tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82556687029200316332024-03-13T07:00:09.969-07:00Adventures from Mommyhood and BeyondBratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-56922689728937782792022-09-30T17:22:00.000-07:002022-10-01T06:18:28.278-07:00On Being on the Shore with a Teaspoon
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My doctor once explained to me that the mind was like a river and our thoughts were like the water; effortlessly flowing in the direction of the current.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Brain research suggests that over 90% of our thoughts are the exact same every single day. Meaning that the river of our mind is deeply entrenched, continuing to flow in the same direction and with the same ease, day in and day out. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But what happens if the water in that river is toxic? What happens if the direction of that current causes us suffering? </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then what?</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If our thoughts and responses are ones of fear and self-doubt, and those thoughts happen effortlessly because we’ve spent years allowing the water to forge a path, then it becomes harder and harder to change over time.</span><span style="text-align: left; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1-NrhlrT81KVZx1PUuhbffobin1lv2sNx" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1-NrhlrT81KVZx1PUuhbffobin1lv2sNx" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In more formal terms, that river is our neural pathways and those thoughts become so habitual that we don’t even realize they are happening. And just like that, we get swept away by the current of our own thinking.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Those who wrestle with especially anxious thoughts on a regular basis, their river can be even more dangerous because the current is that much stronger and can easily take you under. Keeping my head above water has been a very real part of my life over when the River rages.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That being said, our brains can be reprogrammed. Our neural pathways can be changed and reshaped. And the more we practice doing so, the easier it becomes. A new habit is being formed. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But it means taking something that has been rushing forth for decades and asking it to move four feet to the left where the terrain is a bit gentler!</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A huge part of this healing season for me revolves around changing the path of my river. Creating gaps between the outer world and my inner world. Using language and intention to carve out a new direction. Questioning my thoughts and reflecting on the patterns that have led me down turbulent paths. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Does shame actually belong here? (Hard no.)</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Is it really my job to live up to other people’s expectations of me? (Nopey nopey nope.)</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Do I truly have a reason to feel unsafe in my body? (Surprisingly, no.)</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It’s a strange experience to witness your own thoughts and to push back against them when they have spent the better part of your life running the show. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I believe this is where healing and transformation live—in the questions—in the awareness—in the confrontation of the things that make us deeply uncomfortable. The transformation is in the understanding that we always have a choice about which story to write.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m not going to lie though; most of the time it feels like I’m sitting next to the Nile, trying to dig a new trench with a teaspoon. I tend to gravitate towards the familiar—even if the familiar is the same water that is slowly poisoning me.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="text-align: left; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1Ui7dq-tLHdyXsp-PeEXMPlmeNxVBog_0" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1Ui7dq-tLHdyXsp-PeEXMPlmeNxVBog_0" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Healing really is a combination of both deep beauty and deep pain. I hurt a lot of the time. I fight off doubt a lot of the time. I grieve a lot of the time. And yet, I also feel slivers of freedom shining through. The softening of calcification that has happened through the experience of life. Intuition beginning to override trauma and fear. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It’s very slow and it’s incredibly hard at times. And on days like today, it brings me to my knees. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But the time is going to pass anyways. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So I will continue to sit here, teaspoon in hand, on the banks of a river that I’ve spent a lifetime creating.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And as a friend gently reminded today… if I’ve done it before, then I can do it again.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="text-align: left; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1TMVf8SXlgM0cc-Oa1lrr6v4fue-IfrVm" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1TMVf8SXlgM0cc-Oa1lrr6v4fue-IfrVm" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p class="p3"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.3); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></font></span></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-68368355271659985882022-09-21T15:57:00.000-07:002022-10-01T06:18:24.317-07:00On Falling<div>You know what I love about acorns?</div><div><br></div><div><img src="blob:file:///32a2276a-e689-4d8f-8c34-25b58542f74b" width="255" height="198"><br></div><div><br></div><div>I love that falling is part of their life cycle. I love that crashing to the ground is necessary for growth. I love that letting go is the first step towards becoming strong and wonderful. </div><div><br></div><div>Leaves fall in honour of their tree. They fall so that the tree can withstand the added weight of snow that comes with winter. Leaves let go so that something else can grow.</div><div><br></div><div>But acorns fall so that they can grow.</div><div><br></div><div>Every oak was once an acorn.</div><div><br></div><div>I've been getting a lot of messages lately asking if I'm alright.</div><div><br></div><div>"I can't quite tell from your posts if you're doing okay or if you're going through something hard," the gentle words often say.</div><div><br></div><div>The answer is yes and yes. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm good. But it doesn't always feel good.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm working on lots of fun projects and creating lots of beautiful relationships and untangling a lot of important stuff.</div><div><br></div><div>And in between those moments of growing and creating and healing, there are moments of discomfort and frustration and doubt.</div><div><br></div><div>Life is funny that way, isn't it?</div><div><br></div><div>Even the beauty is lined with very human impatience.</div><div><br></div><div>I guess you could say that I'm an acorn who very much wants to be an oak tree!</div><div><br></div><div>I fell to the ground and while I know that it's part of what I needed to go through, I feel ready to start growing my new roots and reaching for the sky.</div><div><br></div><div>But life, like nature, is not interested in rushing. It does its own work in its own time. And no amount of me trying to tell the Universe otherwise is going to change that.</div><div><br></div><div>So I keep plucking away; one day at a time--more learning and reflecting, more untangling, more healing…more falling. Sometimes it feels like I'm taking two steps forward and one heartbreaking step back. Other times it feels like I'm taking two steps forward and an entire plane ride back.</div><div><br></div><div>So, here's to patience...to nature's timing...and to blooming where we're planted! 🍂</div><div><br></div><div><img src="blob:file:///c3df7bab-3311-48ae-a14c-00aa6bf3f429"><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-50660003289108546992021-01-28T18:10:00.001-08:002021-01-28T18:10:21.354-08:00On Dark Neighbourhoods and Begging for Help<div>Not long after Chester Bennington--lead singer of Linkin Park--died, I listened to a podcast about his struggle with mental illness. He compared it to walking alone, in the dark, through a really bad neighbourhood. As the words lingered in the air, I could feel my throat tighten and a single tear form in the corner of my eye. </div><div><br></div><div>I thought about that interview while I sat in my doctor’s office—with a flood of tears streaming down my face--begging for help that I hadn’t recognized that I needed. </div><div><br></div><div>I know that bad neighbourhood all too well. I’ve been there many times. And though I’m skirting that place right now, it’s possible that I will always have to work harder than others to not veer in that direction.</div><div><br></div><div>Into the darkness. Into the fear. Into the isolation of it all.</div><div><br></div><div>And part of me still struggles to write about it.</div><div><br></div><div>Because I know what people think when they hear the word ‘anxiety’.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what it’s like to have someone assume that you’re just too “emotional” or “fragile” or “sensitive”.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what it’s like to have someone question your strength, your resilience, your mental stability.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what it’s like to be told to just “chill out”, “settle down”, “not worry so much” or “take a walk”…as though that’s an option that had never been considered before.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what’s it’s like for people to have no idea how much you’re actually suffering.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what’s it’s like to be held hostage by something that you can’t explain while being surrounded by people who don’t understand.</div><div><br></div><div>I know what it’s like.</div><div><br></div><div>And I did choose to keep it to myself.</div><div><br></div><div>Literally. For years.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Because, honestly, I don’t like talking about it.</div><div><br></div><div>I don’t like talking about how too many people together in a room makes me nervous. I don’t like talking about the irrational irritability and the tears that threaten to drown me. </div><div><br></div><div>I don’t like discussing what it’s like to lose your memory or your peripheral vision or your sense of safety, or my inability to problem solve in the midst of a panic attack.</div><div><br></div><div>I don’t like sharing about the guilt that I carry for the people who love me and have to live with this.</div><div><br></div><div>I don’t like explaining to a person how trauma gets stored in the form of seemingly irrational but nonetheless crippling fear.</div><div><br></div><div>I really don’t like talking about any of these things.</div><div><br></div><div>Because it’s terrifying and painful and makes something inside of me physically ache just looking at the words.</div><div><br></div><div>But we need to.</div><div><br></div><div>Please hear me again; we need to.</div><div><br></div><div>We need to talk about what that dark neighbourhood looks like and feels like and sounds like. There is someone else out there walking in their own dark neighbourhood. Because someone needs to know what anxiety and depression is really like for a person living through it. We don’t need to walk through life alone.</div><div><br></div><div>And because the only way out of shame and fear and guilt...is to stop hiding in a corner with it.</div><div><br></div><div>There is so much to be said about the need to recognize, nurture and fight for your mental health. Especially now.</div><div><br></div><div>I have spent my entire adult life walking in and out of these neighbourhoods. Most of the time, it’s a brief visit after taking a wrong turn. A few times, I’ve wandered alone and lost for much longer than I would have liked.</div><div><br></div><div>But each and every time, the only thing that helped me find my way out…was following the sound of a voice.</div><div><br></div><div>Not a guiding light or a set of arrows or a sequence of actions; it was a voice.</div><div><br></div><div>It was the voice of a friend sharing their own experience. It was the voice of a friend who said “I’ll go with you”. It was the voice of a doctor sending for help. It was the voice of a loved one telling me that they missed me. It is the voice my mom couldn’t find. </div><div><br></div><div>And then....it was my own voice. Sometimes, it was a quiet whisper of desperation and other times, it was a final cry of strength.</div><div><br></div><div>Either way, it was the sound of love fighting back.</div><div><br></div><div>We need to talk about it. We need more voices.</div><div><br></div><div>Friends, let’s reach out. Let’s check in. Let’s call out.</div><div><br></div><div>Let’s fight back.</div><div><br></div><div>And if you are wandering in this dark and scary place right now, follow the voice that leads you home. Whatever that voice may be.</div><div><br></div><div>Especially if it’s your own.</div><div><iframe frameborder="0" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Tm8LGxTLtQk" width="640" height="360" class="note-video-clip"></iframe><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-27687335496523864032020-04-22T14:54:00.000-07:002020-04-22T15:09:25.970-07:00On Being A Mess and the Beauty in the Mud<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wish I could tell you there was another way.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wish I could give you a road map that was clean and flawless and perfect in every way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wish I could pull out the rule book. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I can’t, because I’ve never experienced it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The truth is, I only know one way. And. It’s. Messy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Whether it's been creating relationships…creating words…or creating a moment. It’s been messy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I used to be afraid of the mess; afraid of the flaws that might appear if things got dirty along the way. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Until I realized that the greatest beauty I’ve ever known has arisen from the disheveled pieces of a very messy life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The most valued relationships I have in my life are with the people who were willing to stand in the mud with me. It seems that there is so much beauty in walking through the trenches with someone, facing their battle, and finding your way out together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The most precious words I’ve ever written in my life are the creations that exist bound by grit and sand. Because there is so much beauty in having a vision, watching it dissolve to pieces, then transform into something new. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The most meaningful moments I’ve ever had in my life are the ones spent with my hands and knees covered in dirt. There is so much grace in having been buried, digging yourself out, and uncovering the strongest version of yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wish I could tell you there was another way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I can’t. Because I’ve never experienced it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I CAN tell you that life is often very messy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And if you’re willing to embrace that mess, there isn’t just beauty on the other side of it, there is beauty inside of it too. Afterall, the lotus flower blossoms from the mud. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If you are needing someone to join in the mud please reach out. We are in this together. And let me tell you, when we come out of the trenches it will be beautiful.</span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sPoI7QxDFxU/XqDAVd9HnLI/AAAAAAAABH8/IcvMLiJUb1A_nYacOLS7_yEKW-hXJQvZACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="310" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sPoI7QxDFxU/XqDAVd9HnLI/AAAAAAAABH8/IcvMLiJUb1A_nYacOLS7_yEKW-hXJQvZACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/download.jpeg" /></a></div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-45601744805291312942020-02-10T21:12:00.000-08:002020-02-10T21:12:29.283-08:00On the Healing Powers of Writing- A Eulogy
