The other day, I was on a lovely date with a lovely gentleman.  He walked me to my car, and invited me over (me-yow!).

I responded, “Um, mumblemumble, I’m on my period; I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry?!  Why did I say that?  Why does a slow burn of shame and embarrassment spread throughout my cheeks before I can get those words out?  I’m sorry?!

If I had a choice in the matter, rest assured I wouldn’t choose for my lady parts to look like the aftermath of a Halo battle (that I lost!).  If I were hanging out next to God while watching evolution take place, we’d have a serious heart-to-heart about where this whole menstruating thing was going.  And then we’d brainstorm a less creepy word than “menstruating.”

First, we’d talk cramps.  I see my insides having a secret meeting, and deciding to mutiny against me…all for the greater good, I’m sure.  But it still hurts!  It’s like my ovaries are going to break through my skull and start a travelling vaudeville act.  Get over yourself, ovaries, and take a nap or something.

Then comes the nice hormone flux.  I’m certifiably schizophrenic for those few days when my estrogen levels are running amok.  The world is great!  I hate everything!  The sun is so sad today!  Everyone, protect yourselves, and never mention baby animals of any sort.  The innocence!   Tears, tears, tears.  Game over.

My sex drive is a rickety wooden roller coaster ride.  It reaches maximum velocity, and if I can’t take a five-minute break to, um, take care of things every once in awhile, I may internally combust.  Yet, ironically, actual sex becomes oh so uncomfortable.  Real funny, biology.  Good joke.  Skip to the next scene where I forgot that things even work down there.  Yeah, it’s a crazy five hour flux.

I convince myself that calories don’t count during those days when I’m hungry non-stop.  Hey, friends, I’d love to hang out, I really would, but I don’t foresee us doing anything that will top binge eating by myself.  So, next time, guys.  Am I going to work out later to make up for it?  Nope; my range of motion is limited to the fetal position for the rest of the evening.  Unless there is a salty milkshake within crawling distance, I’m fine right here, thanks.

Also, can someone explain how I am simultaneously constipated and have to poop every five seconds?  Inquiring minds want to know.

The moments right before the flow starts are the worst.  I know you’re in there; COME OUT!  Get out of me! Freedom is so close!  FYI, I’m inventing the period vacuum if any investors are interested.

Even after all the PMS pain is over, there’s still a week of blood squirting out of my favorite orifice (this was a tough call to make, since all the others are also near and dear to my heart).  Why aren’t tampons covered by health insurance?  Midol, tampons, va-jazzling; think of the costs of my nether regions, Obama (but thanks for pushing for my birth control to be covered; you have my uterus’ vote).

Oh dear, the reasonable side of my brain just piped up.  ”Are we being a wee bit dramatic, Jill?”  Yeah, I am, and I’m blaming it on external factors that I can’t control like any sane human being.

And it feels damn good.  Thanks for listening, guys.  If you ever want to rant, I owe you one.

**Jill’s post script:  For the record, the gentleman’s response was, “That’s even better; I can show you YouTube videos!”  So, this isn’t a rant against our Y-chromosome sporting counterparts.  10 points for the response from all judges, including the Russian.

[Photo Credit: SerrNovik]

Thanks Ashley for giving me the chance to reflect on lessons I wish my 19-year-old had known!]

Dear 19-year-old Molly,

You’re embarking on your college experience with bright eyes and a fairly innocent view of the world.  It’s admirable, honey, but unfortunately, college is not going to be an easy ride for you.

You’re getting on that airplane for New York full of self-confidence and self-love, radiating with dreams and plans and possibility.  You are confidant in your abilities and secure in your integrity.

These are all qualities I wish you had known how to hold onto, Molly.

For whatever reason, high school has been a place where you learned how to be your free-spirited, positive, creative self — without too much concern for how others’ viewed you and without too much angst. I wish these lessons had stuck around for the next four years. Your life would have been so much easier!  Instead, your self-love is about to take a nosedive — pulling your health, self-esteem and grounded center — down with it.

I wish I could turn back time and give you this advice at the moment it would really make a difference…

You are strong.  Remember when T dumped you right before Junior Prom?  You held your head high while selling his new date her ticket, leaned on your girlfriends, and found a hotty underclassman to be your arm candy.  Remember when you lost those two major student council elections?  You never questioned your ambition to lead or confidence in your abilities, and bigger-better-brighter opportunities came through for you in pretty amazing ways.

You have integrity.  Remember when you walked out of N’s house because a high school career of older boys, beer, and smoking pot wasn’t what you wanted (even if did make you a popular girl)?  Remember when you turned down A because you knew you were in way over your head, even though it seemed strange to others?  You weren’t afraid to follow your heart, Molly, and do what you felt was right.

You are beautiful. Remember how powerful your body felt vaulting 11 feet in the air?  Remember the freedom from self-consciousness you felt skinny dipping in Spring Meadow Lake under the moonlight?  Remember the realization that you had nice legs and a great smile, so there was really no need to weigh yourself?  You withheld judgement of yourself or others on purely external measures of “beauty” and were healthier and happier for it.

You’re going to need this high school evidence of your authentic, sparkly self, sweet thing.

Why? Unfortunately, a period of raging self-doubt is about to hit you as you wade into unknown waters.

