Seeking My Querencia

Moved to Wordpress

2012-10-22T13:05:00.001-05:00

I've decided to move my blog to Wordpress. My new blog address is www.seekingquerencia.wordpress.com. I apologize for any inconvenience and I hope to see you at my new address.

Life Choices

2012-09-30T18:01:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've been thinking back over my life's hits and misses. If you are anything like me, you loathe making mistakes with a passion. I find myself reliving past mistakes, as if in the reliving, I could change the outcome. The thing is, after years of trying to fight my mistakes, I've come to believe that I am fighting a losing battle. Why? Because we are meant to make mistakes. The important thing to consider regarding our mistakes, is not that we make them, because it is an inevitable certainty that we will make them and others. No, as it is with most of life circumstances, the crucial factor is our reaction to the mistake. What do we take away from it? Hopefully, we learn enough through the making of the mistake, to avoid repeating it.

More importantly, we've heard countless times that life is not intended to be perfect, with perfect choices, answers and circumstances. It's not like that precisely because the truth is that life is a risk. Of course, there is one sure fire way to avoid making another mistake - - inaction. Yet, what type of life would that bring? Every time that we choose, we take a risk that our choice my lead us down an unintended path. Sometimes that path can lead us astray and we realize that we've made the wrong decision. At other times, the path, while unintended, leads us down a road that opens us to new experiences and excitements-- ones that had we chosen otherwise, we'd never encounter. The thing is not only that we live through our choices; we live because of our choices. By taking the risk, we say "yes" to life and "no" to inaction, the safe choice.

So given all the mistakes that I've made in my life, I cannot be accused of hewing to safe choices. No, all the cringe-worthy lapses in judgment, or some would argue, the total absence of judgment, are all mine- good and bad. When I am being rational and clear-headed, I view them as part of a life well-lived, instead of agonizing about the choices that I can't change.

My Story, Part 4

2012-06-24T15:42:00.000-05:00

It was a Friday night after a particularly long, hard week that began in Washington, D.C. for an AAG conference. Throughout that trip, I thought of nothing but my brother and planned to call him later that weekend. As I mentioned in my last post, he’d been diagnosed with cancer and after a very difficult adjustment period, he had finally moved on with his life and was in his last semester of a master of communication program . He was a graduate student in the University of Oklahoma at Norman’s Communication program. I never got an opportunity to talk to him. I received a frantic call from my niece who lived with my Mom. An answering machine message from a Norman, Oklahoma funeral home wanted to what my Mom wished to do with my brother’s body. Please note that at this point, we had no knowledge that there was a problem.

As the oldest, I took care of anything important, so there was no question as to who would handle this task. In shock, I verified that my brother had indeed died. After a number of calls, I learned that the University of Oklahoma-Norman police department notified the New Orleans police department who were supposed to personally notify my mother about the death. They did not. The man from the funeral home waited all day for a return call and after receiving none, assumed that the family had been notified and left his questions on the machine. He was mortified when he learned that my mother had no idea about my brother’s death and I am certain that he has not left such messages on an answering machine since then. Nevertheless, my mother learned of the death of her beloved son, from an answering machine.

It was I, who moved my brother to Norman 1 ½ years before, and it was I, and my husband, who drove to Norman, where, four years after his cancer diagnosis, my baby brother died of congestive heart failure. He’d already purchased the frame for his diploma. It was just like him to plan ahead. Since I’d helped move him in, it seemed natural that I would move him out. Nothing was natural about the trip and what followed and I never counted on the future impact that it would have on me. Imagine this, I literally carried my dear brother’s ashes, in one of his carry on bags, onto a Southwest airlines flight from Norman to New Orleans, rented a car and brought him home to my mother–one of his best friends. I had never experienced that degree of overwhelming anguish and despair, then or since. As I write this, I can feel remnants of those feelings that still exist, and always will.

Afterwards, I tried to pretend that nothing had changed, that I was the same, but it was all a lie. I went back to my job as an AAG, working the horrendous hours, year after year, ignoring what was happening to my body. Until then, my life never left me much opportunity for self-inquiry. Growing up poor, left an indelible mark upon me to succeed at all costs–and that I did. Stopping was not an option, so I didn't. I kept up the insane, crazy, out-of-control pace: working, going to classes, parenting, commuting between Cypress, Texas and Austin for 2 years, and then, the stressful life of a trial attorney. Just as I ignored my inner thoughts, I ignored my body and its’ pleas to stop the madness. Soon, my body wouldn't take no for an answer and, it stopped me in my tracks. I had no choice but to listen and I am listening still.