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The past couple weeks have been tough. I’ve had to rely on old coping skills and new ones too. On Wednesday, my grandpa died and it seemed like everything in my world became hyper-focused on that. Maybe his death allowed me refuge from other strife. I was asked by my remaining family to write and deliver the eulogy. As I walked picket lines, lugged kids to arenas, and went about other typical and non-typical tasks, these words lingered in my head all week. As we drove to the funeral Friday night here is where I landed. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To my grandpa. To my grandma. To my mom. To my dad. To my aching heart....</span><font color="#000000"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">**************************</span></font></font><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">First off, my aunt heather, uncle ray, and </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">uncle gary, Aunt aline, uncle Ken, aunt sue and uncle bob and Diane, my cousins and their families, all want to sincerely thank you for your efforts in being here, not only today but throughout the years. You have filled our hearts with laughter, memories and enduring friendship. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We wish to also take this moment to publicly recognize the staff at Hanover hospital. To the unparalleled compassionate care at Chapman house we thank you from the very bottom of our hearts. We encourage those wishing to memorialize Norman Dempsey Yost to consider donating to Chapman House so that other families can continue to benefit from the amazing care they offer. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As the eldest and best looking grandchild, I’ve been asked to say some words on behalf of the Yost family. about my Grandpa, Dempsey. But before I begin, I have to say that eulogies are impossible. </span></font></span><span class="s2"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Eulogies are impossible because words simply cannot capture love.</span></font></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I will undoubtedly fail to perfectly articulate the immeasurable and indescribable husband, father, brother, uncle, cousin, grandfather, great grandfather, and friend that he was. For all of us who were blessed enough to know and love my grandpa, the only things that will truly capture who he was are the warm memories that we each hold within our hearts. I consider this a great honour to represent our family for you all today. I'll try to do justice to this larger than life person with such a huge, embracing spirit.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It is an odd thing, speaking at the funeral of the man that has served as the narrator of your lives. In the hours and days since his death, It seems as though many of us have lost our words. I suppose it is because he was the person that provided me with so many of them. Listening to stories it seems as though he's provided many of you with such beautiful memories. So many times over the past few days, as we’ve struggled or hurt or hoped I’ve thought, we should call grandma and grandpa. They’d both get on the phone and jockey for who would have the next word, but they would most certainly help us all to see this the right way. So, together, let’s try to find comfort in the paths we’ve shared as a result of our love for Norman Dempsey Yost. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My grandfather and I had a number of secrets between us. And as I’m learning so did many of you. Many of the secrets, I can’t tell; the salient feature of a secret is NOT the matter contained within the secret, but the personal relationship and trust implied.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But hey whats a few a secrets between a hundred friends and family. I think it’s important that we share in celebration, and because I think that my grandpa won’t mind that we chuckle at his expense, I’ll share one of my close held secrets. My grandfather once told me that he would have liked to have been a teacher like me. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Like I said, it’s a little secret. It’s a little dream. But ever since he told it to me, several years ago now, the image of my grandfather in front of a class, teaching something cool like history, has stayed fixed in my memory. It is something that seems right and true.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Part of this may have to do with the fact that, in a very real sense, my grandfather embodied history to me. I have only just now come to that point in my life where time has loosed itself from its moorings, and memory has begun to develop an appreciable depth. But to me, my grandfather always seemed to have that depth.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We can all remember asking our grandparents about their lives; it’s fascinating to a young person, because here is someone talking about a time and a place that never existed or could exist for that young person. Here, before you, is someone who has traveled through time.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And as you reconstruct the past with a grandparent, you also reconstruct the person. My grandfather had always been my grandpa: Older, balding, slightly grumpy, and have that perpetual grandpa smell. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But he was also once a child, born in Hamilton, Ontario to Earl and Meta Yost.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He shared in recent months that he loved to play baseball, hockey, and lacrosse with his childhood friends, most of whom remained lifelong friends. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He shared, with pride, with work ethic, starting working on farm then entering the workforce in high school. He started at the hosiery Mill, Ontario hydro, PUC and as the volunteer fire chief in Hanover . I remember seeing my grandpa in his dress uniform and being so proud. At about 17 Norman Yost was given the nickname Dempsey after, Jack dempsey, the boxer. Truth be told I always knew him as and I think many of you recall him the same way, Dempsey. You see, he was a bit of a fighter when he was 17 or 18. He was offered a chance to box In Hamilton but Great Grandpa earl insisted that he lay roots In Hanover with the family and that is EXACTLY what he did. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What resonates with me is that grandpa lived from a place of service, hard work and dedication in all that he did. And reflecting on his legacy I look at his 5 children and 9 grandchildren and can’t help be be struck by the fact you have all lived up to his legacy by always striving for excellence. He was so stinkin proud of each of you, even if I was his favourite. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="text-align: left; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1AA52VGdXcI7c9lr3e9cOAc_i6IwdcHqr" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1AA52VGdXcI7c9lr3e9cOAc_i6IwdcHqr" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If I’m being honest, we were all his “second” favourites because his one true love and his ultimate favourite was undoubtedly Gwendolyn Rose Lahr, whom he married in 1951 Grandma and grandpa lived a fairy tale if I’ve ever heard one. Their fairy tale includes .....</span></font></span></p>
<ul class="ul1">
<li class="li1"><span class="s3"></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’ll spare you much of the sappy details but Grandpa would go hunting while grandma waited for her love to return. Upon his arrival she would faithfully pluck each feather from the goose, clean 100 perch, or prepare the deer for the winter freeze.</span></font></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s3"></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The two of them loved nothing more more than having their family together for a holiday. Grandma would slave over a stove for 2 days, making a beautiful meal for the family that seemed to exponentially grow by the month, grandpa would lovingly remind her about the buns and side plates. Such teamwork!</span></font></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s3"></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They worked hard but they played hard also. Lawn bowling, horseshoes, and more than few trips to Niagara and everything in between. They extended their fairy tale to picturesque Mexico, Portugal and the faired tale of the cruise down the reine into Germany. Grampa would say it was so perfect he wanted to take us all. Not to mention their very romantic trips to Fort Eerie to visit his sister Marie, niece Debbie and her boys Craig and David. </span></font></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s3"></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They were perfectly coupled dancers. He would lead his Gwenny through many a dance and even teach Brenda to love the jive. Truly, there is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t give to see my mom and grandpa jive together. For from my moms perspective this was her superhero. Her dad. Now the three of them are dancing together and I find peace in that. </span></font></span></li>
<li class="li1"><span class="s3"></span><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Their love story included camping on manitoulin, long meandering drives, a close kept parenting secret and the occasional.... Grandma turning off his hearing aids </span></font></span></li>
</ul>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A place and its history are meaningless unless there is a context in which to place it. The proper context for Dempsey was within his family. How fitting because Families are also the embodiment of history: The individual elements change as the men and women of it pass though time, but the family remains. He had a more expansive definition of family than most. To him, love of family meant extending his embracing arms to include not only my uncle Gary, aunt heather, uncle ken, uncle bob, my mom and his grandchildren, but also of his nieces and nephews, grand nieces and nephews, and friends. Here's where Grandpa breaks the mould, as the kids fell in love he gladly welcomed our loved ones. Even if it meant that aunt heather and uncle ray packed separate suitcases to avoid grandpa finding out they were living together or one of our boyfriends got the glare across the dinner table. His circle of love and caring grew exponentially. Not that I have a biased opinion, but I think he loved his grandchildren most. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My little cousins, Christopher, Cody, Kaitlyn, Riley and Kelsey, Mckenna, Callan and Carson he was so immensely proud of each your accomplishments and couldn't wait to gloat, I mean lovingly share your experiences with the world. When you would score your first goal he would rush to the shop to get your trophies made up. When Christopher and Kaitlyn got married he brushed off his favourite suit and stood shoulders Pack and grinning to get picture with his little ones. When you purchased houses or graduated he’d set to the workshop to make a special keepsake. He was also one to quite literally make your accomplishments town news by placing ads in Hanover Post. Those ads were then carefully clipped and hung on the fridge with pride for decades. He was quite the woodworker. He made beautiful pieces that included TV stands, hope chests, benches and stunning ducks. While he enjoyed the technical aspects of working with hands and was a skilled marksman he was not so technical with the gadgets of today. Each technological advancement that the kids brought home garnered new frustrations; the new phones, the GPS, the fish finders. I fondly recall when uncle ray and aunt heather got grandpa a computer and connected him to the inter web. He just could not figure out how to respond to the emails that were piling up in his inbox. Needless to say the computer didn’t last long. Grandpa enjoyed the simple things in life. Watching a hockey a hockey game whether it be at his personal seat at the new arena or in front of his small TV. Wood fires rather than gas. Paper maps and routes by memory over a GPS; tried and tested fishing holes over fish finders; </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He loved to take long meandering drives around town repeating the same stories over and over. It was as if telling those stories took him back to an idyllic place, where all 5 of his kids were together and Gwenny was waiting in the sitting room watching for him to come home. Repeating those stories were his way of holding on with all his might to things and people he held dearest. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I think I understand part of it now. Your family is more than a historical context. It shapes you and colors you and binds you. You can feel the tangible connections between us, linked through time from the past and fading into the future. Norman Dempsey Yost wanted us to know about those who had acted within his life, because they would play a part in my life as well, if only indirectly, as their attractions pulled at my grandfather during his path through life.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Grandpa loved thing to be just perfectly so. He reveled in perfectly pressed hems, </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Perfectly cooked meat, the perfect reviving line and the perfect tone, intonation, and volume of speech. His eye for the very best made us all aim to reach his expectations. As models of his ideals, my aunts and uncles all made it home by curfew, even if the fire phone would expectedly alarm upon their, you know very, punctual but sneaky arrival home. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He was, and through his legacy will continue to be a man of tradition. I remember as a 26 year old coming home with my new baby and giddily waiting in bed for grandpa to ring the bell on Christmas morning. “Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Christmas”. I’m not sure at what age Christopher and I realized it wasn’t really santa, but my 26 year old new mom self believed in every part of that merry Christmas. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He was the man that taught us about masculinity but also Vulnerability. My word, the man could cry at paint drying just right and I think all of us girls sought men that could show that type of vulnerability. His dinner toasts would bring us all to our knees with his heartfelt gratitude for the family and friends that contributed to his great life. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He . Here’s where I may reveal some secrets and grandpa please know I do it out of love and adoration (and the need for a couple of chuckles right about now). </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Norman Dempsey Yost was a hunter and angler. On One particular morning as her and uncle gary were returning home from a morning sit in deer season they spotted a large buck walking in the field. Demps came to a sudden stop and uncle gary and him jumped out of the vehicle, Gary losing the fight to get the rifle. Demps loaded up, ran to the ditch, leaned his rifle on the fence post and took aim. Uncle gary waited..... nothing. Click. More nothing. Apparently grandpa had forgotten to take safety off. By that time the buck had escaped inevitable doom with grandpa reminding uncle gary about the inherent trust that comes with a great secret. “Shhhh don’t tell anyone.” </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The boys also share another secret of the time that the pesky squirrels were menacing so as any protector would, he got the pellet pistol out and to ensure The air cartridge was ready he readied the pistol, put his finger in front of it .... BANG. Not only was the air cartridge loaded, but there was not safety this time. This secret resulted in a trip to emerg for a quick fix of his finger. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The little kids- the grands kids, myself included, remember the man who taught us if you find the perfect piece of garden hose and copper tubing you can make campfire wood glow with magical colour. That if you come visit grandpa their is always Chapman IceCream, even if the cones cut your mouth to pieces. He taught us that If you just show up every single time your family is there waiting with small glass, a readied table and a listening ear. But the trick is, just show up, no matter how hard it seems. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What a small dream my grandfather had, but what a powerful dream as well. I look at most of you now through mt grandpa’s eyes and memories. Who you are to me must spring from the foundation of knowledge he gave me, from the sense of history that he tried to instill within me, about you. It is a good foundation, a good history, and my grandfather’s life was a good life.</span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">His small inconsequential dream of teaching, although he didn’t know it, came true in each of us. It is a history that is still living, as we compose its elemental parts, as we create our world in our own time, linked together and stronger for it. And stronger for having lived in and of his legacy. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thank you grandpa for your lessons. We love you, and honor you. And as befits a teller of history, I shall not forget him and I beg that you won’t either. </span></font></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We love you with all we’ve got, Sweet lips </span></font></span></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-82952183390129058672019-08-11T16:16:00.000-07:002019-08-11T16:31:11.139-07:00On the Privilege of Leadership<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was about thirteen years old when I first started working at a
local baseball diamond snack bar. This means that I've had many, many years of
working for other people. Some of those people were incredible bosses. Some of
them were most definitely not incredible bosses. But the experience of it all
created a deep curiosity inside of me around the concept of leadership. The curiosity
ran so deep that I pursued an additional degree in School Administration, with
a focus on interpersonal leadership.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Throughout my time in the workforce, I've had jobs in the retail
industry, in restaurants, in crown corporations, in finance, and of course, as
an educator. And regardless of how different any of these paths may have been,
the common denominator throughout--be it good or bad--was leadership. Even though,
at times, I may have been the “boss”, I always had more seasoned leaders to
guide me along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And here's the conclusion I've drawn from witnessing countless group
dynamics in action...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>Your leaders will make you or break you.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>They will make or break your businesses.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>They will make or break your teams.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>They will make or break your goals.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i>They will make or break your willingness to give your all. </i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The reason why is because first and foremost, all of these are made up of PEOPLE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not profits. Note shares. Not wins. Not medals. Not nepotism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">PEOPLE.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If people aren't treated with respect and worth, then bad