I know you’ll feel small and weak and insignificant.  I know you’ll feel lost to yourself, and that pain will manifest in so many harmful ways.  I know you’ll feel that you don’t have enough money, the right clothes, the east coast connections, or support for the loneliness.  I know you’ll feel like you’re not smart, thin, pretty, or athletic enough to “be anyone”.

I wish you knew, Molly, that self-love is the answer to all of your doubts.  Self-love is the answer to your fears.  Self-love is the answer to your self-consciousness.

Things that are not the answer?  Transferring majors to alleviate fears of making money in the future.  Getting drunk with your sorority sisters and making out (or sleeping) with anyone who finds “your overweight self” attractive.  Binging and purging and hurting your body.  Hiding your depression behind a mask of false cheer and fake positivity, as you cry alone in the shower.  Staying incredibly busy to avoid thinking about how insignificant and unhappy you feel.

I wish you knew that it’s okay to not “fit in”, that it’s more spectacular to simply be your quirky, good girl, adventure-seeking self.

You don’t have to drink to the point of blackout to bond with girlfriends or flirt with boys.  You can ask for help when you need it, not push through on ridiculously low amounts of sleep and ridiculously high amounts of caffeine and sugar.   You don’t have to buy the right jeans or go out every weekend to the big parties or bite your tongue when assholes make themselves bigger by tearing others down. It doesn’t matter what others’ think of your choices, Molly, as long as you are honoring your integrity and sense of self.

I wish you knew that you could embrace your body, your purpose, your uncertainty about the future with kindness, instead of cruelty.

You can’t binge, expose, puke, kiss, overextend, drink, buy or excel your way to confidence, sweet pea. It’s not a process of covering up, fixing, hiding or pretending.

Self-love doesn’t come from the outside in.

Self-love?  It comes from the inside out. It comes from gentleness, from the release of pleasing others, from acceptance of yourself as fabulously imperfect.

No one else can validate your worthiness, Molly.  Just you.

Just you.

I wish you could give that gift to yourself.

XOXO

31-year-old Molly

p.s.  Because I’m so much older and wiser now, I can tell you with full confidence that everything gets better.  You refind your way to your authentic self.  You started treating your body with more respect.  You end up doing work you feel passionate about.  You let go of needing to please everyone and be seen as nice.  You get your booty back to the west coast, full of like-minded spirits.  You feel free to be imperfect.  You even become an advocate for self-love and teach other women how to practice Fierce Love in their own lives.  Crazy, eh?

p.p.s.  Don’t borrow your roommate’s  clothes… Your “agreement” will only end badly!

p.p.p.s.  It’s okay to lust after the a capella boys, but honestly?  They make terrible boyfriends.

I talked to him about everything: my family, my friends, stressing out over not having a job. I even told him my dreams (the ones I have when I’m asleep, not my lofty life goals because I still don’t know what those are WHAT UP QUARTERLIFE CRISIS). He was always empathetic. Sometimes he made me laugh.

But something didn’t feel quite right. I had a really good time every time I saw him, but then I would reflect on it afterward and realize that a piece was missing. It’s not supposed to be like this.

I always do my best thinking when I’m walking through the city. I knew the end was nigh when, on one of my recent walks, I found myself mentally composing a breakup email.

For nearly an hour I ran test sentences through my head. How much of it should be about me? How much of it should be about him? Should I go into a lengthy explanation? Should it be super brief?

When I got home from my errands, I wrote and sent the email. He tried to get me to reconsider, but I stuck to my instincts. After two back-and-forths, it was finished.

That’s how I ended things with my therapist.

PLOT TWIST!

“Hey, I didn’t know you were in therapy,” said everyone reading this blog post.

“That’s because I never told you,” I reply to this imaginary and weird conversation.

I didn’t hide the fact that I was in therapy because I was embarrassed. I didn’t even hide it because I wanted to – in fact, I hated that no one knew about it, because it was so NOT a big deal that keeping it a secret felt silly. But I never felt comfortable just kind of dropping a “my therapist says…” in passing, and I’m pretty much always bad at making grand life announcements. So up until this moment, the only people who knew I was in therapy were me, my therapist and the woman who did my intake. But it’s over now, so I guess I can let the crazy out of the bag.

The first time I seriously thought about getting therapy was sometime in September. I did the research and then completely chickened out of making the necessary phone calls. After I lost my job and had an epic meltdown in December, I found the courage to start calling. I selected a program, went in for nearly a month of preliminary questions, and finally started seeing my therapist sometime in February.

I really liked therapy, actually. My therapist helped me hash out my feelings on different parts of my life, and validated that those feelings were legitimate. When he said to me, “Wow, some of those things would drive me to drink too,” it made me feel…good. Normal.

After awhile, though, I realized that it wasn’t enough. Having someone to talk to is wonderful but between two blogs and two journals, I’m pretty good at sorting through my thoughts on my own. The initial validation of my feelings was great too, but if the last 2 months at Stratejoy have taught me anything, it’s that I AM ENOUGH. And I extend this to mean that my feelings are enough. I don’t need anyone to tell me that it’s okay to go through what I’m going through. The fact that I have feelings in the first place is all the validation I ever need.