My Story, Part 3

2012-06-22T17:42:00.001-05:00

This post continues my story. If you'd like to, you can read part 1, here, and part 2, here.

I landed in Houston, Texas. Once there, I was homesick for home, family and friends, as well as my son, who was living with his dad. Over the years, leaving my son with his father is the only thing that I wish that I could do over. All the other choices, big and small, missteps and those less than perfect choices that litter my life's path, I've grown to accept as necessary to make me the person that I am today, and I would not change them if I could. For example, marrying young was not a good choice, but as a result of that choice, I have three beautiful children, whom I would not have without that particular person, at that particular time. Yet, I see my choice of leaving my son with his father as more about me and less about my son. Although he disagrees, I should have chosen better.

Anyway, after months of sending out resumes and applications and interviews, I finally secured a job as an assistant geologist with Sohio, which after a number of iterations is now BP America. I loved my job, was good at it, and rewarded accordingly. By 1984, I was once again ready to resume my education. I did with a vengeance. With Sohio's assistance, and my husband’s help. (By this time, I’d remarried.).

Looking back, I can’t believe how I managed to do it. I attended undergrad full-time at night, while working full-time during the day. My weekends, lunch hours, and kid’s soccer games were set aside for study. I was on a mission to prove to my ex-husband that I would not be one of those women who ended up in the project trying to subsist on welfare. Whenever my energies lagged, the memory of this statement never failed to reinvigorate me and spur me forward. After just 4 years, I graduated summa cum laude with a 3.74 G.P.A. and a B.S. degree in General Studies. I was the first college graduate in my immediate family. I'd finally repaid my Mom's efforts.

I went on to win an academic scholarship to law school at the University of Texas at Austin-a top tier law school, as well as the other law schools to which I'd applied. I choose the University of Texas in Austin, even though it meant leaving my then husband and children outside of Houston while I commuted back and forth every other week. With the blessing of my husband, I moved to Austin, and into a small condo not far from the university. Believe it or not, I was 29 years old and this was the very first time that I had ever lived alone in my life. I was terrified. Guilt and terror drove me through the days. For two years, I trekked back and forth along the well worn back between my Austin home and my Houston home. That is, until the summer between my second and third year of law school, when my marriage ended and I brought my girls to Austin, where we made our home.

My last year of law school (1990-1991) was, in a word, hell. My baby brother, who was my dearest and closest sibling, was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma at the age of 23. A favored cousin was diagnosed with cancer in early 1991 and died that same year. The girl’s step-mother who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer, died in the first half of 1991. Due to the girls’ school schedules, I could not work and we had to rely on my scholarship and financial aid to survive. Pets died. Cars were broken in to. At times life appeared to be careening out of control, but as always, it didn’t.

After an emotionally grueling and money-strapped year, I graduated from law school in 1991, sat for the bar and was licensed the same year. My headstrong, tenacious baby brother did not succumb to cancer, though he was forced to leave his beloved San Francisco and return home to New Orleans to be close to family. I began working as a trial attorney practicing civil rights defense for the State of Texas. Except for a brief stint, I remained with the State until my health forced me to resign early in 2004. With the exception of some health issues that did not impact my ability to perform my job duties, things were reasonably quiet until 1997. Everything up to this point, pales in comparison to what happened in 1997. It changed my life and sent me spiralling into a deep, dark depression. To be continued. . .

A Thought For The Day

2012-06-20T09:35:00.000-05:00

Is there anyone,. . ., who is not wounded and in the process of healing?

~ May Sarton

My Story, Part 2

2012-06-19T15:15:00.000-05:00

Continuing my story forces me to discuss a topic that I have kept close to my heart, both out of fear of what others would think of me, as well as shame and regret. At the same time, I've always felt a calling to tell my story for others who find themselves in the same circumstance. Just a way to let them know that they are not alone and that the situation may not be as dire as it seems.

The past months have led me to reconsider and in some ways, let go of some of my old negative ways of thinking. It occurred to me that I'd long ago come to terms with the shame and regret, and for reasons that I will discuss later, they no longer exist. Moreover, I've almost outgrown any fear of what others may think of me. The people who know and love me will be there as always and anyone who isn't, they shouldn't have been there in the first place. Anyway, it is time. Time to let go. With this letting go, it is my hope that someone, somewhere out there will read it and from it, understand that with hard work and determination, a seemingly dire event, can have positive results. No matter how huge the mistake may seem, we have control over the direction our lives take.