things start to happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Experience has shown me two dominant scenarios when it comes to
running the show; there are those that consider it their right as the </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;"><b>boss</b></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> and
there are those that consider it their privilege as the </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>leader</b></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">. One focuses on
what they can get their teams to do and the other focuses on how they can make
their teams feel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of course, in any setting, productivity and outcomes
matter, but in all of my time working on teams, I can confidently say the
following: <i>when leaders care about how their teams feel, those teams will
naturally, go above and beyond to show you what they can do</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Leaders</span></b><span style="color: #1d2129;"> set their teams up to succeed knowing that the rising
tide lifts all boats, whereas on the contrary, </span><span style="color: red;"><b>bosses</b></span><span style="color: #1d2129;"> set themselves up to succeed
believing that the ocean isn't big enough for all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cuYvtKfsu14/XVCgOBNExBI/AAAAAAAAAtA/LLGIOXpxU7sBAW8eYOEP2PQt29nH4aw_wCLcBGAs/s1600/boss-versus-leader-1-728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="728" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cuYvtKfsu14/XVCgOBNExBI/AAAAAAAAAtA/LLGIOXpxU7sBAW8eYOEP2PQt29nH4aw_wCLcBGAs/s320/boss-versus-leader-1-728.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">A couple
of weeks ago, a candidate in a course I was teaching shared a video about the privilege of leadership (</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5jmSZFyWQk"><span style="color: blue;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5jmSZFyWQk</span></a>)
</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">and I was surprised by
how deeply it struck a chord with me. It actually triggered me in a way that
completely caught me off guard and I needed some time to sift through my
underlying feelings about it.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Eventually, I realized it was this line...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"<i>The person you report to, your direct supervisor, is more
important to your health than your family doctor..."</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">THIS.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">Then in
the depth of my musings I was sent an article from the Alberta Lacrosse Association titled “<i>Why
Kids Quit Sport; Alberta Lacrosse Asked Them: July 2017</i>” </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="https://activeforlife.com/alberta-lacrosse-why-kids-leave/"><span style="color: blue;">https://activeforlife.com/alberta-lacrosse-why-kids-leave/</span></a></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The article bases its assertion on the statistic that retention, especially
in minor lacrosse, is abysmal, yet not many organizations have asked kids why they
are not returning. The ALA found that families do not return to lacrosse
because of “<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">coaching, sportsmanship, and club culture”.</i></b> Again….</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">This. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">THIS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Both of these scenarios speak to me about the paramount
importance of leadership and relationship building. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is why I'm so passionate about what it means to be a leader;
because 90% of all doctor visits are linked back to stress. Because the
majority of that stress is caused in the workplace and by extension bosses. Because
I have been on the doorstep of mental health leave due to poor leadership and
workplace culture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica";">It is why
I'm so passionate about what it means to be a leader; Because 16% of those that
quit lacrosse in 2016 said they were dissatisfied with club culture. Because the growth of the sport I love so much is being threatened. Because I have watched my own child cry when it comes time to give his all at the local level. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>And because I've witnessed, time and time again, people use
their position as a sword to be wielded instead of a tool to serve others.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Understand that waking up every day to hold a piece of another person's
life in your hands is a
responsibility...not an advantage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Please understand that volunteering your time to build love and passion for
sport, and to teach young athletes to give their all, is a responsibility; not
a social hierarchy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yr7gAbOa9cw/XVCfvhkoKzI/AAAAAAAAAs4/n-kC2uJgW2I7nWVImfwjgndMdDNJL0hfwCEwYBhgL/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="244" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yr7gAbOa9cw/XVCfvhkoKzI/AAAAAAAAAs4/n-kC2uJgW2I7nWVImfwjgndMdDNJL0hfwCEwYBhgL/s1600/images-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The best </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>leaders</b></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I've ever been blessed to work with are also
the ones that weren't afraid to say "I'm sorry" and "I was
wrong" and "I hope to grow alongside you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To all of the leaders in my life that truly live from a place of service,
thank you from the bottom of my heart. While your guidance and example have
shaped me in more ways than I will ever know, your humility and grace will
shape the world in more ways than you will ever know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-11823414860609288342019-04-06T22:02:00.009-07:002019-04-07T05:14:27.917-07:00On Coming to LifeI used to think it was him. I used to think that my husband saved me. That he healed me. That he carried me through the darkness of my life and brought me out on the other side. I believed that I was only whole because he held all of my broken pieces in the palm of his hand and put them back together again.<p><br></p><p>I was wrong.</p><p>I used to think it was them; my sons, the beautiful lives that had been entrusted to me. I believed that their beating hearts saved me. Their purity, their perfection, their need for me to be better than who I really was- saved me. </p><p>Again. I was wrong.</p><p>Because no one else saved me.</p><p>I did.</p><p>My husband accepted me. He knew who I was and what I had gone through. He knew the struggle that was lying inside of me and the struggle that we would likely have to fight together. He knew all of this. And yet, he never needed me to change. And when the time came, he allowed me to heal on MY terms, when I was ready. He let me fight my demons and make my mistakes. He let me cry and scream and hurt and bleed until there was barely a fragment of me left standing. And it was all okay. Because, to him, I had always been okay. To him, I had always been strong and brave and resilient and whole. To him, I had already fought the biggest fight of all…and that was surviving.</p><p>My children brought me to life. They let me live their beautiful innocence and reclaim my own. They needed me through my strength and through my weakness. They let me embrace the hurting pieces of my littlest self and love it into forgiveness.</p><p>But I’m still the one who did the work. I was the one who stood, time and time again, hands outstretched in love. </p><p>And I'm the one who has to keep doing the work.</p><p>I am the one who goes to the darkest parts of my soul and fights like a warrior. I am the one who stands up to the demons. I am the one who takes on the battle. I am the one who gets beaten down time and time again. And I am the one who has to stand back up. <br></p><p>But furthermore, I am the one who wakes up every day and continues the fight. Every single day, I have to make the choice to crawl on the altar so I can sacrifice who I was in honour of who I can be.</p><p>Every day, I have to choose all over again.</p><p>And for everything that everyone else has done...only I can do that.</p><p>My loves, if you are in the midst of a battle right now or rising from the ashes, I beg of you to remember this; Those than know your heart are there, every step of the way, walking it out, giving you both the strength and the rest to make it to the other side. </p><p><br></p><p>But when it comes to the work; if you are going to own the tragedy, then you owe it to yourself to own the triumph. Own your choices. Own your sorrow. Own your own personal victory.</p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-43809665910733261702018-08-28T17:20:00.003-07:002018-09-29T16:19:30.423-07:00On The Rock, The Waves, The Shore<p>Today marks <b>17 years</b> since my first date with the man that changed my life. As we sit here tonight and bicker as to whether we "dated" or not, one thing is for certain... he is my rock. When I say my rock...here’s how much I mean it....<br></p><p>He is the rocks. I am the water. Together, we are the shore. </p><p>He is strong, steadfast, unwavering in the face of life's elements. He is the rocks. </p><p>I am wild, deep, limitless in my desire to be free and "bigger". I am the waves. </p><p>He is the truest form of constancy. An anchor, grounded in all that is unshakeable.</p><p>I am a creature capable of the most dueling worlds; tranquil and calm one moment..a tidal wave of force the next.</p><p>He sits quietly along the coast, providing stability against the most powerful of unrest.</p><p>I rush forward with feeling and passion; a tidal wave of passion- reminder that not all edges need to be sharp.</p><p>He will always be the rocks. I will always be the water.</p><p>And 17 years ago today...we became the shore. </p><p>**For the record... we never went on dates. As of September 29, 2001, we have been bonded together. </p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rw-9yOKpg-o/W7AIS44CIxI/AAAAAAAAApI/rKPPqCr7Q8UTrvPF1y8msSBNOfPa-8oDACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ejOfWQ4C7Y0/W7AITRHZcRI/AAAAAAAAApM/DzuGxtk304w-ibDS1SSoBOXAAFP9sB8HACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MljNl04oOVM/W7AITlwZxdI/AAAAAAAAApQ/6XwOUG_KrIQQjgOiJm7rlKL8jnaU0BQKwCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WEETVPJPY9A/W7AIUjrhxLI/AAAAAAAAApU/qhjdc6Li_A4KGkAt7mVD5t7tcFiLgQO-wCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-83598446889309131492018-05-07T21:25:00.003-07:002018-05-07T21:29:49.239-07:00On Big Girl Friendship <p>Wow!!! What a week. We spent Saturday reconnecting with my college roommate, my maid of honour and her 2 boys. She later came out to Kingston’s first two games. Then in Sunday I made phone calls to friends who didn’t even ask questions as they took BOTH my boys for sleepovers on school nights. And then during a particularly stressful work week,I could see who was there to lift me up. I’ve had moments of absolute "this is why we’re friends". There is beauty and grace and ease in these friendships.</p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6cGeqv4ZwYg/WvEnEi2CX2I/AAAAAAAAAnY/ryv6GO9X6x8RgIN1uagB1JXrR7AuTPn7ACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p>And here’s the thing, I have always found friendship a challenging road to navigate.</p><p></p><p>I was a very shy little girl. I was an only child and I was acutely aware of my "only-ness". From a very young age, I felt like friendship was a game and I didn’t know the rules. So I simply kept to myself.</p><p>I was blessed with a couple of beautiful friends during high school. Sadly, those were also some of the hardest years of my life, which made investing in those friendships a difficult task.<br></p><p>By the time University came along, I had endured enough to believe that people weren’t worth trusting or investing in. My years in University were spent knowing people four months at a time, based on who I shared a class or an apartment with. I moved from one year to the next with very little attachment.<br></p><p>Having said that, I was a great rescuer. Give me your broken pieces and I’ll give you what’s left of my soul. I thought if I could fix everyone else, my own fractured self would get healed along the way.</p><p>I came to discover that life doesn’t really work like that. No amount of sacrifice to someone else’s pain would lessen my own deep wounds.</p><p>Trust me, I’ve tried.</p><p>Very recently, a long time friend pointed out...no SHOWCASED PROUDLY... that I have "been broken for a long time and sinking and taking everyone down with me". This call out was earth shattering to me and rocked me to me core. Her candor and anger has forced me to dig deep into who I am. </p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-jtm4OXigPUg/WvEnsE3iOsI/AAAAAAAAAng/EWy4zbm5mpM8Fn3gD3RZ8eFwvC5XNa4HACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p>I have found the strength and the courage to look at my own bleeding heart...here's what happened...</p><p>My heart had changed, but it was still pretty scared of other people. It was still afraid of being rejected. It still wanted to hide from any potential hurt.</p><p>And because of this, I got so consumed with trying to BE a good friend…that I didn’t really notice if I HAD a good friend in return.</p><p>MIn case you're wondering...this realization hurts.<br></p><p><br></p><p>A LOT!!!!!</p><p>So last month, I decided to become much more intentional about friendship. To pay attention. To notice. And for the first time in my life, to select.</p><p>I’m not going to lie. This was hard. When you've been driven by approval and acceptance, putting on the brakes can make your flesh physically ache and the tears flow indescrimantly. </p><p>I took steps back from people that I thought were close friends. I opened my eyes to notice people who weren’t really friends at all. And I sat through a lot of really uncomfortable feelings again.</p><p>It was lonely and painful and involved a lot of new grieving in various ways.</p><p>It still does most days as I think of how I might be letting people down.<br></p><p>But I have spent so much of my life just wanting to be chosen, that it never occurred to me that--I too--got to choose.</p><p>I was allowed to choose people whom I could trust. I was allowed to choose people who truly cared. I was allowed to choose people who would support me as much as I would support them.</p><p>I was allowed to choose people...who also chose me.</p><p>And that doesn’t mean that every friend will last a lifetime. It doesn’t mean that there won’t be challenges along the way. It doesn’t mean that you won’t get hurt in the end.</p><p>It means that you're worth something.</p><p>Your friendship is worth something.<br></p><p>Your beautiful heart is worth something.</p><p>So choose people who choose you.</p><p><3</p><p></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-9332196513843663452018-04-02T20:01:00.006-07:002018-04-02T20:41:44.829-07:00On Becoming the person you’re meant to be <p>This weekend I had a moment where I looked at K on the ice and said "Shit. When did that happen!" My sweet boy looks taller. He speaks more maturely. He loves more fiercely yet selectively. He skates faster and eats more. FFS the kid has abs! He’s also been waking up lately because his limbs are sore. He’s grown an inch and a half over the last couple of months. His clothes don’t fit, his shoes are too small... but he’s growing into the person he was always meant to be.</p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rVcyXiGvt-0/WsLuaDr_EjI/AAAAAAAAAjs/kiFHIdXRj7M21hR13amijWD0hzKEWw3DQCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p>But his body is literally aching in process!<br></p><p>Because growing can hurt.</p><p>As we spent this Easter with friends that feel like family, but decided to not see biological family I felt I needed this reminder too. I need to remember this as I endure growth in other ways; that I am becoming more of the person I was always meant to be.</p><p>It may not feel like it through the pain of navigating a tense family drama or through the restlessness of setting boundaries or through pushing past your own limiting beliefs, but change is happening.</p><p>Growth is happening.</p><p>Sometimes that growth is going to ache. Sometimes it’s going to be uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s going to keep me awake a night and make the tears flow. Sometimes it’s going to make me feel like I just want my mommy. </p><p>But whether we know it or not, my son and I are becoming stronger right now. </p><p>Quietly...subtly...deeply.</p><p>And when all is said and done…something amazing is happening...<br></p><p>Through the pain we are becoming the people that we are meant to become. And there is beauty and grace in that. </p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tu3HZle8SGw/WsLuhxvmz6I/AAAAAAAAAjw/WPqBScnoxrkMdqE7DF7NBQ8efMjuL7p0wCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-34187095428223463222018-01-01T09:38:00.002-08:002018-01-01T09:48:25.634-08:00On The Power of Reflection and RenewalI can’t help but look up tonight. To patiently wait for the new year to sweep over me while the old one drifts away. I can’t help but reach up and try to touch all that awaits.<p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MkLswAFEC04/WkpyeeI-3LI/AAAAAAAAAbw/EEMqxp_OBuciaL2jUTPUZyuAb6L7ikvQgCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p>It was the year that took my soul and stretched it in a thousand different ways. My soul was molded it into something new.</p><p>It was the year defined by relationships and by grace.</p><p>It was the year in which I started to see my value; as a teacher, as a friend, as a mother and as a wife. I began to see that finding my way in this life is entirely possible. </p><p>It was the year that I realized meeting people is better than chasing people and that my own opinion of myself matters more than someone else’s opinion of me.</p><p>It was the year I discovered what is truly worth fighting for and it was the year I realized that one of those things was me.</p><p><br></p><p>It was the year I made some beautiful new friends that are clearly meant to be in my life. I also found peace and grace in letting go of relationships that I had high hopes for but, for reasons that are beyond me, will never bring positivity to my life. </p><p><br></p><p>It was the year of walking through my family’s challenges and my family’s pain...and my family’s renewal. We looked heartache and resentment and lies right in the face. We felt uncomfortable in the conversations but we grew and learned the most profound lessons. </p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4PUIGd2z34Q/WkpzZa6-1DI/AAAAAAAAAb8/njQRyEBTc2Ufw8pI_2qSSSWrYA1yqA0NACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p>We learned that LOVE ALWAYS wins. </p><p>We learned that there is nothing that we can’t solve when we are together in love and honesty. </p><p>It was the year of heart wrenching obstacles and unexpected joy.</p><p>It was the year of bright, new futures and painfully hard pasts.</p><p><br></p><p>It was…the very essence of life.<br></p><p><br></p><p>I think there are often times when we desperately wait for the day to come when we can bid farewell to the moments that brought us to our knees. We want to shut the doors and turn our backs and close our eyes. And that’s okay. But before we do that, let’s not forget what it all means…</p><p><b>We did it.</b></p><p>We endured and we surpassed and we survived and we conquered and we fought and we climbed and we reached and most of all…we lived.</p><p>The year may have been hard for some of us. The year may have been more than expected for some of us. The year may have been an immense struggle for some of us.</p><p>But please, my beautiful, resilient, strong tribe, please refuse to let this last night pass without recognizing what the year has shown you…</p><p><br></p><p><b><i>You were stronger</i></b>.</p><p><br></p><p>We all were.</p><p><br></p><p>Tonight, may you breathe deep. May you love hard. May you wish well. </p><p><br></p><p>May you look up as a new year passes through time and may you always let it remind you that whatever came your way this past year, you came at it with even more.</p><p><br></p><p><3</p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-24857532955631768802017-07-22T13:01:00.002-07:002017-07-22T13:01:19.491-07:00On Weeding My Garden... On Friendship...<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: Lora; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 16px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