On top of this, I was booze-free for almost 2 weeks when I decided to quit therapy (I ended up starting No Alcohol May in the last week of Aprll), and in just that short time, my emotions really seemed to stabilize. It might be coincidental. Or it might not be.

Therapy was great, but it was great for reasons that never included “helping me with my problems.” And so I called it quits.

I hate quoting song lyrics because there’s something about it that reeks of emo teenagers with misspelled tattoos and poorly-lit Myspace pictures, but there’s a line from the Linkin Park song Somewhere I Belong that has stuck with me ever since I first heard it in 2003.

“I will never know myself until I do this on my own.”

This one simple line has been the mantra of my entire adult life. It might seem sad, but as someone who values her independence over pretty much everything else, I find it empowering. It means that I can always find it within myself to conquer the obstacles that lay in my path. I may lean on others or employ different tools to help at times (hello, Stratejoy and everyone here who has been so insanely wonderful), but in the end, if it’s my life, it’s ultimately my problem.

So I’ll proceed from here. I don’t have a therapist in my corner anymore, but the drastic upswing in the overall mood of my last few Stratejoy posts makes me realize that I’m doing just fine on my own. I may be outnumbered, but in the battle of Arielle vs. QLC, my money is on me.

Photo credit: My friend took this picture of me when we went camping last summer and I insisted on spending way too long trying to climb this not-very-high pillar.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

Radical acceptance has a best friend.  And that best friend is self compassion.

While I’m all about my newfound appreciation for radical acceptance, I’m still finding it doesn’t quite get me in the frame of mind I need to be in to accomplish my goals and feel good about myself.

This is how I think:

Ugh, Kate won’t stop fussing.

I’m getting annoyed.

It’s only 8:45 a.m.

Today is not going well.

I don’t like today.

Today makes me want to rip all my hair out and scream so loud the people in the next town hear me.

She’s still fussing.

I’m getting beyond frustrated.

Why isn’t today going right?

Wait, wasn’t yesterday kind of like this, too?

I think it was.

And now today seems worse that yesterday.

So every day is getting worse?

Yes!

Everyday is worse than the day before!

It’s because I’m the world’s most terrible and horrible mother.

That has to be why.

Not only that, but I’m a terrible person, too.

I never accomplish anything worthwhile.

Never.

That book I want to write?  That didn’t happen yesterday.  I should have written an entire book during Kate’s nap time.

But instead I went through Google Reader, cleaned up the chicken nugget debris off Kate’s high chair, and thought about replying to emails.

That proves it.  I never accomplish anything.

I am a worthless person.

And there you have it: The Sarah Dispair Cycle.

If I don’t accomplish a certain number of things I decided are worthwhile, then, therefore, I am worthless.  As one could imagine, my list of approved accomplishments are far and away more than any person could accomplish in one day.  Especially a person who cares for a toddler 12 hours a day.  And accomplishing anything with a toddler is akin to trying to operate a motor vehicle while blindfolded and one arm tied behind your back while Elmo’s World plays at peak volume.

So why am I so hard on myself’?

I think it’s because that’s all I know.

When I was a student, being hard on myself served me real well.  It made me motivated, encouraged me to do better and be better.  Set the curve.  Collect those As.  I told myself you can do better and I could because it was between me and my textbook.  That’s it.

Now, there’s miles and miles of life stuff between me and what I want to do.  There’s the toddler and the husband and the dog and the 1958 rambler.  It’s not just me.  Life’s much more complicated and messy.  My time is not my own.

But even though Logical Sarah knows this, that working within the confines of my current life stage doesn’t allow me to write a poignent memoir in a day, Emotional Sarah comes swooping in with the judgements.

Oh, how Emotional Sarah can beat herself up.  You didn’t use your time effectively today.  What’s that, you needed a mental health break after playing at the park for three hours?  Pshhh!  Please.  You don’t deserve a break.  Every minute you aren’t spending with Kate, you must devote to your writing/making something from Pinterest/all that email.  And if you don’t do it all?  Well, then you’d better be ready to accept a big fat zero for today!

That’s kind of rough, huh?

But that’s how I think!  And it’s so wearing.  It doesn’t make me want to do better.  It makes me want to hide in my bedroom under the covers and hope Emotional Sarah can’t find me.

When I told this to my mom, she asked me if I would say those things to a friend of mine.  Would I tell a good friend of mine that she wasn’t doing enough?  That she wasn’t worthwhile because she didn’t accomplish a major life goal in a day?

Absolutely not.  I’d tell my friend she’s doing the best she can.  That not everyday can be filled with major accomplishments.

And I do tell my friends just that.  Seeing as I am the Type-A type, I’ve got heaps of Type-A friends who are also judging themselves by their To Accomplish lists.  I tell them all the time: be gentle with yourself.

So maybe it’s about time I turn that self compassion inwards.

Maybe it’s time I work on some fierce love.

If being mean to myself hasn’t made me feel like a more accomplished woman, then maybe it’s not the answer.  But being kind and loving towards myself?  I think that could be just the ticket.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

It all takes place in my head.  Now I know what you’re thinking- “How are we going to shoot that?”  No worries.  Here’s a glimpse of what it looks like.  It’s great at first, then it gets old, but it catches wind again.  Tomorrow, you’ll be doing something totally unrelated then think about it and kind of chuckle.  It’s great!