By the time that I graduated high school, I had three scholarships in hand; the most generous at a college in Lafayette. Great, I thought, here's my ticket to freedom. I'd been waiting to leave home since the day that I was born. I graduated high school and began what was supposed to be my final summer before college. Instead, it turned out to be the summer that I made a decision that changed the course of my entire life–I became pregnant at 17 1/2 years of age. I was the oldest; the one to set an example for my younger brother and sisters. I was terrified and my Mom, not one to express her feelings, was undoubtedly devastated.

Did you know that "[t]he United States has the highest teen pregnancy rate in the industrialized world. The Center for Disease control says that one-third of girls get pregnant before the age of 20. Teenpregnancy.org, a site managed by the National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy, states that there are "750,000 teen pregnancies annually. Eight in ten of these pregnancies are unintended and 81 percent are to unmarried teens." http://www.livestrong.com/article/12504-teen-pregnancy-rates-usa/#ixzz1yGicMpjx I was one of those girls.

Thinking that I had no other choice, soon after, I was in an ill-advised, destined to fail, marriage. Since I was not even 18, my mother, who did not support the marriage, had to sign for the marriage license! After decades of self-inquiry, I've come to realize that my actions were borne of fear of leaving home and fear of the unknown. I was torn in half; I desperately wanted to leave home and to "be free," but I had not been prepared for the outside world and my fear overtook my reason. As a result, I choose a different, and difficult road. The marriage did not bring me freedom; it merely introduced me to another form of dependency.

I was a very young mother, with 3 children by the age of 21. I always believed that some way and some how, I would graduate college. I refused to be one of those teenaged mothers that others looked upon as having ruined her life by getting pergnant. I tried attending college but with children, a job and a lack of significant support at home, it was difficult. Since we had no car, I remember spending countless hours on the bus lugging my happy, but chubby young son, from our tiny, postage-stamped sized apartment, to his baby-sitter, then to school and work, only to reverse the route at the end of any already long, exhausting day. I can remember one occasion where I had to take my son to class with me, where he was the center of attention. Finally, however, I could not manage it all and I had to forego my education. Between 1976 and 1981, I made 3 failed attempts to pursue my college degree but the stresses of caring for a family, working and going to school were too great and I was forced to stop each time.

Five years passed and by this time, I had wheedled my way into the oil and gas exploration business. First, I worked for Shell Oil Company and then Tomlinson Offshore. Even though I had no college degree, I was a assistant geophysicist, and later an assistant geologist. Unfortunately, the oil and gas bust came and hit New Orleans and I was laid off. There were no similar jobs to be had throughout the city. By this time, I'd grown up and my marriage was over. I had children to care for and I made a decision that I thought that I would never make–I moved to Texas, a place that I thought was, the land of cowboys and no trees. I was heartbroken to leave my home, but a part of me was looking forward to the unknown. To be continued. . .

Happy Father's Day

2012-06-17T14:55:00.000-05:00

happy fathers day 2012 DSCN5516 (Photo credit: DrJohnBullas)

For years, the coming of Father's Day caused nothing but trepidation and ambivalence. Instead of occupying my days picking the perfect tie for a Father's Day gift, I was filled with jealousy and longing. You see, on my 5th birthday, my father left us. His disappearance was so complete that years later when my Mom dared to remarry, she had to go to court to have him declared legally dead so that she might get a divorce. As a child, a now you see him, now you don't father was confusing and I spent a great deal of time wondering what I'd done wrong that would make my father leave so completely. No one told me that it wasn't my fault or that his decision was not about me, so I filled in my own blanks.

I wanted what everyone else had. That is, a mother who didn't have to struggle by working up to 3 jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs, and the undying love of a father who was always there for me, and would pick me up when I fell. Unfortunately, I never had that. Although I reconnected with my father in my mid-teen years, the father-daughter connection was broken and could not be repaired. Our meeting was like that between me a strange man with whom I had no connection or bond. Fortunate for me, through friends, I was in a position to see true dads in action, and even though it punctuated my loss, it allowed me a less jaundiced view of a father.