I was talking with a "friend" today. I was reminded of all the times we confided in each other, laughed until we cried, and supported each other. I would have done anything for her. In fact, there were times that I did go the distance in support of her. After our conversation today I was left feeling heartbroken and insecure. Then a song came on that reminded me of our fleeting but powerful friendship. We were friends for a short while…until we weren’t anymore. Something happened. The relationship was lost, and sometimes, I miss it tremendously.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aLBALuFhpFY/WXOugdVBtqI/AAAAAAAAAZI/_SrRbdoqnYoz8-zS3AyfScwmvJ_T2VskACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aLBALuFhpFY/WXOugdVBtqI/AAAAAAAAAZI/_SrRbdoqnYoz8-zS3AyfScwmvJ_T2VskACK4BGAYYCw/s200/download.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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The piano playing during the second half of the chorus is one of those times when I miss her.</div>
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I used to think that I was good at friendship. I used to think that I had something to offer. Until an avalanche of hurt came along and buried this belief I had about myself. Until I was l<span class="text_exposed_show" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">eft holding broken pieces of everything I knew to be true. Until I let seeds of self-doubt slip between my fingers and cover the ground beneath me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Eventually, the seasons changed, as they always do, but those seeds began to grow and weeds began to rise. Those weeds slowly wrapped themselves around my limbs and ultimately, they tied me to a new truth; </span><b><i>the one that said I wasn’t worth anything as a friend anymore</i></b><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">. The one that said I had fallen short of being enough.</span></div>
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I have struggled to navigate my way through friendship since I was young. I have struggled to stand strong in friendships. I have struggled to trust them. I have struggled to believe that I deserve them.</div>
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And then, there are days like today…</div>
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A day when the ground is soggy and the earth is rising in growth. It's the type of day when the temperature is warm but the overcast sky gives you shelter from the heat. It's a type of day that is clearly summer but provides you with the excuse to stay in and reflect. It’s vulnerable and messy and raw. It’s the type of day that makes my emotions run wide and my memories run deep.</div>
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For a long time now, I’ve stared at the footprints around me and counted each one as a mark of failure on my part. A mark of inadequacy. A mark of rejection.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KYTIGRuqGac/WXOuxMdQD4I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/RVfBHQY_rr8wwrTByMj_VrAlImQwsXwwQCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KYTIGRuqGac/WXOuxMdQD4I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/RVfBHQY_rr8wwrTByMj_VrAlImQwsXwwQCK4BGAYYCw/s200/download-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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And on many rainy, muddy summer days, I notice those footprints of failures and lost friendships. They are the imprints of everything I couldn’t make right. But today, I also noticed something else; I noticed that I hadn’t made any footprints of my own. Because I had never moved. I had never stepped forward. I had never walked away from the pain and the hurt. I just kept letting <u>their</u> demons consume me. </div>
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When others were done punishing me for my failure, I have always simply picked up where they had left off.</div>
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Today's realization and reflection; today's hurt, made me wonder…how long can any one person remain entangled in a truth that someone else hands them?</div>
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Summer is about beginning and growth and vibrancy. It is about claiming your rightful place in this world. It’s about rising from the ground and standing tall in honour of who you have fought to be.</div>
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It’s about changing and standing strong in the heat of the sun and in the thunderstorms that follow the intense heat. </div>
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<span style="font-weight: inherit;">I’ve decided that I would like my Summer of 2017 to be about untying myself from the </span><b>weeds</b><span style="font-weight: inherit;"> that have held me hostage. It will be about forgiving everything I was never able to be. It will be about hearing that beautiful song and knowing that I did the very best that I could with all that I had for my friendship. It will be about weeding my garden and ridding of the insidious roots that tell me I'm not good enough. I will stand tall and strong knowing that I will always go to any lengths for the people I love, but I won't allow them to tear me down in thunderstorm of their turmoil. </span></div>
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Because, in our frailty of being human, we will end up failing others. But, when we don’t make footprints of our own, we will end up failing ourselves.</div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-66384649445190857802017-03-04T08:37:00.003-08:002017-03-04T18:01:44.054-08:00On What I'm Begging From You... On Invisible Illness<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;"><i>***In my life I have watched as several of the people I care about must have suffered and even died from an illness that no one could see. This one is for those whom suffer from invisible illness. For mom. For Krystal.***</i></span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;"><br></span> <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Let me tell you a story; one that is close to my heart, but admittedly from my own perspective, not the sufferer's. I'll do my best to convey the sentiments although I may have it all wrong. </span><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;"><br></span> <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Imagine for a moment.... you're excited for a weekend working at an awesome outdoor concert festival. You'll be surrounded be fun-loving people, music and your passion. You'll laugh and be the life of the party and make everyone feel like a million bucks. You'll take some awesome selfies, probably post some SnapChats of the fun from your perspective. After all, that's who you are. </span><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Then mid way through the first afternoon you notice that you're losing feeling in your lower half. Weird. Onward. Selfies. Snapchat. Belly laughs. By the evening you can barely walk as you can no longer feel the steps you're taking. You use the washroom only to hear yourself urinate but feel nothing. Concern. Confusion. Snapchat. Insta. Sing a song. Maybe it's time I head to the hospital!</span><br>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bGpE1kTdBS0/WLrtBFCiOvI/AAAAAAAAAYE/M7daANFB5qYDlP0w-rJTeozUxNxcs_h-wCK4B/s1600/13902558_10157301595005554_9189842056139844250_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bGpE1kTdBS0/WLrtBFCiOvI/AAAAAAAAAYE/M7daANFB5qYDlP0w-rJTeozUxNxcs_h-wCK4B/s320/13902558_10157301595005554_9189842056139844250_n.jpg" width="203"></a><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">4 weeks later you're still in the hospital. They've tested and prodded and made conjectures. People has visited and speculated. Flowers are sent. Worried loved ones are frantic to help you. The worried phone calls and text are frequent. Snapchat. Selfie. Laugh and play all while laying in a hospital bed unable to feel your legs. Finally, a doctor gives you the diagnosis. Multiple Sclerosis. Your brain has lesions on it that on the bad days will cause you immobilizing pain, on other days will cause to feel nothing in your extremities, on other days you'll have some grace and feel mildly better. The myelin that covers your brain will continue to degenerate. They will try to mitigate your symptoms with daily injections that invade your skin to the tune of 8cm into your flesh. Snapchat. Send a joke, laugh, make new friends in the hospital bed. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">It's now been 7 months since the diagnosis. The months have spent searching. You have searched for the right medications; searched for the answers to how this illness is affecting your brain; searched for connections and relationships. Searched for the "you" that was there days before your 30th birthday. Some days you find the answers and you celebrate! Most days your search yields more pain, confusion, loneliness, more fear, more needles -- more reality.</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Laughter....</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Snapchat....</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Selfie....</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Dancing....</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">"You look so good. I had no idea...". </span><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">"But you seem to be so happy. Are you sure you're sick" </span><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">"You're so positive and strong" </span><br>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ucRnIy2heo0/WLrs0rTl4kI/AAAAAAAAAX8/Pr_OmCBylEoRbrc-FWYo8aYdjqGb07EJgCK4B/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ucRnIy2heo0/WLrs0rTl4kI/AAAAAAAAAX8/Pr_OmCBylEoRbrc-FWYo8aYdjqGb07EJgCK4B/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320"></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Each time she is told that she "looks good" or "looks like you're ok’ by people who have little concept of even the lengths she has gone to just to connect with them at all, it carries with it an additional pain of appearing ‘well’ or ‘normal’ despite how awful she actually feels.</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Our culture does its best to ignore the existence of illness, especially when that illness is chronic, invisible, complex and as a consequence doesn’t fit inside the mainstream idea of what ill-health means or apparently ‘looks like’. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Instead the focus is on the beautiful, the youthful and the healthy, as if in denial of pain, illness, and suffering. Mainstream media also seldom caters for those with ill-health, disability, limited mobility or pain but exclusively the ‘well’ population. She is expected to wear her illness on the outside all the time. Ironically, despite your discomfort with her pain and your wish for her to be "normal" again, <u>you expect her to let this disease take her good days.</u> You see her on those good days and wonder if she's really sick at all. After all, she looks so good. She doesn't let the pain and anguish of the past 7 months swallow her. She refuses to let the uncertain future fill her with despair and darkness. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">When you live with a condition that defies others’ ideas of chronic illness or cannot be placed neatly in a box, sadly it’s often the sufferer who is expected to explain and even defend the very symptoms that thwart their very existence. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Living with constant pain, needles to ease that pain, fatigue and even the mental health issues associated with chronic pain and life-altering illness, means that her life is already full to the brim with challenges. Yet her inability to ‘be well’ coupled with looking healthy presents further challenges, from being disbelieved and poorly treated, to being judged or repeatedly advised on how to ‘heal’ herself.</span><br>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fYFrICwhJxU/WLrtKUTxMvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/ozOuVH-a3GYScw8xjLsI3IJCX346xV8tgCK4B/s1600/3411369_1424568845.0709_funddescription.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fYFrICwhJxU/WLrtKUTxMvI/AAAAAAAAAYM/ozOuVH-a3GYScw8xjLsI3IJCX346xV8tgCK4B/s320/3411369_1424568845.0709_funddescription.png" width="320"></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">The biggest grievance I have is that those around her, even the ones that care the most, often do not believe what she is going through is real because to others she “looks good.” She laughs. On her good days, she tries her hardest to make sure that this disease doesn't rob her of her sense of self and her charismatic personality. On her bad days, she suffers in silence barely able to get out of bed while the depression and anxiety of her sudden universe-shattering diagnosis threaten to consume her. Sadly, this makes her feel as if she are being called a liar. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">Ironically, those with chronic conditions would like nothing more than to gain complete control of their lives and not have to adjust to any limitations at all! Nonetheless, their bodies do not always cooperate with their desires, no matter how much they want it to. </span><br>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;"><br></span> <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-center;">I beg of you...celebrate her good moments with her. </span>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-64270916464830551352017-01-22T18:44:00.005-08:002017-01-22T18:58:32.302-08:00On Being Right<p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Last month, during these very same cold winter months, I reached out to a friend. I sat across from her in our local pub, my eyes fighting to look up from the floor and I asked her for forgiveness.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Several months ago, I had hurt her. She had hurt me. </span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was because of something that I did but more importantly because of something that I didn’t do. I stayed silent when she needed my voice. I stood distant when she needed my strength. I cowered away when she needed my bravery.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Last year, I failed my friend.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I failed her because – sometimes – our quiet nothings can do even more harm than our loudest somethings.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Last month, when I finally found the courage to let my eyes meet hers, I felt every ounce of my humility rise within me. I felt everything I had done and everything I had failed to do. And I felt the only two words that were left to be said…</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry”</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And as the words came out of my mouth, I felt that tear form in the corner of my eye; the tear that you try to hold back. The tear that so often marks the beginning. The tear that sometimes means the end.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My friend reached across the table to me, grabbing my hands in hers, and quietly said “It’s okay, Nat! Let's forgive each other”</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My two words had somehow torn down a wall between us. My two words had brought us closer together. My two words had set us both free.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We spent the next little while acknowledging our pain and asked forgiveness for our collective wrong doings. We put all of our honesty and all of our vulnerability and all of our frailty on the table and together we built something with it; we built our new story.