The idea came to me from undergoing Fierce Love training with Molly. (Side note regarding royalties: we should probably include her in the million ounces of confidence and self acceptance that this idea is going to bring in.)

Ever feel like you are not supposed to be doing what you were meant to do?  Do you get reminded every minute of every day by a voice in your head? Really, it’s okay to admit that you hear voices.  I hear multiple daily!  (Just don’t tell my Doctor that, or they really will throw me in that Hospital they tried to make me think was a Chuck E Cheese!)  These voices are helpful.  No, really, they are!  Well, they can be.  Once you understand them.  They are The Inner Critic and the Committee!  Coming to your network, Fall 2012.  Oh wait… they’re already here.  *Nice and attention grabbing, right? I know!

Regarding casting, please reference my concept drawings beside each character description.

The Protector

She has a pulsating vein on her neck.  She never smiles and she makes sure I have a bad ass grimace slightly bordering Zoolander Magnum look on my face when walking alone on public streets and sidewalks. She tells me that I should throw in the towel when we’re in the ring together. “Go back home to your mommy, sweet cheeks!” She wisps her fingers through her boy-ish hair that she probably didn’t wash today.  Her philosophy in going back home is for me to incubate for a year, then come back to Cali and try again later.

“No way!” I side swipe her with a windmill kick kinda like this. “I can do this!

She’ll pretend not to cry for awhile but sit and wait for me to question myself again only to pop up with the memorandum again.

She tells me I shouldn’t walk alone at night in dark streets.  I listen, especially when she manifests into an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.  If there is no other way but for me to go down one of these streets, I hurry and keep very aware.  I rarely get into these positions, thank goodness.  There are some shifty streets in Orange County!

Since identifying her, we have come to an understanding.  She knows she can be unreasonable and needs to live a little- to learn to live with a grand portion of uncertainty.  She wants me to stay in and work on the foundation for a better tomorrow- but she wants me to do that every day.  She wants me to lose sleep over it until the point I burn out and just want to get married, have kids, and live through them so I can sit at home and re-watch Disney movies thinking about the career I might have had if only I had listened to her and kept working my butt off.  Sink or swim.  Those are the options.

She’s quite keen on using psychology against me.

The Critic

She’s very adamant about how under-developed I am.  She doesn’t let me forget it.  She does it sweetly in a smug sort of 3rd grade teacher sort of way.  Up until I do something or take on a project, she reminds me of how hard it is going to be and how I’m not ready for such an endeavor.  Once I finish, she praises me for what a trooper I am and how I took that learning curve and surfed its quickly morphing waves.  Then, of course, she’ll remind me not to get a big head and not relax on my achievements that I have to move on as if the wolves are a day behind our wagon and we’re almost to the gold mining West.

She’s very strong but she’s also very loving once I’ve proven that she doesn’t intimidate me.  Of course there’s a lot of self-doubt involved before that happens, but I eventually, and tentatively, win her over.

In terms of body image, she’ll often be on my side.  She’ll remind me how amazing I am, how beautiful and wonderful I am.  Though, she can dish a slap in the face when I’ve dropped the ball or failed to take care of myself, do laundry, wash my hair, etc.  She only wants what’s best for me and my health.

She is definitely more strict on my productiveness and skill developing rather than body image.  She’s kicking my ass making me go to the gym lately though and my body is very thankful, even happy, for it.

The Image Consultant

Sometimes, it seems like she never shows up for work.  I don’t wear make-up.  I don’t feel the need to try to look good (because obviously, it comes natural).  There’s no one I want to impress with my body or with my clothing.  I have a closet full of unbranded, colored shirts that I love to throw on over a pair of jeans.  I have unbranded, colored sundresses that I also love to wear.  The colors make me happy to look at, and to have bounce off of objects and reflections I stand around.  My hair also looks really good against almost any color.  White is a wild card as so is certain yellows.

She determines that the way I feel about what I am wearing is more important than what I look like.  She knows that it’s important to not look like a slob and try, but she wants me to be comfortable.  She knows I have a weird habit of punching air when I’m excited, or kicking things just to see if I can raise my leg that high.  She knows that I need to be comfortable to physically manifest excess energy.  She knows that I love impromptu walks around the neighborhood and through Disneyland.  She made me purchase a decent pair of work shoes that wouldn’t kill my feet if one of these strolls came to fruition once I clocked out.  (For reals… my feetsies hurted so bad in my old shoes!)

So she definitely shows up for work, but she is relaxed and takes things in stride.  She wants me to take care of my insides because it reflects on the outside.  She loves the way my skin glows after I work out and how soft my hair looks once it’s washed.  She could care less about what I wear as long as it’s not stained… which we’re currently tag teaming going through my clothes to get rid of those items.

The Skeptic

She is in between… but when she’s harsh, she’s harsh and when she’s kind, she’s really kind.  She almost kept me from going to San Francisco, but she said “What’s the worst that could happen?” once I took the spontaneous jump. (I won’t tell you what she said before the decision was made… it quite hurt my feelings…)

She is concerned about people’s intentions because she cares about me.  She doesn’t want me to be so open or so friendly so quickly when meeting new people, though she knows that she can give me a stomach ache super quick if I go overboard.  She’s also very good at making me feel awkward when I’ve stepped over a boundary.  It involves long lectures in the courtroom in my head.  She has a graspy voice like Roz from Monster’s Inc.  I hate her lectures, but I love her cat glasses.