As years went by, and Father's days came and went, I slowly let go of the long held longing and other negative feelings that the day brought up for me. Today, I can't tell you where my father is and though that is not the way that I'd like it to be, I've come to accept it as is. I don't have that relationship with him and never will. However, that does not stop me from wishing a sincere Happy Father's Day to all those other dads that came into my life and served as positive male role models.

After all these days, I can sincerely look forward to the day so that I can wish all those amazing dads out there a very Happy Father's Day. Specifically, Happy Father's Day Bowee. Thank you for being there for me all those years ago. I appreciated you then and now, I appreciate you more than ever. Blessings and love, lydia

Acceptance

2012-06-15T13:34:00.000-05:00

Blessings (Photo credit: earthquakefish (david))

When I started this blog, I intended to stay away from my health issues as much as possible--too boring, I thought, and certainly not pertinent to my journey. Over the last months, I've come to realize the folly of that decision. My health and fibromyalgia impacts everything that I do, including writing this blog. I've tried to run away from it but it always asserts itself in one way or another. Acceptance seems the only answer. So, I am ready to stop fighting and to run with it. Blessings, Lydia

My Story: The Early Years

2012-06-10T09:14:00.001-05:00

Over the years, I've held many roles, namely, mother, wife, daughter, sister, g'mom, attorney, friend and countless others. In addition to the typical roles, I have chronic pain due to both fibromyalgia and migraines. Besides, there is no doubt that they, like every other challenge that I have met and conquered in life, have no small part in forming the woman that I am today. This is my story.

My given name is Lydia Marie Wright. I entered this world in New Orleans, Louisiana, 5 days before Xmas to C. and J. I was their first born of three girls. My mother is an amazing woman who single-handedly raised me and my 3 siblings, when my dad made the poor choice to leave our family–on my 5th birthday. Although I didn't realize it for decades, this incident had a huge influence on my life and the person that I was to become.

After my father left our family, we had to move in with my great-grandmother. My mother, a very beautiful woman, who married young and never had the opportunity to attend college, had few job prospects. She soon accepted a job as a cook for the New Orleans Catholic Archdiocese, where she remained for over 40 years. Although we were poor, my Mom always worked 2-3 jobs to make sure that we had food on the table and clean clothes.

Although she could have easily qualified, she steadfastly refused to apply for or receive any type of government aid (With the exception of the free lunch program that we had to apply for through the schools and were accepted automatically.). She is a proud woman and remains so to this day. She did the very best that she could with what she had, so she sewed most of our clothes. One perk of the job with the Catholic Archdiocese was a tuition discount at its many Catholic schools (Especially at that time, Catholic churches or schools were about as prevalent as 7-11's came to be in other cities.). Wanting to ensure us the best education that she could manage, she did without to send us to the catholic schools where I spent twelve years.

Nurturing creativity was not a priority in my family–getting by was. As a child, I liked to draw, so much so that I responded to a "TV Guide" advertisement for an art school. The ad required that you draw a picture of the photo provided in the ad. I was about 11 years old and I remember putting all that I had into that drawing. I waited and waited with knots in my stomach for a response. A letter arrived and while it told me that I had "some" talent, it went on to say that I was too young for the school, blah, blah, blah. . . . It was on this day that my dream of pursuing and nurturing the creative side of me died. I was also an avid reader of books. I think as an escape from a world that for me, was filled with abandonment, confusion, a lack of overt emotional affection and fear of my environment, I loved books. I could be anywhere and anyone that I wanted to be. (My love of books remains to this day.)

In addition to reading booking, I also love to write. Although I dreamed of being a successful writer, the dream never went further than my writing my own "book." As I sit here today, I can't even remember what the story was about. All that I do recall is that I never intended to pursue it because I was not a "creative" person, Sadly, that is what I'd internalized from the response to my drawing, and I had no one to tell me otherwise. So, my career dreams turned to more practical careers such as a medical technologist, a nurse, or a child psychologist. I say dreams because to say "goal" would necessarily imply that I believed that my dreams were attainable, and I realize that I did not.