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I reflect back on that moment a lot because it was one of my greatest lessons in humility. It was a lesson in what it meant to just say, “I was wrong and I’m truly sorry” and to allow someone else to hold that truth in the palm of their hands.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It can be a really hard thing to do sometimes.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I think that the world breaks a little bit every time a relationship is lost to pride. When we don’t allow ourselves to break open...the entire world breaks around us as a consequence.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Every time we choose to be right instead of choosing to be happy, something is inherently lost in the struggle. And, eventually, we all end up losing. We lose our integrity; we lose our connection; most of all…we lose each other.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And the thing of it is that we’re just imperfect people loving these imperfect relationships.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We are filled with insecurities and hurts and a whole bunch of bruises we’ve gathered along the way. So we tend to break things and lose things and take things for granted.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><img src="webkit-fake-url://c96afc0e-ee24-487f-a468-b7cafc2637b2/imagejpeg"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We can also fix things. We’re really good at fixing things.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes we take the broken pieces of our hearts and tape them back together again.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes we hurt and we wait and we love until the gaping holes inside of us begin to heal.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Other times, we sit quietly in a room together with the only two words we have left to say.</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry”</span></font></p><p style="text-align: start; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; border: 0px; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.25em;"><font color="#000000" face="sans-serif" size="3"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And, if you’re really lucky those two words just might be enough.</span></font></p>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-19509578006089087672016-11-25T18:28:00.006-08:002016-11-25T19:41:18.107-08:00On The Struggle to be More <div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture from my 11th birthday.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My friends and I were all crammed on the single set of monkey bars that were behind our row of townhouses. The paint was chipping off the red metal bar; the neighbors watched from their own adjoining backyards while we laughed. My Mom stood back in the grass under an overcast day while the ten of us scrambled to keep our gangly limbs from dropping to a tiny patch of concrete below.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of a perfect moment. My perfect moment.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For as long as I can remember, there has been a tension inside of me between who I am and who I want to be. There has been a struggle, a battle, that I could never quite resolve. It was there when I was eleven years old and it was there for the twenty years that followed and it was there every day in between.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The struggle was there telling me that the person I was would never be as good as the person I wanted to be. The person I thought I should be.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wanted to be popular. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be asked to prom. I wanted bigger boobs and I wanted smaller teeth. I wanted the boy that broke my heart to tell me he was sorry and I wanted the girl that tormented me to tell me she was wrong. I wanted long, luscious locks that didn’t have a mind of their own. I wanted to be a world-class athlete. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to be delicate and I wanted to wear pretty dresses. I wanted to eat chocolate without feeling guilty and I wanted to wear shorts without feeling ashamed. I wanted skin that didn’t have freckles and I wanted a laugh that was cute. I wanted to be able to sing and I wanted to soar. I wanted narrower hips and I wanted wider vocabulary. I wanted phone calls from friends and I wanted dates on Friday night.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wanted to matter.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I remember – during my 11th birthday – feeling that way for a little while. I remember it so very clearly. </span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As friends joined to celebrate the day, as I ate cake with reckless abandon, as I thought about the year to come I forgot for a brief moment that any part of me was lacking.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me feeling that way.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This time of year always makes me feel nostalgic. A new year is just around the corner and for me, it has always felt like an opportunity for renewal. It is a time where I hope for authenticity and a chance to try – one more time – at “getting it right”. My goal, as each year passed, was to lessen that gap between who I am and who I thought I needed be. I was convinced that the more “right” I became the less isolation I would feel.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you had asked me – at this same time last year – if I still carried this desperation around with me. I would have said no. I would have told you that – with age – I had stopped even thinking about it and that I had indeed grown out of it. And honestly, I believed that to be true at the time.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But it’s been a tricky year for me. It’s been an even trickier last few months for me.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It’s been a year of letting people in and of letting people go. It’s been a year of feeling invisible yet being fully seen. It’s been a year of finding my own security and discovering other people’s lack of it. It’s been a year of healing old wounds and, of course, finding new cracks.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And all of it has made me realize that, perhaps, I wasn’t over it at all. I had simply found new measuring sticks with which to determine my worth; my skills as a parent, the words I wrote, the number of likes on Instagram, the number of Instagram followers I had.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Here's the thing…</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They never added up. Which meant that – given the philosophy of life I had subjected myself to for so long – I never added up.</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And it recently hit me. Like a bulldozer. Like ten thousand pounds of unbearable truth knocking the wind out of me all at once. And when a bulldozer hits you…the harsh reality is that you’re out of commission. You’re done. It’s over. There is nothing left to do but let yourself be crushed by what is real.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The reality is I'm just not one of the cool kids. I’m not a china doll that is easily dressed up and I’m not a handful of flawless features. But I am a great friend with age spots and ruthless hair. I am not the girl that all of the boys liked in school, but I am the girl that one boy loves for life. I am not an athlete that the world will remember but I am someone who one student will remember for changing their life. I’m not someone who pulls off red lipstick very well and sometimes my past hurts like hell. I don’t leave my impressions with my lips, I leave it with my heart and sometimes I leave it behind in pieces. I’m not the girl that stands out in a crowd for being pretty but I am the very definition of beauty for two little souls that see nothing but magic when I walk in a room. I’m not the girl with perfect legs but I am the girl who walks with purpose and love every single day. I’m not the girl with the most ‘likes’ or the most followers but I am the girl that will make you feel special and loved. I’m not necessarily the person that people notice but I am the person is on the right path.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BdFtpxDfy1A/WDj_R04gFGI/AAAAAAAAAWk/jH9C9pZ4oxQmZjbTazYg3nENwGTiSX69gCLcB/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-11-25%2Bat%2B10.18.44%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BdFtpxDfy1A/WDj_R04gFGI/AAAAAAAAAWk/jH9C9pZ4oxQmZjbTazYg3nENwGTiSX69gCLcB/s200/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-11-25%2Bat%2B10.18.44%2BPM.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As I enjoy these last few weeks before another year rolls around, the truth is, that all the things I've been struggling with won't be wrapped up with Christmas ornaments. I'm not sure I'll ever be done. I'm determined to make things different - to be better - to be more. </span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The biggest truth of all is that somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me on my 11th birthday being the <b>only thing I’ve ever needed to be</b>. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i58negiapro/WDj_pAo2sxI/AAAAAAAAAWo/wMjWImDvGCYR2gQpv4uwtvJbAZAZwne4wCLcB/s1600/imgres-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i58negiapro/WDj_pAo2sxI/AAAAAAAAAWo/wMjWImDvGCYR2gQpv4uwtvJbAZAZwne4wCLcB/s320/imgres-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-63120509448634056622016-11-01T21:40:00.001-07:002016-11-01T21:58:00.558-07:00On "I'm Sorry" and Forgiveness<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don’t know why some people break the way that they do. I don’t know why some people come out of storms virtually unscathed, while others completely shatter. I just don’t know. But I do know this; regardless of what happens to us while we endure the whirlwind of pain that comes with letting go, the only way out of it is through this one word; forgiveness.</span></div><div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tXjvcxk7GLs/WBlvtUjsnOI/AAAAAAAAAV0/9v3Yed7ov58/s640/blogger-image--1838714602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tXjvcxk7GLs/WBlvtUjsnOI/AAAAAAAAAV0/9v3Yed7ov58/s640/blogger-image--1838714602.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I know this because I’ve had to do it. I know this because I’m one of those people who shatter. I know this because I’ve sat there, aching, waiting for someone else to bring me the closure I thought I needed to move on. I know how much it hurts. I know what it’s like to want just </span><em style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">one day</em><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> without being drawn in by the pain. I know what it’s like to wonder why the rules didn’t apply to me.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But here’s the thing…</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When the box you’re being handed stops being enough; when the apology stops being enough; when the final goodbye stops being enough, it means that the gaping hole inside of you is no longer about someone else. It means the sadness and the grief and the torment is no longer about losing <em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">them</em>.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It means the person you really need to forgive is yourself.</span></div><div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o_RbilmCUXM/WBlxQkD12vI/AAAAAAAAAWA/PMnXTUWzAvM/s640/blogger-image--1737574311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o_RbilmCUXM/WBlxQkD12vI/AAAAAAAAAWA/PMnXTUWzAvM/s640/blogger-image--1737574311.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I think throughout our lives, we form certain relationships with people – either through circumstance or through choice – that bring us face to face with the most insecure parts of ourselves. In that connection – for whatever reason – we see our own darkness, our own fears and our own unhealed wounds. I believe, when we are confronted with those people, we can unintentionally bring more than just ourselves into the relationship. We can bring the five year old in us that is desperately seeking our parent’s approval; we can bring the twelve year old in us that is being bullied at school; we can bring the twenty-one year old in us that he doesn’t love back.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We can bring our hurts with us. Hurts we didn’t even realize were still there.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When those already hurt parts of our selves end up wounded again, the closure isn’t in what they need to give us, but rather closure is in what WE need to let go of. You can wait for <em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">that</em> person to set you free, hear you out, put up a fight for you, but <em style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">that</em> person didn’t chain you up in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That person can’t say, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I was proud of you when you were a little girl…my parents never said it to me either”. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That person can’t say, “I’m sorry I stopped being your friend and spread rumours about you when we were young…I was hurting and hurting you made me feel less alone”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That person can’t say, “I’m sorry I was too afraid to tell you how much I cared…my feelings were pretty scary for me”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But you can say those things.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You can stare that beautiful soul of yours in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry I ever let you believe that you weren’t good enough.”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry that other people took their pain out on you”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry I didn’t stop you from projecting your own hurts onto someone who couldn’t fix them”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry for letting you use a present relationship to try to heal an old wound”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry I never gave you permission to feel hurt when you needed to”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“I’m sorry for holding you hostage to a past that you couldn’t change”</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And then you forgive yourself.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You can forgive yourself.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For everything you couldn’t do and everything you couldn’t be.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Because it’s okay. It’s okay to let people in and to be sad when they leave. It’s okay to have pains that instantly take our breath away and it’s okay for them to heal. It’s okay to accept an apology that you weren’t given and it’s okay to give yourself grace even if someone else doesn’t. It’s okay to make mistakes and it’s okay to wish you had done something differently. It’s okay to want closure and it’s okay to also be afraid of it.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But it’s not okay to keep holding onto a box filled with stuff that isn’t yours.</span></div><div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.25em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4oigzNBB12o/WBlxaGXR8PI/AAAAAAAAAWE/Vm8Zn3wWVeU/s640/blogger-image-1035864569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4oigzNBB12o/WBlxaGXR8PI/AAAAAAAAAWE/Vm8Zn3wWVeU/s640/blogger-image-1035864569.jpg"></a></div>.</span></div>
BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-47441702512423852972016-07-12T09:07:00.001-07:002016-07-12T09:07:52.509-07:00On What You Can Learn in 16 Birthdays<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It seems like just yesterday I was walking into the residence and spotted a very handsome guy across the hallway. I remember telling my girlfriends that I thought he had one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. There was something about him that made me instantly know that he was destined for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stuck like glue. That was over 15 years ago when I met the love of my life. I always thought it only happened in movies when people fall in love immediately and “just know” that they are going to spend the rest of their lives together. Well, fortunately, it does happen in the real world and it happened to us. I remember telling my mom, after dating for only a few days, about this amazing guy I had met and that I knew I was going to marry him some day! Like she said, when you know, you know. And I did! So I want to write a letter and not just any letter. A letter to my love on his birthday…</div>
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Ryan,</div>
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Where do I begin? Oh yes, happy birthday babe. As I sit here and think back on the past fifteen years, I can’t help but smile with a faint tear in my eye. We have had the most amazing journey so far. We’ve had times where we can laugh until all hours of the night, cry on each other<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "ms 明朝"; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">’</span>s shoulders, and sit without saying anything at all. I can’t imagine my life without you. You are my rock. You are my soul. You are my strength when I am weak. You are my encouragement. You are my best friend. You are my happiness. You complete who I am and who I was meant to be. You are always there for me when others aren’t. You always tell me the truth even when it hurts. You love my family as much as your own. You can always make a bad day good with just a smile and a flash of those dimples. You cherish your friendships and I love that. You make the world a better place.</div>
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A girl asked me about our wedding the other day. She was young and excited and wanted to hear about all the pretty details.</div>
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“Wow”, she said. “That must have been the best day of your life”.</div>