She’s even more thrown for a loop when people show me the same super quick friendliness that I normally show first.  When this happens, she makes me retreat quickly and question everything. Why is this person talking to you?  What does he/she want?  Hide your credit cards and lock your chastity belt because obviously they want to kill you.  Whoa, baby!  Calm down!  She gets serious.  Quickly.  I’m learning how to calm her but still find myself retreating from social situations like above.

Final Thoughts

I have realized that my committee is rather close to being one entity.  Each one that I explored started to bleed into the next.  A few would border on being repetitions of each other but in the end it all boils out of the need to protect me out of love.  They love me and want what’s best for me.  It’s like I have my Mom and Dad in my head, only they yell and throw Snooki fits.  My parents have always been supportive of everything I have done.  I have no expectations to fulfill because I’ve already surpassed what they had hoped for me.  They know I’ll get to where I want to be.  My committee knows this, too, but they also know they need to slap a few reality checks on me every once in awhile, too.   Unscripted and unapologetic, I’m glad they’re around.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

Today I’m babysitting a kitten. Not just a kitten, but a baby-infant-little-pipsqueak-of-a-kitten. Apparently some person found her, dropped her off at the local liquor store, and my friend took her home and is now bottle feeding her every two hours.

It’s strange having to care for something so completely vulnerable and unable to take care of itself. It makes me feel incredibly responsible and attentive since I had to slumber in a half awake state for about ten minutes so my cat wouldn’t find it and squash it… or eat it… or play mommy to it (though this option is highly unlikely). I mean, this kitten is pocket-sized. She just topples around, her little limbs just learning how to lift up and move in coordination. This little gal will grow though and eventually she’ll be like my cat, immediately walking over to the litter box to pee instead of urinating on my lap, walking around wherever it desires without needing frequent cuddling, I guess we’re all that way though. I know I’ve been in circumstances where I would be pretty close to “useless” if I didn’t have someone watching my back or wouldn’t be able to get anything done if I didn’t have an extra hand reaching out to grab on to all the falling pieces.

That’s pretty much what my week’s been like. For 14 days straight I had to work at the coffee shop. I’ve forgotten about burnout on a job. I mean, about 5 of those days were prepping and running a giant catering order for Yale’s pre-frosh days. By the end of it I was completely exhausted and I know I would have been even more distressed and pissed off if I didn’t have coworkers to clean up some of the coffee cambros and milk containers once I brought them back after hours of brewing coffee, running the order to its location, and returning everything to the the store.

This week I also got a call from my aunt offering to help out with the wedding. I still need to figure out what I’d like for her to help with, but the fact that she offered, especially since I’ve been a tad overwhelmed with wedding-planning makes my heart radiate with smiles. I think I sometimes forget that people enjoy helping out and that people are often way more compassionate and considerate than I give them credit for. (I blame this on living on the East Coast). Living out west, I feel like I was always gladly offering assistance to my siblings and friends and they were always helping me. It felt more communal.

During my senior year in high school I took several advanced courses and wore myself out with the hours of homework I had to do every night. I spent a lot of nights crying so I could get into a good school. A good chunk of the time my mom had to tell me to slack off. I usually didn’t, but sometimes I took a personal day or two off from school. There was one particular time I remember being so stressed out with all I had to do (this is obviously a common scenario in my life) and I was sitting on the couch and I purposefully feel backwards shrieking “This isn’t life, this is death at an early age” as I pulled a blanket over my head and wept.

For all my dramatics, my mother declares it my Anne of Green Gables moment. I can be a drama queen, not usually, but if you know me really well you’ll see it. I wouldn’t have gotten by if I didn’t have my mom telling me it would be fine and I didn’t need to be so hard on myself. I would have been even more of a wreck if one of my friends, even with her own ridiculously busy schedule, didn’t offer her help at every turn, help that I gratefully accepted.

Sometimes I have trouble accepting help. I admit it. I’ll also admit the following: I take anti-depressants. I’ve had trouble with depression since I was about nine years old and when I was fourteen I was officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety, and Depression. For about a year I was dead to the world. Nothing seemed real, I cried every day, I thought frequently of dying, and I was absolutely lost.

Even thinking about it now makes me a little anxious and a little bummed since such a hefty portion of my adolescence was spent in my own personal hell. I’m glad I went through it though. I’m glad I had time to sort through a good chuck of  life’s quandaries. It was during that time that I came to many conclusions regarding my own personal values. For example, that’s when I realized that I believe that each faith has it’s own validity and each is just a different path to the same end. It’s when I realized in the importance of ceaseless compassion. It’s when I came to recognize what Sarah calls Radical Acceptence.

If I didn’t have my family to calm me down in the middle of the night, to let me cry into their lap as they just listened and tried to offer words of advice, to take me to a counselor to get me the help I so desperately needed, I might not even be alive now because of self-negligence or suicide. I was so completely vulnerable at that time and I was very much reliant on others.

