafter.
Papa Roach, Last Resort
It dawned on me that I need to practice the art of 'listening and learning.' And if well-known musicians can tackle the taboo topic of suicide, then so can I. There are lots of negative opinions surrounding depression and people with suicidal tendencies. I sometimes worry about that, and I often need to remind myself that this work is much more important than the mindset of asanine critics.
This is the song I heard on the radio this evening, which sparked tonight's research project:
P.O.D. Youth of the Nation
And here's one more that resonated, particularly because survivors are heard here...
I'm fucking tackling this shit, and I'm not going to worry about what people may say or think. I've stopped reading the ignorant comments posted to news stories about suicide, by people who have no compassion. There will always be critics. There will always be people who don't agree or people who won't understand. But if we fall prey to what others might think, then we lose sight of why we are here in the first place. And I am here to write this book.
Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I need to write about writing sometimes because the subject matter can be so emotionally draining. These blog "pep talks" help me to process thoughts and move forward with the book project.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Puzzle
I have 22 chapters in the works. In the past month or so, I have been writing non-stop. I am allowing myself to let words fall onto paper, without over-analyzing content, grammar, punctuation or layout. That will come later. The writing process is turning out to be a puzzle, of sorts...
I am learning not to critique my work during the creative process, as content is my focus. The story is the most important part. I've examined the puzzle to ensure that each piece is accounted for. I am beginning to snap the pieces together, one at a time. Sometimes, the sections are not compatible. When that happens, I put them into a "MISC" file. Eventually, I create a place for everything, though. Sometimes, I need to re-arrange and move things, until it all fits together the way it's supposed to. I'm finding that the puzzle is now transforming. I can see the outline of my words, and content is filling the open spaces. Productivity feels good.
I love when I get into flow with my writing. When words come straight from the heart, they are true. Flow occurs when I have the ability to type as fast as I think. My heartbeat quickens, and I don't have time to second-guess truth when it spills onto paper.
Positive intentions are set. I am writing this book in Brad's name. In his suicide letter to me, he said that he admired my great work ethic. He said that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. So, I'm honoring him in this way. His beautiful spirit is the driving force behind my work. I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who died by suicide. Instead, my hope is that by sharing this story, his legacy will live on in a positive way... that he will inspire people to avoid silent suffering and realize that they are not alone.
And for those who have dealt with the tragic loss of a loved one to suicide... you are not alone, either.
I'm also writing this book for me, and I'm writing it for anyone who has ever suffered from feelings of self-hatred. I want people who are plagued with depression to know that it doesn't have to be a death-sentence. I aim to tackle the toxic stigmas surrounding suicide. There are lots of conflicting views on this topic, and I know that my book will be controversial but I won't let that hold me back. The message is too important, and I have no room in the creative process for fear and self-doubt. Instead, I'm guided by my desire to communicate truth and conjur feelings of understanding, compassion and hope.
My journals are intense... just the other day, I read the forgotton words, "At least I have my writing. I know that this is my safe place, and I know that no one will read this..." It's ironic that I am re-visiting these words from a different perspective, now. My safe place is no longer my private sanctuary. Confronting my fears and vulnerabilities with the intention of helping others is what I will do.
The book will be finished this year. In the past month, my "Patience" mentality has shifted to "Action." The puzzle is taking shape.
I am learning not to critique my work during the creative process, as content is my focus. The story is the most important part. I've examined the puzzle to ensure that each piece is accounted for. I am beginning to snap the pieces together, one at a time. Sometimes, the sections are not compatible. When that happens, I put them into a "MISC" file. Eventually, I create a place for everything, though. Sometimes, I need to re-arrange and move things, until it all fits together the way it's supposed to. I'm finding that the puzzle is now transforming. I can see the outline of my words, and content is filling the open spaces. Productivity feels good.
I love when I get into flow with my writing. When words come straight from the heart, they are true. Flow occurs when I have the ability to type as fast as I think. My heartbeat quickens, and I don't have time to second-guess truth when it spills onto paper.
Positive intentions are set. I am writing this book in Brad's name. In his suicide letter to me, he said that he admired my great work ethic. He said that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. So, I'm honoring him in this way. His beautiful spirit is the driving force behind my work. I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who died by suicide. Instead, my hope is that by sharing this story, his legacy will live on in a positive way... that he will inspire people to avoid silent suffering and realize that they are not alone.
And for those who have dealt with the tragic loss of a loved one to suicide... you are not alone, either.
I'm also writing this book for me, and I'm writing it for anyone who has ever suffered from feelings of self-hatred. I want people who are plagued with depression to know that it doesn't have to be a death-sentence. I aim to tackle the toxic stigmas surrounding suicide. There are lots of conflicting views on this topic, and I know that my book will be controversial but I won't let that hold me back. The message is too important, and I have no room in the creative process for fear and self-doubt. Instead, I'm guided by my desire to communicate truth and conjur feelings of understanding, compassion and hope.
My journals are intense... just the other day, I read the forgotton words, "At least I have my writing. I know that this is my safe place, and I know that no one will read this..." It's ironic that I am re-visiting these words from a different perspective, now. My safe place is no longer my private sanctuary. Confronting my fears and vulnerabilities with the intention of helping others is what I will do.
The book will be finished this year. In the past month, my "Patience" mentality has shifted to "Action." The puzzle is taking shape.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
In the Shadows for a Moment...
"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.
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.
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.
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