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I smiled at her, in all of her youthful exuberance, and I agreed “it really was a great day…but there have been so many more since”.</div>
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“Wasn’t it the BEST, though?”, she persisted. She needed to hear it. The twenty-five-year-old standing in front of me needed confirmation that the wedding day she was so anxiously dreaming about was going to be the best day of her life.</div>
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And that’s okay, because, right now, she’s young and excited and has watched one too many romance movies. One day, she’ll understand.</div>
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She’ll understand how much more there is to look forward to. She’ll understand, if she’s as lucky as I am, that only after the dress has been worn; the flowers have died, and the food has been eaten that the real fun begins. She’ll understand that, while a wedding is great but a marriage is better.</div>
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When I woke up this morning, on your birthday…I wondered what I’ve learned about you in 16 of your birthdays celebrated together. The truth is…I know nothing about the fairy tale that girls dream about! The bigger truth is, I don’t need to know anything about it, because “we” aren’t a classic fairy tale. “We” aren’t this universal truth that applies to all. We are us. You and me. Our crazy lovely life. Our family. And that’s what I’ve learned 16 celebrations later…</div>
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Babe, it’s the way you run your fingers through my hair when I’m crying with my head on your chest. It’s the way you let me think that I’m hilarious. It’s the way we can spend hours and hours in a car together without killing each other. It’s the way we dance with our boys. It was the look in your eyes when you feel hurt. It’s the way you took care of me after we had our babies. It’s the way you tell Kingston how smart he is. It’s the way we get through life as if we are inextricably connected. It’s the way you think that 25 Facebook likes is just the beginning of what my writing will do one day. It’s the way you put your head on my lap when you are hurting. It’s the music we listen to as we drive. It’s the immense joy we found while binge watching Dexter. It’s the road to Patson court and Jack Astor’s and crooked cobblestone walkway to OUR first home. It’s our own backyard and starry nights in the hot tub. It’s my endless tears and your endless patience. It’s the way you kiss me goodbye each morning. It’s the way you let me embrace my insomnia. It’s the way you fold laundry. It’s the way you never complain when I spend too much money on coffee. It is a stocked wine shelf and morning coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s watching the sunset over Three Mile Lake and your breath on the back of neck while we sleep. It’s the warning signals you give off when you’re hungry and the way you still love me even though I never put gas in the car. It’s the way you hold my hand when you’re driving and how nuts it drives you when I leave the car a mess. It’s doctor’s appointments and mortgage payments and first days of school. It’s embracing the big things and bickering over the little things.</div>
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One day that excited 25-year-old girl, if she’s as lucky as I am, she’ll understand…<br />
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She’ll understand that the best day of her life isn’t going to be her wedding day or the day she meets her Mr. Wonderful, it’s going to be all of the days after because then she’ll realize that her wedding day was only the beginning.</div>
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And as I woke today, 16 birthdays later, I did actually know one thing for sure about the man I married…</div>
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I’d choose you all over again.</div>
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<em><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #384972; font-family: "inherit" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0.75pt; padding: 0cm;">Today, Tomorrow and Always,</span></em><span style="color: #384972; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"></span></div>
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<em><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #384972; font-family: "inherit" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0.75pt; padding: 0cm;">Happy 35<sup>th</sup> Birthday, Handsome</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="border: none 1.0pt; color: #384972; font-family: "inherit" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0.75pt; padding: 0cm;">Me</span></em><span style="color: #384972; font-size: 12.0pt; letter-spacing: 0.75pt;"></span></div>
BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-57865307255040389552016-06-12T18:01:00.000-07:002016-06-12T18:01:57.985-07:00On Loving Your Village<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I think sometimes we forget that life is not an island. We think that we live in these remote places of our mind, all alone; making new memories, healing past wounds and discovering a new self.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Yet we forget.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">We forget that our decisions, actions, our immense pain... all ripple. Our experiences radiate out and extend to the people that care about us most; whether we want it to or not.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Sometimes things happen. Sometimes life happens. Sometimes it happens in tiny little increments as the days and months pass. Sometimes it happens all at once...at two o'clock in the morning...while the rain pours down outside your bedroom window and you can barely keep your eyes open and stop the tears from soaking your pillow.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Either way, sometimes...it happens. And if you're lucky (really fucking lucky) you have a handful of people who will raise you up and meet you at the shore. They draw you out of your secluded mind and remind you that you aren't in it by yourself. They will sit next to you, listen to you and bring you out of isolation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rbVs-vPlvpM/V14D4_oQhAI/AAAAAAAAAT4/8fkcU4fJMZkPMWkZDKFxTynHJiKv__jjACK4B/s1600/2432.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rbVs-vPlvpM/V14D4_oQhAI/AAAAAAAAAT4/8fkcU4fJMZkPMWkZDKFxTynHJiKv__jjACK4B/s320/2432.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">The last year has been challenging for me in a lot of ways. But if it has taught me anything, it's that I'm one of the lucky ones. From the unexpected phone calls; to the code red tea dates; to the text messages that made me laugh. It was a reminder that my struggle isn't an island either. It never was and it never will be. As I start to pick myself up off the rocks I can see the waters begin to calm and the tide begins to change... the ripples begin to calm.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I am beginning to see a familiar reflection staring back at me once again. The gratitude that is flowing from my soul is immeasurable.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Love your village hard, my friends, because of them, you will float instead of sink.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uj5K3WGfIBU/V14FXwLd_qI/AAAAAAAAAUE/oqnqqwx1NQAHxEhTc87UubIBfC83fIBGgCK4B/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uj5K3WGfIBU/V14FXwLd_qI/AAAAAAAAAUE/oqnqqwx1NQAHxEhTc87UubIBfC83fIBGgCK4B/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></span>BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-74005009760209691832016-02-16T14:51:00.001-08:002016-02-16T14:53:24.652-08:00On Learning From Experience... the hard way<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'open sans'; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
As we drive home from daycare I often ask my son, “What did you learn in school today?” Lately, his answer is “the usual.” And so I have to prompt him a little to be more specific – "what is 'the usual”?</div>
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“Oh, math and reading…same as always.”</div>
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“Well <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">what kind of things</em> did you learn in math? Did you ask any good questions?”</div>
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This will usually elicit more detail and I’m glad to hear him itemize the small parts of his day, to hear him attend to detail about the time he's spent away from me. Some days he tells me he doesn’t remember what he learned that morning. OK, that’s fair; some days I don’t remember what I had for breakfast. Or <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">if </em> I had breakfast. I'm grateful that at least (so far) he hasn’t told me he learned nothing.</div>
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Recent events in my life - more specifically some failed relationships - made me think about how innocently K explains what he learned. I wondered...</div>
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<span style="line-height: 23.8px;"><u><b><i>How often do we minimize or discredit what we’ve learned from an experience?</i></b></u></span></div>
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As parents, we teach our children by modelling behaviour. When I talk with K about things that have happened in his life, I do some role playing and have him try to view the situation compassionately from multiple angles rather than to judge. I often ask him, “OK, so what have you learned?” His answers are surprisingly insightful.</div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">When given the opportunity to think through a situation, to empathize with another’s position, it’s much easier to answer the question, to have someone guide us toward that realization, than it is to asses a situation on our own.</span></i></div>
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But we don’t always have those prompts when faced with real life and that’s where learning self-reflective behaviour is good. In fact it’s imperative. In order to truly grow as human beings, we must put self-reflection into practice. We must be able to not only understand a life experience, but also understand what we can learn from it.</div>
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<span style="font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 23.8px; text-align: right;">I recently read that: “Knowledge can be acquired only by a corresponding experience. How can we know what we are told merely? Each man can interpret another’s experience only by his own.”</span></div>
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How true is it that no matter how often we hear something, we don’t truly understand until we’ve experienced it personally? For me the last year and a half has been eye-opening in that regard. I have faced surprising and unexpected challenges in the pursuit of my goals and I’ve learned a few things for certain as a result:</div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Y</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ou cannot change people</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">. You may get them to change their habits, perhaps. But ultimately a person will not change unless it is their desire to do so. and if that happens, you won’t get a vote. You can only choose to disassociate from the situation if that is a healthier option. You can only control your own decisions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You will not hear an apology from someone who does not believe they have done anything that warrants one. Don’t try. Move on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>It does not matter what other people believe</u>. Whether complimentary or not, what other people think of you is simply their opinion. What you think about yourself matters a whole lot more. Just make sure you are thinking clearly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone has days they believe only the worst of themselves. Self-doubt is normal; self-brutalization is unhealthy. When you find yourself awake at night questioning every choice you have ever made, do some self-assessment, re-focus on your goals, and screw your head on straight.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.8px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Don't Chase People. </u> People can say a lot of things just to keep the peace. They can say that they value you. They can say they like you. They can say that they miss you. Don't chase after people based on their words alone. My experience has taught me to keep an open heart and mind but DO NOT chase after people who pay lip service. Allow people to show you their hearts and feelings in actions. Believe them when they do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Life is hard</u>. Even the most exciting or desirable pursuit will still hold challenge. There will be days you wonder why you thought your goal was a good idea; remember the reasons why it is. If it is your passion, do not give up. Strap on your crash helmet and keep going.</span></div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-29756506905828472352016-01-11T08:38:00.000-08:002016-01-11T08:56:34.325-08:00On Watching the Tower Fall<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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When I was about ten years old, I can remember one
particular Christmas. My family and I had all driven to Hanover to spend the
holidays with my grandparents. The traditions that we established each
year remain as some of my fondest memories. There was lots of snow on the
ground and I remember having the most beautiful Christmas tree that year…filled
with what seemed like a million white twinkle lights. There were more
presents under the tree than I could count and homemade sweets by the
plateful. But, what I remember most about that particular Christmas, was
the night that my Aunt, mom, and cousin stayed up until all hours of the
morning playing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jenga"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Jenga</span></a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you remember that game? You start with a tower of
wooden blocks and for each turn, you’re required to take one block from the
middle and move it on top. The idea is to build your tower as high as you
can…until eventually, it comes toppling down…and it becomes time to build a new
tower. The intensity of that game almost made me crazy with
anticipation. And I remember us laughing! The 5 of us – my
family – laughing until our stomachs hurt. Laughing until we just
couldn’t take it anymore. Laughing until we accidentally knocked the
kitchen table and the tower came falling down!<o:p></o:p></div>
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That was almost twenty-five years ago now and every year –
around the holidays – I find myself thinking about it. Remembering
it. Wondering about it. I find that life, in so many ways, is just like that tower;
we have all these blocks that shape our reality; work, family, friends, home,
hobbies, and countless others. Together – they create this beautifully
strong structure. Solid. Balanced. But, individually, if
moved to the wrong place or at the wrong time, they can throw everything off
and bring your whole world crashing down.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I would know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxWAWu-EK6JDG8-dk51JrChAGM9gzkhnZKLOGQ66ue7pB2Vp16_36AuIimnQ2PJq09Pojw_1sExIN6vvUDtIQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
I work really hard to keep my tower stable. Really
hard. I always have. Over the last few years there have been more
blocks added to that tower than I ever imagined possible…and all the while, it
remains standing. But I have watched it crash on more than one occasion
and trust me, it isn’t pretty. It’s loud. It’s messy. And
it’s incredibly disappointing when you stop to consider how long it took to
build in the first place.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have recently been recovering from such a crash.
Pieces everywhere. Dents in the floor. As I pick up the pieces again, it
seems that they fall again. More crashing. More dents. More
shattering. And honestly, watching the pieces fall out from under me was
devastating. It used me to make me feel like a complete failure; to
myself and everyone around me. The recovery from that feeling alone was
enough to make me want to put all the pieces back in the box and hide them in a
closet. But in the aftermath of this most recent mess, I did something
that I had never done before; I actually took the time to look at
the mess. To look at the pieces scattered around my feet. To look
at the infrastructure that clearly wasn’t working. And as I sat there,
with all of these wooden blocks staring back at me…I began to notice that it
was the same blocks that were knocking my tower over every single time.
Furthermore, they were blocks that I had never intended to build with in the
first place. They were blocks of guilt…disappointment…expectations.
And they were just too heavy. The weight of them was constantly throwing
everything off balance and destroying everything I had worked so hard to build.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This wasn’t an easy realization for me to have. It was
rather heartbreaking actually. But it was also an incredible blessing
because in order for something new to be built…something had to fall
apart. I had to fall apart. And once that happened, I
could start the process of putting the pieces back together again…and this
time, I could leave out the ones that didn’t fit. Ideally, to be replaced
with blocks of acceptance…forgiveness....grace...love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And so…I built. I continue to build. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Today – less than a month after Christmas…and almost half a
year since I began to pick up the pieces…I can’t help but remember that little
girl inside of me; our tower fell that night. The pieces strewn
everywhere. A loud crash came with it. And yet, what I remember is the <b><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light";"><i>laughter</i></span></b>.