We need each other. As human beings we require one another for support, for comfort, for care. Even if we think we’re absolutely independent, at one time in our lives we’ve needed another being to sustain us.

Life certainly comes full circle. I need to keep that in perspective. I need to realize that sometimes I’m in the place to properly care for other beings with my whole soul and at other times, I desperately need others to help care for me… and sometimes that’s okay.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

I’m on the road again, driving 3.5 hours distance towards Yuma, AZ. Last night, I woke up from a nightmare and had no idea where I was for the first few seconds of groggy grappling in the dark for a light switch.  I ran to Victoria’s Secret to buy more clean underwear. My DVR is full, and I am currently keeping multiples of things like shampoo, conditioner and toothpaste. I ate a ½ a bag of stale Fritos, and sucked the crumbs out of the corner nook for lunch, while wizzing down the I-85. My exercise regime, aside from sex, is currently null and void. Yes, you guessed it…I’m in a long distance relationship.

Limbo and I are old friends. I feel like limbo and waiting go hand-in-hand, as varying shades of grey. And you know I’m a champ at waiting. Limbo is it’s a calmer, chiller cousin. It’s waiting because of circumstance, not because of fear.

I need a little limbo in my life, though I never would have said that 6 months ago. I’ve waited in limbo for jobs, relationships, and school, but this one is frustrating and joyful. It’s the melding and creation of two lives into one. That’s not something that can be done in mere moments. I go back and forth on the long distance; that it’s frustrating yet a good thing. I’m torn in my thoughts, between the two, one moment I’m on team frustrated, the other on team good for us.

We are learning a lot, being in an uncomfortable position. All the little stuff that normally comes up seems stupid, and somehow the small annoyances don’t matter.  On the other, I’m freaking sick of feeling unsettled all the time. I’m living out of a bag, even for the few days a week that I’m home in Phoenix. I dump laundry into the wash, and then pack them back up again out of the dryer. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to cook in my own kitchen. I miss my little photo studio office. Despite the discomfort and the longing for my material consolations, I wouldn’t trade what’s on the other end of that travel for anything.

There is an adventure to this. We appreciate our moments together more. It is humbling to yearn for each other. And as we start to feel quite blue, I remind us that military families would be grateful for only 3.5 hours of separation.

Mr. Paul Child has a roommate. Very nice guy, but it’s pretty funny to be making out on the couch in varying states of undress and hear the garage door opening. Making eggs in your underwear suddenly is impossible. Sex on the pool table is non-existent.

I have no space. A nomad with a car full of cooking equipment.

Mr. Paul Child has brought calmness to my life. He lets me be me, and loves when I get a little nutty. The distance sucks, but it’s not something we can’t overcome. He’s this incredible anchor for me…letting me create my business, dream, be nutty, and he tethers me to reality and safety.

One of my Stratejoy-mates commented that this is like my own romantic comedy. It feels like that, but where the hell is my neat bow where we end up happily living in Phoenix, and fabulous soundtrack to help narrate my life? I would also love the fabulous wardrobe and perfect hair and make-up when I wake up.

There is nothing normal about my/our journey. It is deliciously unique and I cherish that. Everything that’s happening feels so right. I’m not controlling it. For once in my life, I’m not trying to. I’m allowing myself to float down the lazy river of love.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

Fifty percent of me is actually a healthy skeptic. I mean, wishing things into existence? Really? If it were as simple as that, where’s my winning lottery ticket or someone offering me a job as a professional puppy cuddler, complete with a six-figure salary and mandatory afternoon naptime? There’s gotta be more to creating the life we imagine than merely thinking happy thoughts and having them appear like I Dream of Jeannie– likely involving at least a few buckets of blood, sweat and tears.

But the other fifty percent of me has experienced quite a few situations– many of them quite recently– that make me unable to fully brush off manifesting as new age bullcrap.

1. In early January, I collaged a new vision board for 2012. I spent an evening tearing through magazines for words and images, trying to evoke the feelings I’d like to make central in my life over the next several months. For me, vision boards had never been about the manifestation of specific things, but rather a visual reminder to keep my goals and values central to my everyday life.

In one corner of the poster board I placed the cover of a creative arts magazine as a reminder to keep creating and experimenting… and, yes, part of me hoped to be published in said magazine someday.

Less than 48 hours after finishing my vision board, I received a message from the managing editor of that very magazine asking me to submit my artwork for publishing consideration after she’d seen some of my work online. I had only a few days to pull together the materials for submission, but I did it, and the editor ended up asking me to write an article for the magazine. The issue will be out this summer (yay!).

My inner manifestation skeptic gave this scenario the side-eye while wrinkling up her nose. Well, that’s quite a coincidence, she thought. Pretty AWESOME, but still, just a coincidence.

2. Also in January, I made a list of a few main goals I wanted to achieve in each of my nine “slices of life” areas. In the “Adventure” category, my number one goal was to take an international trip or an extensive road trip across the USA.

Later that month, my husband’s employer discussed the possibility of needing an engineer for a project in Ireland. Two weeks later, Mark was on a plane overseas and I followed shortly behind him, while all of our arrangements were taken care of by the company. Today, we are squeezing in amazing weekend trips around Ireland and to Scotland, with some travel planned after Mark’s work assignment ends.