My mother always choose education as our means to escape the poverty in which we lived. As the oldest of what later became 4 children; I was not deaf to her choice. She was a single woman in the late fifties-early sixties, singlehandedly raising three, later four, children, and a 'college fund' was definitely not an option. This was in the days before charter and magnet schools and even back then, the New Orleans public school system was not up to her standards or anyone else's really. So that we might go to the "better" schools (i.e., Catholic schools), my mom took the job as the cook. Since there were two of us, me and my sister, Mom received a tuition discount as well. We were only one of 2 or 3 black families in the entire school. I am quite embarrassed to admit it, now, but back then, I was not as proud as I have become of my Mom and all that she went through to provide us with a Catholic school education. No, as a selfish young girl, all that I was concerned with is that my Mom worked at the cafeteria in the elementary school that I attended. Each and every day, I dreaded lunch time for two reasons: (1) the free lunch card that we qualified for because of our family income, and (2) my Mom would be in the the cafeteria serving food to me, my friends and everyone else and everyone knew it. I was embarrassed by my Mom's job and I was filled with guilt for being such a terrible daughter.

Anyway, I was a quiet kid and I mostly excelled in school. I was the model student in elementary school. The most memorable incident from that time was when my class took some sort of test and coincidentally, the boy sitting next to me and I got the same grade on the test. He was white and I black, so the teacher assumed that I'd cheated by copying his answers. I was forced to re-take the test by myself and to her chagrin, I scored higher on the test than the first time. This incident was another of those incidents that over the years has shaped me in ways that I never imagined. I went on to graduate from elementary school and gained acceptance into the same high school that my Mom attended; everything was going according to plan. I figured that she'd given up so much and worked so hard so that we could have an education, it was my duty to reward her efforts. To be continued...

2012-06-09T14:50:00.000-05:00

For the past eight weeks, I've been submersed in an e-course given by the lovely Susannah Conway. In Susannah's words,
"The Unravelling process is a new way to view your world, taking time to appreciate the beauty around you. And we do this in the simplest way: we stop and look. Beginning with your feet, you’re going to go on a photo safari into your own life to reconnect with who you are, where you’ve been and where you want to go next." http://www.susannahconway.com/e-courses/unravelling/

The course is an 8 week opportunity to delve within and excavate our inner artifacts, be they yearnings, forgotten memories, dreams, hurts or what have you. Each week Susannah skillfully guided us, via ideas, questions posed, group discussion, photographs and writing to a topic of unravelling. An integral part of Susannah's courses is the community of women from 40 countries that gather together to unravel together. You can't have a more supportive and loving group of fellow unravellers who gather together simply to support one another and to discuss what we learned.

For me unravelling is the beginning of the long process to get back to my true self. By unravelling, I 've realized that I've been hiding behind an illness and waiting for a return to the status quo--a return that will never come. The unravelling is never easy, nothing worth doing ever is, but what is left after the unravelling is the key, the answer to the real you. Unravelling requires me to be brave to accept the truth of the matter, and to commit to unravelling until I've stepped into who I am--the real me. My first unravelling lesson is that I have to tell my story and I feel less vulnerable doing that' so stay tuned.

Out of the mouths of babes

2012-04-26T01:54:00.000-05:00

Lately, I have been worrying about my age and how I look; especially when in the company of others. So, when dressing for my counseling appointment it seemed natural to put on a little makeup for the visit. I choose eye makeup and lip gloss. My youngest daughter has been driving me to appointments and errands because I could not drive because of some treatments that I was undergoing. So she picked me up for my appointment, to which I went to, before we picked up my g'daughter (short for grand daughter) Dai from pre-K. We later picked Dai up from pre-K.

First, I will say that I have a very close relationship with Dai. I see her often and we talk daily, and are always glad to see one another. Anyway, as is usual, my reunion with Dai at school involved her catching sight of me and running to greet me with a big hug and an "I am so glad to see you g'Mom "(short for grand mother) Then she takes my hand and introduces me to her teachers and all of her many friends who are told to "Say hi to my g'mom." They say hi and we can go on our way.

After picking up Dai, we were driving me back home and as is our habit, I sit in the back seat with Dai. [As an aside, her parents or any of us who do so always laugh about driving Miss Daisy!] We were talking about her school day , which is alway "excellent, Out of the blue, Dai turned to look at me curiously. I knew she had something in mine, so I just waited her out. Finally, she asked, 'g'mom, what is that purple stuff along your eye lashes? I was surprised that she even noticed. I told her it was eye makeup that women sometime use to look pretty. She shook her head seriously and said "G'mom you shouldn't use eye makeup because you are pretty like me and you don't need makeup to be pretty. The only makeup that I will use is lipgloss." As I was hugging her and saying thank you, I was thinking, ''out of the month of babes."