I remember the company. I remember building the tower…not
losing it. In fact, that little girl screamed with excitement as the
blocks came crashing down. I think because deep down, that little girl
knew. She knew that our towers inevitably fall. She knew that,
sometimes, things just can’t help but give way. And she knew that maybe –
just maybe – once you’ve gathered up all of the pieces, the best part is actually
starting all over again…<o:p></o:p></div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-61063863392968735222015-12-29T09:31:00.004-08:002015-12-29T09:34:32.177-08:00On Being Vulnerable<div style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; font-family: 'News Cycle', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.2em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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Thanks to the Internet and social media, we now live in a world where our lives are on constant display (of course by our own choosing). It’s a territory that our generation is navigating for the first time in history- raising kids in the era of the Internet. I can’t help but think that this culture of show-off, do-more, glorify busy, and be picture-perfect doing it has an impact on our “IRL” (in real life) relationships too.</div>
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Vulnerability is already hard enough. Allowing another person to see some of your faults and realities is overwhelming because it opens you up to judgement. But when we’re used to being able to filter out all the junk, edit our image, and share <strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">only</strong> <strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">what</strong> <strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">we</strong> <strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">want</strong> on-line, I think our ability to practice vulnerability in relationships is even more challenging.<br />
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Ever since I was young I have struggled with the concept of vulnerability. But once, I graduated high school it became near impossible. Prior to high school ending I felt the freedom to be myself- with all my faults, insecurities, and chaos- but once I left and moved onto college, university and graduate school, I felt like there was an unwritten rule that I had to have it all together. Coincidentally, this was also right around the time that Facebook was really taking off. I suddenly found that I was self-conscious in conversation, reluctant to share my fears, struggles, and realities even with my closest friends. THEN when I became a mom, it was like the universe doubled-down on the “<b><i><u>must</u></i></b> have it together” rule. I felt like I was supposed to raise the perfect kids, have the adorable home, be a great hostess, find success and fulfillment in my career, cultivate some hobbies, volunteer, stay fit, remain relevant, and do it all with a smile on my face and a sense of accomplishment when I laid my head down at night. But all it really left me was exhausted and longing for more. In the midst of trying to “do it all,” I felt like I couldn’t even tell my best friend that I had a bad day because admitting that I had a bad day might be admitting that I’m not as good or as capable as she thought I was or that the image I was trying to maintain would be damaged.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wLvvTXYInT4/VoLC1mQxodI/AAAAAAAAARU/QuN7tUadVN8/s1600/IMG_7077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wLvvTXYInT4/VoLC1mQxodI/AAAAAAAAARU/QuN7tUadVN8/s320/IMG_7077.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: center;">The me that gets presented. </span><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: center;"> "She's got it together today".</span><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The me that sits here writing about vulnerability. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Feel honoured....not many see this side. </span></div>
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Here’s the deal- motherhood is hard. Relationships are HARD. Life is hard. But, when we close ourselves off to key relationships, fail to share some of the truths in our lives, and isolate ourselves in an effort to maintain the perfect image, we run the risk of feeling very alone and very weary. I want to find freedom from this perfect image rat race. Freedom to be myself, freedom to celebrate other women right where they are at, freedom to own my emotions and my realities. And I want anyone reading this post to feel that freedom too.</div>
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So what can we do to start cultivating the art of vulnerable motherhood and womanhood?</div>
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Here are some things I am working on:</div>
<ol style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; font-family: 'News Cycle', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 30px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Making time for in-person connection with my female friends</strong>– without kids! If you don’t have time with friends, how can you ever connect on a deeper level?</li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Taking a risk and sharing something with a close friend that I am struggling with.</strong> Often I think relationships lack depth because both parties are scared to be the one to open up first. But the truth is, when we are able to be vulnerable, it frees others to follow suit. And whatever it is that is weighing on you- odds are your friend has experienced it too.</li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Embracing myself and my life right where it is.</strong> Until I was able to sit down and accept how exhausted I was and how some of the things in my life were draining me, I wasn’t able to move forward. Own where you are so that you can make a plan for how to get where you want to be.</li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Asking for help!</strong> I am terrible at this. We live in a culture that so values self-reliance that we have become awful at partnering together in life. </li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Practicing self-care.</strong> Developing deeper relationships is hard work, and sometimes it might feel awkward or exhausting especially if you are an introverted vulnerability-hater like me. Honour your need for alone time. Schedule time every week to do something for you- something you enjoy that is relaxing and that “fills your tank.”</li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Telling people how much I value them.</strong> I can think of at least five people off the top of my head that I truly value. I make sure that I tell these people from the very deepest and honest part of my being what they mean to me. This could mean taking a few minutes to just encourage them- tell them they are a great mom or a beautiful woman, tell them that I value them as a person. In encouraging and celebrating others we are able to let go of some of our own pride, our own need to be recognized. And when we learn to celebrate others right where they are, we are better equipped to celebrate ourselves right where we are.</li>
<li style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>Letting go of the mask.</b> You don't need to be perfect all the time. Letting people see the tired and frustrated mommy, the friend that is hurt that you haven't made time, the girl that doesn't feel so independent, the woman who loves too hard-too soon, simply opens you up to be surrounded by people who love those things about you. </li>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-85505565817732754602015-09-02T08:22:00.001-07:002016-05-02T08:12:58.576-07:00On Saying Good Bye<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Sometimes I write things with the clearest picture in my mind of who I am writing for. It is like I can see you. </span><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You, with the red lipstick that you just got confident enough to start wearing. You, the one who doesn’t really understand the unique thing that people see you to be.</em><span style="line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">I can see you sitting there. Reading <i>me</i>. And I search the ground, sort of like an Easter egg hunt, for the things I think you’d want to read.</span></div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And then sometimes I write something just so that I can go back and read it.</strong> Maybe once. Maybe twice. I write the words for myself, pretending that someone else is writing them for me. I do this strategically. I do this so that I don’t have to feel like the one who is alone– her hands full of unanswered questions– in the middle of something I don’t fully understand.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u>Goodbye is one of those things.</u></span></h2>
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<span style="line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">In my life I've collected enough life experiences to write this post as a self-proclaimed expert in the field of heart-breaking good byes. I've said good bye to my mom while she was in a casket, and my dad over months of him withering away. I've parted with friends with amicable "can't wait to see you's" and anger filled "Fuck-you's". I've ushered out relationships with dying whispers and others with bursts of tears. I'm beginning to get the hang of this. So, this post will be dedicated to the life lessons that the "Good-byes of 2015" have brought me. </span></div>
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Good-bye is one of those things I don’t fully understand yet. <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m no good at it. I’d rather not go there. I’d find it better to beeline the whole entire thing. I don’t want to miss people. I don’t want to know they are growing in my absence.</em></div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">That’s the secret pain of goodbye: people still have the permission to grow into their own skin without you.</strong> And that feels very strange. I’m tempted to just say, “No, you can’t. Please. Just don’t. Just stay as you are.” But that’s selfish. You don’t get to keep people, selfishly, just so you don’t have to be so fearful they’ll find a way to live without you.</div>
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The only thing I know for certain about this whole “goodbye” thing? You have to say it sometimes. You have to get real brave, and bite your bottom lip, and let people go sometimes. <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Fully, fully.</em> Even when you don’t feel ready.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><i>They always make the point of goodbye seem so romantic on the television.</i></u></span></h2>
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Someone is always waiting by the airport terminal. Someone is always asking you to stay, hurdling suitcases so that they can clutch your face. I used to watch Dawson’s Creek and imagine I’d get to have all the long, gruelling departures one day, just like Joey Potter. I thought that would be the real golden duck of adulthood– <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">when people found it terribly hard to release me.</em></div>
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It isn’t. And Joey Potter should have just been honest and told us all the truth,<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Goodbyes suck. And there’s no eloquent way to say that. There is no poetic way to talk about ugly crying on someone’s nice shirt. There is nothing in the moment that makes walking away seem reasonable. It’s just hard.”</em> You awkwardly just sort of hope that someone will tell you not to go. Because maybe you would listen to them. Maybe a big white poster board with the letters “STAY” written in black Sharpie would convince you to do just that. <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Just stay. For little while longer.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
Goodbye is hard. <strong style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Goodbye is the starting point you don’t see because the finish line is so piled high with tears and last words and fears that this– this thing you have right here– will never be the same.</strong> Don’t fear that. Don’t fear that because it’s already true. It won’t ever be the same. <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It could be over. It could be final. But it could be better than the two of you could ever predict. That could happen too.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
<br />
And yes, it feels like something in the room is dead or dying or about to die. And the scary thing about that? That’s already true too.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
Something is dying. We can’t even ignore it. It sounds so morbid but goodbye is really just admitting that something is dying. You two came together– for a month or for a year or for five of those years– and you built something. You breathed your whole little life into that thing. <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Your secrets. Your fears. Your laughter.</em> All into that thing. That friendship thing, that “I’ve never really met someone like you” sort of thing. Then, out of nowhere, it feels like something comes along and lobs the whole thing into pieces. That’s what a goodbye will do.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
Goodbye is the fear– temporary and real– that we’ve carried for years up until that one word– short & stout– made it all tip over and all pour out: <em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I am afraid to leave. I am afraid to change. I am afraid to be vulnerable with you. I am afraid you'll abandon me. Can you just keep me here? Can we never move? I’m afraid you will forget me and what we felt.</em></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: raleway-1, raleway-2, sans-serif; font-size: 44.8px; font-weight: 100; line-height: 33px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; outline: 0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</h2>
<h2 style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: raleway-1, raleway-2, sans-serif; font-weight: 100; line-height: 33px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; outline: 0px; padding: 10px 0px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><u><i>When I stood at the door to say goodbye, I muddied up the whole thing.</i></u></span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
I let the fear speak louder than the genuine thing inside of me that knew goodbye was the only road to take.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
“I hate goodbyes, I'm so fucking sick of them” I told him. “I’m sorry. I’m just so bad at them. I wish they didn’t exist. I want to be like an octupus who has 8 arms and can just hold onto everything always. I wish I could just go in the night.” It was all my fears and insecurities that I would never have it this good again, all mounted and stored up inside of that word.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br />
He stopped me. “It’s goodbye,” he said. “And then you get over it. Let me go.”</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
That’s all he said before he pulled me in for a hug. And then he let me go. And everything about his gesture of letting me go so quickly– nearly like a band-aid you rip off and pretend there is no sting– seemed to hum the truth:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em>
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"You, I believe in you. That is why I am so quick to let you go. Trust me, trust me, the human thing inside of me wants to keep you right here. Right where I can see your eyes and I can hold your hand. But even if you can’t see it, I can see it and I can not ignore it any longer: you are ready. It is time. If I held you back, I’d be the one doing a disservice to the parts of this world that so deserve the blessing of “you” for a little while.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em>
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">So cry your tears. And say your last words. And when you are emptied out, let me go. Please let me go. Don’t live in your memories, making tents and tiny houses out of the way we used to be. Something really wonderful awaits you. I need you to step inside of it. Say goodbye because something new is about to start right here.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em>
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And me? Well I’ll carry the thought of you doing just fine. I’ll carry the thought of you meeting new people, and holding new pairs of hands, and clutching people closer than you ever clutched me. I’ll remember that when you came to me it was a blessing. A temporary blessing that we’ll one day see if we can make permanent. But for now, it’s you and all the little lives you’ve got to go out there and touch.</em></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: tinos-1, tinos-2, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em>
<em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You’re ready. That’s why I’m letting you go. And everyone else? Everyone else who gets you for this next little “I’ll see you everyday” sort of while? They win. I don’t feel like much of a winner in this moment, but them? They absolutely win.</em></div>
BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-3656561821414923022015-08-22T13:19:00.001-07:002015-08-22T13:19:29.505-07:00On Glass Houses, Betrayal and Ashley Madison<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This week I have
heard and seen countless rants about how the cheaters are going to “get what
they deserve” after the Ashley Madison data leak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find this kind of rhetoric unnecessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who is really going to suffer from the narcissism
that is cheating? The liar and cheater?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ones who will be most impacted are the families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why gloat? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRhDhmC4R0w/VdjYxzWJLXI/AAAAAAAAAPs/7DMdtAaG2wc/s1600/invisible-children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRhDhmC4R0w/VdjYxzWJLXI/AAAAAAAAAPs/7DMdtAaG2wc/s320/invisible-children.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was never
really into the Duggar’s TV show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 21.95pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 21.95pt;">Maybe it’s
because the thought of tater tot casserole makes me queasy or because I stopped
watching most reality shows after Season 2 of Survivor. But mostly, it was
because I didn’t identify with the large, homeschooling, “good” family.
(They just made the unruly, eye-rolling, sarcastic people in my house look
even more unrighteous.) While I’m sure there was some common
ground, I could only see the things we didn’t have in common.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 21.95pt;"> </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 21.95pt;">However, this week I have felt a certain
amount of intrigue with the family’s struggles.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 21.95pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I read Josh
Duggar’s statement this week, admitting he not only struggled with a
pornography addiction, but was also unfaithful to his young wife and children–I
didn’t rejoice. I felt sick to my stomach. Knowing what his family is
enduring is heartbreaking. And I don’t have to be a “fan” to recognize it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No, I didn’t
gloat and point a sanctimonious finger. My first urge was to shout, “Man down!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s what I screamed
last week when I found out through the town rumour mill that a trusted friend
was sharing my own life’s struggles. A person that I had deeply trusted decided
to point that sanctimonious finger directly at me, judge my choices and
short-comings and then to top it off share her thoughts about my life with
complete strangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was gutted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s hard to know
if Josh’s Duggar contrition this week came because he got caught or
because he was truly repentant or because he has nothing left to lose. We might
never know. While I think it matters privately to his wife and family, it’s
really none of our business. Just as my choices in life are none of this town’s
business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is ground zero for a
family and hopefully redemption and help will follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Should
the TV show be off the air?</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Absolutely.