The manifestation skeptic slowly unfurled her brow and tried to mask the curiosity building in her eyes.

3. Most recently– after sitting with the overwhelm I expressed in a previous Stratejoy post– I decided to finish up the final week of Stratejoy’s Create Your Magical Year program (yes, it’s now May. Is it obvious I’m a procrastinator?). I figured it would do me some good to clarify my goals for each of my various interest areas, since I clearly have too much going on. One of my revised goals for my “Creativity” slice of life was to sell a photography print or piece of artwork.

The morning immediately after I scribbled my artsy goals on my Magical Year worksheets, a lovely Twitter/blog friend contacted me randomly about buying a print of some of my artwork she’d seen in a picture on Instagram.

The manifestation skeptic couldn’t help but crack a little smile.

If these aren’t examples of manifesting, I don’t know what is. So how does the practical, over-thinking doubter find resolution with my flowy, hippie side to make sense of this all?

I’ve considered these situations from a variety of angles and I’ve determined that positive thinking is only part of the equation when it comes to manifesting.

I think that getting clear about my goals and values helped me recognize what kind of opportunities I wanted to arise. When I’ve been vague, overwhelmed, and confused mentally (such as during my period of bad jobs), I find the situations that arise for me are equally confusing. Every time I’ve gotten clear and specific, I’ve moved towards my goals or been presented with opportunities that align with them. And sometimes these moments of clarity happen long before they make sense– long before I ever met Mark, I knew it was important that my partner be an explorer and interested in other cultures. Maybe holding that value was one piece of the puzzle that brought Mark and me to Ireland.

I also practice being in a mindset of gratitude. I am incredibly grateful for the abundance in my life, the people that love me, and the opportunities I’m given– and I think that helps me continue to be open to experiencing good things (even if I’m not sure whether I’m “attracting” good things, or just teaching myself to be more mindful of what may already be available to me).

I’m working towards cleaning up my own mental junk. For me, this primarily has to do with my self-confidence and showing up authentically. This seems to be an important piece to the manifesting process so we don’t self-sabotage our efforts towards achieving our dreams. Because I’ve been working on authenticity and confidence (albeit slowly), I’ve become more comfortable with putting my work into the world, which allows this extension of me to be seen and opportunities like the magazine article and selling my artwork to arise. I’m learning to trust that when I put myself out there with authentic intentions, I will find my way to the people that matter.

I try not to get attached to the outcome. This is a constant work in progress, but I don’t want to inadvertently miss out on something because I had a different idea of how it would look. (Note to self: This is quite applicable to our fertility journey– our family might end up manifesting in a number of different ways.)

To me, the entire manifesting process is like training yourself to see doors where you may have only seen solid walls before. You don’t always know what’s on the other side of them, but you trust that it’ll be good– you wouldn’t create a home in a bad neighborhood, after all. Recognizing these doors allows you to walk towards them and through them– not to some magical land where puppy cuddling is a real job, but to a place where more and more doors are presented to you that all lead you closer to your dream life.

I don’t think my inner skeptic can argue with the beauty of that.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

I was walking home from work when my cell phone rang. “Hi, I have a delivery for apartment 20. I’m downstairs in your building.”

A delivery? For me? HOORAY BIRTHDAY PRESENTS! I ran the remaining 2 blocks to my building, grabbed the massive, unwieldy package from the man’s arms, and hoofed it up my 5 flights of stairs.

I set the package down on the kitchen table. It was a huge basket from Edible Arrangements with tons of fruit shaped into flowers, resembling an actual bouquet. I hunted around for a card so I could figure out who sent this awesome present. I finally found it but I didn’t see any “From” field on it. I flipped it over – nothing on the other side either. I decided to just read the card and go from there.

My eyes scanned the words. And then again. And again. There were only 6 little words on this card but it took what seemed like hours to process what I was reading, for my brain to finally kick in. Yes, Arielle. It really does say what you think it says.

“Eat some fruit, you’re getting fat.”

That’s what the card said. The card on my BIRTHDAY PRESENT. I immediately knew which of my friends had sent it, and that this was his idea of a joke. I knew he didn’t mean to offend me, but, well, he had.

I ran to my room and cried into my pillow. At some point I cleaned myself up and went downtown to the birthday dinner I had planned with a few friends. I acted like nothing was wrong, too hurt to even think about retelling the story. I came home from dinner and continued crying until I fell asleep.

——

I still hate that story. I cringe thinking about how one of my closest friends thought he was making an innocent joke and instead ended up going for the jugular (we are no longer friends, though not because of this incident). It was like someone cut to the core of everything I’ve ever hated about myself and summed it up in the world’s most painful 6 word memoir.

I now live a few short blocks from an Edible Arrangements store in Brooklyn. I pass it on my way to the gym, and every time I see it I think of that birthday and how miserable that stupid fruit bouquet made me feel. I recently decided that in order to stop feeling hurt and rage every time I walked by, I needed to replace that terrible memory with a better one.

I went to the Edible Arrangements website to pick something out for myself. I wanted to buy the exact flower arrangement that I had received in 2007, but my friend had apparently shelled out way too much money in his quest to give me a hurtful birthday present, so I settled on something more affordable – a small box of truffles, tiny pieces of fruit that were half coated in chocolate.