Thought of the Day

2012-04-19T23:08:00.000-05:00

Candles spell out the traditional English birthday greeting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For me, today is a day of celebration for more than one reason. Thirty-five years ago today, I was eighteen years old and newly married, a whole other story that must wait for another day and time. On April 19, 1977, I became a mother to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. On that day, I began what I have come to consider is the most challenging and difficult job in the world-motherhood At such a young age, I was ill-prepared for the job, but I've come to learn that motherhood, at any age, is a daunting gift that is not for the timid. I am grateful for both blessings that I received on that day - my son and the gift of motherhood. Happy birthday dear Son. I am blessed to be your Mother.

Thought for the day

2012-04-12T11:41:00.000-05:00

Nyckelring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For months now, I've been undergoing some medical treatment during which driving is a contra-indication. At first, I thought "no big deal" and I relished the idea of being chauffeured about like I was Miss Daisy, but that feeling has long sense passed. That feeling is long since gone. I now realize that it's true that we don't appreciate what we have until it's gone. I've come to realize that along with my ability to drive, went my freedom to do what I want, when I chose to do it, for as long as I chose, without catering to anyone else's needs. I can't wait to get those things back. When I do, I won't be taking them for granted.

Happy Easter

2012-04-08T12:01:00.000-05:00

May you all enjoy a safe Easter celebration today. With thanks, Lydia

A New Word and A Laugh For Your Day

2012-03-25T23:02:00.000-05:00

An 1888 advertisement for Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today I found a very old 'note to self' upon which I'd written the word "logorrhea." For those of you unfamiliar with the word, Webster's Dictionary defines the word as "excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness." http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/logorrhea.

The very first time that I came across the word, I was reminded of diarrhea, the medical condition that, I have no doubt, no one wants. Given its similarity to the word "diarrhea," each time I see the word, I define it as 'diarrhea of the mouth,' a definition that causes me (1) to laugh out loud every time, and (2) to remember the actual definition. I hope that it does the same for you.

But, You Don't Look Sick

2012-03-10T00:03:00.001-06:00

"Dear God, I want to thank you for being close to me so far this day. With your help, I haven't been inpatient, lost my temper, grumpy, judgmental, or envious of getting one. But, I'll be getting out of bed in a minute, and I think I'll really need your help!"
I stumbled across this prayer while reading a Kindle sample of the book "You Don't Look Sick: Living Well With Invisible Chronic Illness," by Joy Selak and Dr. Steven Overman. The prayer was sent to Ms. Selak by a friend with fibromyalgia--a condition that I know well. Nevertheless, neither fibromyalgia patients, nor any group for that matter, can stake any special claim to this prayer, as it has universal appeal to each and every one of us. Anyway, the prayer, though humorous and most mornings, all too appropriate, is not the real reason for this post.

In November 2010, I began a blog post titled "You Don't Look Sick," much like the title of the book. The post was in response to yet another "but, you don't look sick" encounter that occurred earlier in the day. In that particular encounter, I was just getting out of my car at the grocery store where I'd stopped to go to the pharmacy. Before I could get both feet on the ground, a woman, that I did not know, violated what any reasonable person would agree was my personal boundary. One of the store managers sheepishly stood behind her. (I knew him well.) Pointing her little bony fingers in my face, she said to him, "See what I told you. She is one of those people illegally parking in spaces reserved for disabled people." You see, in my haste to get to the pharmacy, I'd forgotten to put up my hang tag. Dennis, the store manager said, "Lydia, would you please use your hang tag?," and he turned around leaving me to deal with the still unsatisfied and irate woman.

She proceeded to accuse me of illegally parking with someone else's reserved parking hang tag and threatened to call the police and more. I made a sincere effort to calm the lady, but there was no reasoning with her. Finally, she uttered the words that I've heard time and time again, "You don't look sick!" so that tag cannot be yours." At this point, my patience and attempts at reason were spent and I slammed the car door and stormed into the store, before I said something that I'd surely regret later.

Long after I returned home and the immediate sting of the incident had passed, the woman's words continued to reverberate in my mind. I have no doubt that there are those who will read this post and consider my response as unjustified, overly sensitive, and in the category of 'making a big to-do about nothing.' For those without an "invisible chronic illness" or with no contact to one who has such as illness, it is often difficult to understand what it is like for those of us who do. I mean, who can blame you when there are patients who are still confronting doctors who refuse to acknowledge their condition because it cannot be substantiated by x-rays, CT scans, MRI's, blood work or any other means of diagnostic tools. The underlying message becomes, in order to be deemed "sick," there must be objective evidence supporting your illness; for example, a broken limb or a bald head (indicating a potential chemotherapy recipient or cancer patient). The problem is further compounded when pain is the primary symptom because there is no objective way to measure it.