(Maybe the real question is should it have ever been on TV?) <i>Should
this family be taken off a pedestal?</i> Definitely. (All families are
messy, even the “good” ones). <i>Should we pick up a rock and join the
mob?</i> Only if we’re perfect. <i>Should we worry about our own
hypocrisy?</i> Probably. <i>Should we take a moment to clean the
windows in our own glass houses? </i></span><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">You bet!</span></i><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should we avoid tater tot casserole at all
costs?</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> You know it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The world may never
understand that many families are a mess of sinful humanity trying to sort this
life out, but they will see that we eat our own and wound our wounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This “kick her, when she’s down” approach,
was my heart-breaking revelation this week and has been the cause of a painful
end to a meaningful friendship. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s easy to
use “love” as an action word for our lost world–those we don’t agree with
in alternative lifestyles, but it’s harder to show it to people who are more
like us than we care to admit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 21.95pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How
then shall should we respond to the falling of Josh Duggar or anyone else?</span></b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Our heart should cry, “Man down! Family shattered! I’m
going to live the best life I can live (in my glass house, with dirty windows)”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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BratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-65487177584678799972015-07-17T08:08:00.003-07:002016-05-02T08:09:53.956-07:00A Letter To my 18 Year Old Self; A Hind-sighted Reflection andIntrospectionIn a few short weeks it will be 16 years since I graduated from high school. It’s hard to believe how fast these years have gone by. Yes, I have aged a bit, grey hairs, wrinkles and lumps and bumps in places that would have horrified my 18 year old self. More importantly, I have also gained so much. These 16 years have brought wisdom through life experiences, a greater sense of self as well as self-confidence, and the realization that my own happiness is important too. I could not have imagined, while walking down the aisle that rainy September day that this moment would mark monumental life changes.<br />
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I was inspired to write this honest and genuine letter to my 18 year old self, by the photographer from my wedding. How fitting. His honesty and introspection was moving. I wonder what would happen if that fiercely independent and focused 18 year old would have been able to listen.<br />
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Dear Fierce Girl Full of Hope and Wonder,<br />
<br />
You have waited for this moment; the moment to get out of the confines and small-mindedness of Ajax High School. You know it all. You feel ready for the world. I want you to be excited about what lies ahead, believe in the goodness of others, and don’t be afraid to pursue your dreams. I would like to offer some other words of advice to help you along the way.
Realize what a beautiful person you are, how genuine your heart is and how intelligent and thoughtful you are. This will save you from many years of sadness, insecurity and heartache. Quit thinking that everyone else is more important. Find your voice. People will listen. Believe in yourself, because your whole wonderful life lies before you.<br />
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<i> Listen to mom. Hug her. Be patient with her. </i><br />
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In a few short weeks you are going to find her dead in the garage and you will later wish you had seen things from her perspective. Her intensity and advice comes from a place of love. I know it is hard to see that right now. When you have your own children you will feel that intensity and wish you could have shared in these moments with her. You will long for her advice. You will ache for the relationship you could have had with your mom.
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<i>Be vulnerable. Be generous. Be strong. </i><br />
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You are very sensitive and your feelings are easily hurt. Try not to take everything so personally. And, though it may seem like the world is watching your every move, most of the time people have their own issues and problems going on to notice your faults and missteps. Don’t feel like you have to fix everything. You have always felt the need to make sure everything is perfect in everyone else’s world. This is not your job. Try to focus on your own happiness for once.<br />
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<i> Love with wild abandon. Ask for what you need. Give generously</i>.<br />
<br />
Date guys who will lift you up, instead of pull you down. You're already strong enough to be able to stand up when you are being treated well. Good girl. But, I mean more than that here. I want you to seek elevation. Don't settle for "good enough" nor complacency. It's ok to expect passion and it's ok to ask for what you want and need. It will take you many years to learn this lesson. Hang in there, because you will eventually find someone who will treat you well, make you laugh and never be a cause for tears. Yes, he does exist. Natalie, please don't be a passenger on a train that doesn't serve you. Drive it, dear girl.<br />
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<i> Take time to know yourself. Don't lose yourself in other's expectations of you. </i><br />
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People will come to expect a lot from you and fulfilling this need will fill you up. I want you to remember to take the time for you. Spend time with friends. Spend time with yourself. You can not connect the dots looking forward. You can connect them looking backwards. So I need you to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something. Destiny. Life. Karma. Your instincts. Fate. Whatever! Because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart and instincts even when it leads you off the well-worn path and THAT will make the difference.<br />
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Your time will be limited and sacred, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't get trapped living with the results of other people’s thinking or expectations. Don't let the noise of other people’s opinion drown out your own inner voice. You have got to find what you love. This is as true for work as it so for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. It will be hard work and you will often question your stamina. The only way to do great work is to do work that you love. Don’t settle. Don’t become complacent. Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. You will constantly try to reinvent yourself and figure out who you are.<br />
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<i>Slow down and focus on your life today. Enjoy your life’s journey. Love but don't lose yourself. Experience people. Kiss some frogs. </i><br />
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Andre has become your everything. I have hindsight to enlighten me, but take a step back. Be with your friends. Have the confidence to walk away instead of pushing so far that it hurts him. It will hurt to end it, but you will grow wings. Natalie, DO NOT jump right into a relationship. You'll fall for Ryan. You'll get married and be deeply in love and you will love him forever. But, when you're in your 30s you will regret not having the life experience of dating and kissing frogs, and having awkward first dates, and first kisses that take your breath away.<br />
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Stop anticipating the next big thing. Smell the roses.
You spend so much time right now, waiting to move out. Waiting for university, to move out, to live together, to get engaged, for the wedding, for the job, for the kids.<u> Please stop and enjoy the beauty that is in this day</u>. It will all happen in time, and you don't want to look back and say your whole life has been in anticipation. Don’t worry about events that may not ever happen. Even if negative things do happen, you are stronger than you think. You will be able to handle it. Try not to be so hard on yourself about mistakes that you have made and will make along the way. There will be many, but these experiences will shape the young woman that you will become. Don't be afraid to cry and be vulnerable. Heartbreak teaches us a lot. Be vulnerable. Don't let this heartbreak stop you from letting other's in. In addition, do not regret these lapses in judgement or regret the mistakes made. Learn from them instead.<br />
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<i> Live from a place of gratitude. Embrace the moment because there will be loss. </i><br />
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I hate that this will be a hard lesson for you. You will suffer losses that will threaten to consume you. Some of the hardest and most alienating losses will be the babies. You will become part of a horrid sisterhood of pregnancy loss. You will feel alone. Please don't be too hard on the father. He is doing the best he can. Don't put up a wall to keep him from seeing your immeasurable pain. Let him in. Also, please know that you will have two amazing boys. Without, giving away the ending... Kingston will have a giant heart that will remind you of the generosity of spirit that you have. He will pull you out of the sadness with his hugs and sweet, gentle nature. Camden will make you laugh when you need it most and will remind you of the easiness of their daddy. Be grateful for the gifts that your loved ones bring to your life. You will suffer as you witness them leave your life, through death and distance. Say "I'm sorry". And mean it. Say "I'm so grateful for you". Mean it!! Realize that it gets better. You will endure many times when it seems like all hope is lost. Hang in there.<br />
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Life is going to be so good, you just have to experience a few rough times, so that you can fully appreciate the good ones.
Don’t be afraid to go after what you want in life.<br />
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Many of your greatest opportunities will be disguised as challenges and obstacles. Never give up. Break through them and you will find many successes.<br />
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Always remember that you are surrounded by people who love you and believe in you. These people will be your sources of strength whenever you need them. Lean on them and don’t push them way.
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So, you naive, beautiful, strong girl, embrace your future. You are blessed with so many wonderful gifts. Don’t get in the way of your own happiness. Live in the moment.<br />
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And in case you’re wondering, in 16 years, everything is going to be ok.
Go for it! Life is good.
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Love,<br />
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NatalieBratNatHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08246882576281089151noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8255668702920031633.post-45046870524268890642015-05-24T10:10:00.001-07:002015-05-24T10:26:06.757-07:00My Tribute to My Dad<iframe width="1" height="1" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r8qpTL1wxGQ"&autoplay=1 frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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<i>Yesterday our friends and families gathered to say goodbye to my dad. I had many requests for me to send them my tribute to my dad, so that they could read it in more quiet moments. Many people mentioned that as I spoke about who my father was to me, they were moved to tears and laughter as they shared many similar memories. Thank you all for being a part of this crazy journey. </i></h4>
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First off, my brothers, my aunts and uncle, and my Omi want to sincerely thank you for your efforts in being here, not only today but during this entire journey. You have filled our hearts with laughter, memories and friendship. </div>
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It is an odd thing, speaking at the funeral of the man that has served as the narrator of your life. In the hours and days since his death, I feel as if I’ve lost my words. I suppose it is because he was the person that provided me with so many of them. Listening to stories it seems as though he's provided many of you with some gems. So many times over the past few days, as we’ve struggled or hurt or hoped I’ve thought, I should call Dad. He’d help me see this all the right way.</div>
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He was good at that. Helping me see things right side up. When I was seven, he took me to The movie "my Girl". After the heartbreaking scene with the bees, my dad wrapped his arms around his "Turkey" and explained that death is a natural part of life. When I was 12, we sat on the floor of this office in Amherstview and he consoled an incredibly awkward me while I cried because I wasn’t that boy's "type", explaining that there was somebody out there that would be my perfect fit. Just six years ago, as I neared the end of a long first pregnancy, he laid his head on my enormous belly and apprised that I would soon realize what it felt like to have your my own heart beating on the outside. He held my first baby and rocked back and forth in our glider while I rocked back and forth through baby blues. He held Kingston with his eyes shut tight and in that deep softness his voice got when he truly meant something, he said, “Don’t worry, sugar. This baby boy is going to show you the world. Yes, you have a best buddy right here. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I am right here. You can do this.” It took months for me to understand what he was saying, but as I waded through the murkiness of sadness I held on to the sight of him rocking in my house with his eyes closed.</div>
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My Dad always closed his eyes when he spoke about the truths that meant the most to him. I used to think he closed his eyes to keep the tears in. Anyone who knows my dad, knows the man could cry over paint drying just right. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve changed my mind. If keeping tears in was the reason he shut his eyes, they would hardly have ever been open. No, rather, I think he closed his eyes when he spoke so that he could see more clearly. At the dinner table when he cleared his throat and squinted his eyes shut, we always knew it was time to put the forks down and listen. My dad had a way of gathering the beautiful aspects of mortality and immortality and holding them up for all of us to see.</div>
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My dad... For me.... He is sunglasses and baseball hats. He is water skiing on the river. He is funny nicknames and bear hugs. He is whistling and singing on long drives. He's blueberry cheesecake and Harvey's burgers. He is opi to my babies. He is a well loved denim shirt. He is bruder, mon kuchin, and mutti schatz. He is a cold glass of Richards red and an island coffee. The giver of big squeezes and pokes in the arm . He is a trip to Lake Placid, where I learned about exploding cigarettes and that time can stop long enough for you to breathe in the moments we have been given with one another. He is not enough days and so much blessing it hurts. He is a clothesline full of clothes and tiny footprints in the sand. He is long meandering drives and beautiful sunsets. He is a heart bursting with love. He is “wish sandwiches” and a fast moving boat. He is whiskers and encouragement and Christmas all shined up bright. He is the man that first taught me to stop leading and just dance.</div>
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How fitting! As I danced with my uncle last night I was reminded how my dad loved to dance. He would drag me onto the dance floor and would say "Nat, stop leading. Just follow me". While our family braced to battle this illness, he took another approach. He danced with it. In his final moments this past Sunday, with my uncle Jeff and I by his side, listening to the Boss, he lead! He chose his moment. </div>
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I am so flippin' proud of him for that. </div>
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What a blessing. </div>
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Yes, it is a blessing and that is all well and good, my heart says. But what about now? How do we survive until the reunion. What about about today? It is a good question and one I expect to ask and answer by the day, by the hour and sometimes, like right now, by the minute.</div>
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What about today?</div>
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Well, today, following the example of Larry Latiok, I will close my eyes so that I can see more clearly. And there in that place, absent from distraction and dismay, I know what I will find. There is a daddy whose body has been taken, but whose heart is near. There is love and the blessing of time given and time taken. There is hope and faith. There is the brush of something greater than you and me, something that carries the smell of stars and the impression of truths strait and gleaming and multi-dimensioned.</div>
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And there is the quiet assurance of a Father’s voice, rocking back and forth against my heart, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I am right here. You all can do this.” </div>
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So today, with my heart and hopes, kicking and crying and protesting against this early farewell, I am learning from my dad. This parting is not forever.</div>
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I love you period Do you love me question mark</div>
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