Then came the hard part: writing the card. Lots of vengeful phrases came to mind, fighting words that I had never used against the friend who made me feel so awful.

Fuck you, asshole!

At least I’m not a miserable human being like you.

You’re probably going to die alone, douchebag.

For some reason this didn’t seem productive. I shouldn’t focus my energy on being bitter, I should focus on me, right? Suddenly, I knew what I had to do.

——

During week 1 of the Stratejoy Fierce Love course, there’s an assignment to write a love letter to yourself. After reading my love letter aloud to Molly, Katie and my fellow season 6 bloggers on a Google+ hangout a few weeks ago, Molly challenged me to read the letter every day for a few weeks.

Writing this card was the first real test of whether or not my attitude toward myself had changed since I started Fierce Love. Was I truly starting to love myself for who I was, or was I going to continue letting external negativity bring me down?

On April 24^th, the day I turned 28 and a half, I walked into the Edible Arrangements store and picked up my truffles. I came home, ignored the fruit, and even though I had written it myself, went straight for the card. It contained a teeny excerpt from my love letter.

“You are amazing. You might still be waiting for a few of your doors to open, but I have no doubt that they will, eventually. You have so many wonderful, exciting things in store for you, and I can’t wait to be there with you, watching you kick ass. I love you. And don’t ever forget it.

-Arielle”

The best part about this whole thing is that I really believe it. I still have insecurities and still need to work on my confidence, but I truly believe that I’ll get there. Because I am amazing, and I am going to start kicking ass one day soon.

Now, walking past the Edible Arrangements store just makes me smile.

Photo credit: QuinnDombrowski

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.

 Me in London.  (Please note, I’m pregnant in this picture.  I did not in fact eat too many crumpets.)

Me in Capri.

I do lots of stuff other people tell me they’d never do.

Start my own writing business.

Become a group fitness instructor.

Take on motherhood.

I lead a group of over 400 members for my local moms group.  Spill my guts here on Stratejoy and on my own blog.  Go to blog conferences alone, without knowing anyone, rooming by myself and have every bad thing I thought would happen to me, happen to me.

It’s true, I get nervous and anxious about those things.  But blinded by determination, I just hold my nose and jump in the deep end.

You would think I’m sort of adventurous.

But I’m not.

I’ll strap on a mic and lead a group of 25 people through a step class and go right up and introduce myself to moms I meet at the park without thinking twice.

But I won’t travel.

I’ve never been much of a traveler.  I prefer my own bed and my own house and my own coffee maker and my own routine.  As much as I like to change things up and take on new challenges in my life, I don’t like to mess up my schedule.

Dan loves to travel.

Since he travels for work on a regular basis, nothing about traveling phases Dan.  He’s an expert packer, moves through security like he’s preforming a graceful dance, rents cars and sleeps through the night easily in any hotel room.

Not me.

After Dan and I got married, he planned this elaborate honeymoon with stops in Capri, Rome, and the South of France.  I didn’t participate in any part of the planning.  I didn’t want to know about it because I knew it would freak me out.  So I laid out my stuff and let Dan pack it all away and tried not to think about it.

Once we got to Capri, I did a little better.  I took pictures, tried to relax, eventually was able to sleep even though the bed wasn’t anything like my bed at home.

But when we arrived in Rome, I wanted to go home.  We’d been gone a couple of days, and the spontaneity of travel wore on me.  I got tired of finding places to get a reliable dinner, sick of living out of a suitcase, craving my routine.

Since I knew I couldn’t just go home – and I really should enjoy the wonder that is Italy – I stuck it out and made it through the rest of the trip.  I absolutely enjoyed myself.  But there was a part of me that felt relieved to get home.

Dan’s tried to get me to accompany him on various business trips, get me to plan weekend get aways.  But I won’t do it.  The only other time he got me to go away was two years ago when he bribed me with an iPod Touch if I agreed to go to London and Paris with him.

What kind of a girl needs a bribe to take a fun trip with her husband?

Me.  Miss Routine.

Anyway, this lack of adventurous spirit is not good for me.  While I usually subscribe to the do what’s best for you and don’t force yourself mentality, I think this issue deserves an astrisk.  There’s a difference between a genuine feeling of concern and an unwillingness to go anywhere because you prefer your own coffee.

Travel feels scary spontaneous to me.  I’m don’t do stuff on a whim.  I prefer to know how things are going to go.  With travel, planes are delayed, hotel rooms get mixed up, and for someone who is directionally challenged, not know where I am, specifically, gets to me.

So while I can’t change who I am at my core, being more adventurous is on my list of Things To Do.  I want to get away because, really, my everyday mommy routine can border on the mundane.  Everyday is starting to look the same.  Like my own personal Groundhog’s Day.

The thing about travel that I do like is the feeling of freshness.  No matter how much I dreaded the trip, I always come back feeling renewed and inspired.  But since I won’t make travel part of life, I don’t get out enough, and those feel-good feelings wash away fast.

I promised Dan I’d help him plan a weekend get away.  Like, soon.  I don’t know the when or where.  But I do know why.  Every so often I need to get away from what I know, get a new perspective, change up my view so I can come back to my every day life with renewed zeal.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.