On its' face, "you don't look sick," (often with the emphasis on the word 'look') is seemingly innocuous and usually said with no malicious or bad intent. Nevertheless, to those of us in the throes of a chronic, invisible illness; this otherwise harmless statement, raises yet another obstacle in the fight against the illness. If wishes were true, I'd gladly turn over both the hang tag and the parking space.

5 Things That You Don't Know About Me

2012-03-01T20:54:00.000-06:00

1. My favorite color is purple.

2. I love Green Apple Jolly Ranchers candy.

3. I have not one, not two, but 5 g'children. The most recent are twin girls born to my son less than 1 1/2 months ago.

4. I am the eldest of four, 3 girls and 1 boy.

5. I graduated from a Catholic all girls' school, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. (I mean go to an all girls' school, not attend high school again! Four years was more than enough. )

Introducing. . .

2012-02-24T09:31:00.000-06:00

Susannah Conway is, at first blush, a favorite person of mine. Thereafter, she is my favorite e-course provider. You see, Susannah is an artist, a photographer, a writer, a teacher and so much more. Through the miracles of the web, she has able to take those skills, hone and formulate them into a structure suitable for the world wide web and beguile us with her talents. This is no easy task, but she has done it. Mosey on over to her website at www.SusannahConway.com and prepare to be bedazzled.

A Belated Quote

2012-01-19T12:13:00.000-06:00

"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Blessings,

Lydia Kimble-Wright

For largely medical reasons, I have been absent from my blog for some months; nevertheless, out of sight has not been out of mind. I hope that this post finds each of you settling into 2012 with vim and vigor.

Quote Tuesday

2011-12-13T16:19:00.001-06:00

Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints on your heart. To handle yourself, use your head; to handle others, use your heart. Anger is only one letter short of danger. If someone betrays you once, it is his fault; if he betrays you twice; it is your fault. Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people. He who loses money, loses much; he who loses a friend, loses much more; he who loses faith loses all. Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art. Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.... There is no beginning or end. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is mystery. Today is a gift, that's why they call it the present. [Unknown}

Ten Books That I am Currently Reading

2011-12-10T11:57:00.001-06:00

I love books and like that old Lay's potato chip advertisement, "I can't read just one!" If truth be told, I can't stop at two or three, for that matter." Currently, I am reading 8 books. They are:

1. As A Man Thinketh, James Allen

2. Anatomy of Movement, Blandine Calais-Germain

3. Fierce Medicine, Ana T. Forrest

4. The Happiness Project, Gretchin Rubin

5. The Zen Path Through Depression, Philip Martin

6. How To Be Sick, Toni Bernhard

7. Black in Latin America, Henry Louis Gates

8. Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes (Revised 25th Anniv.) James Bridges

Sometimes I laughingly think that I have an undiagnosed attention deficit disorder. ☻♥☻

Quote Tuesday

2011-11-08T17:16:00.001-06:00

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. ~ Harry Crews

Quote Tuesday

2011-11-01T18:49:00.002-05:00

When you abandon every desire that rises up within you,

and when you become content with things as they are, then you experience inner peace.

When your mind is untroubled by misfortune, when you desire no pleasures,

when your emotions are tranquil, and when you are free from fear and anger,

then you experience inner calm. When you are free from all attachments,

when you are indifferent to success and failure,

then you experience inner serenity.

When you can withdraw your senses from pleasures of the senses,

just as a tortoise withdraws its limbs,

then you experience inner wisdom.

~The Bhagavad Gita

Quote Tuesday

2011-10-25T22:27:00.000-05:00

You need to wake up if you want to dream. ~Paulo Coelho

Quote Tuesday

2011-10-18T21:02:00.000-05:00

"I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me." ~ Anna Quindlen

Seeking My Querencia

Moved to Wordpress

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My Story, Part 4

My Story, Part 3

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My Story, Part 2

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Acceptance

My Story: The Early Years

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Introducing. . .

A Belated Quote

Quote Tuesday

Ten Books That I am Currently Reading

Quote Tuesday

Quote Tuesday

Quote Tuesday

Quote Tuesday