Acronyms: "Mom, Nobody Uses Those Anymore!"

My writing chops are a little rusty.  I can feel it. 

Apparently, my knowledge of acronyms is terribly dated as well.  I can feel that, too—especially when my daughter, upon reading my text, exclaims, “Mom! LOL? Nobody uses that anymore!”

No worries.  I am a Lady in the Know at Ladies Holiday.  I am honored to take up a little room at their space, so check it out.

Now what about those acronyms which just happen to be today’s theme at Monday Listicles? 

Well, for that, I had to ask my daughters (who are 12 and 14, arguably more in the know than I) for input.  The consensus was that really, no one uses them at all anymore.  They are a thing of the past. 

I didn't believe it. 

With a little prodding, I got my girls to help me compile a list.  Here’s what we came up with:

10 Acronyms We Still Use 

(even though nobody really uses them anymore)

LOL – According to my 14 year old this acronym for laugh out loud is no longer used as a way to express the fact that one is laughing.  She said it is used to make a statement less awkward, like, “I saw you at the store, LOL.”

LAWLZ – Apparently this is the new LOL.  What each letter stands for is unknown to anyone in this household.  I would guess the L’s stand for laugh and loud.  The rest is up for interpretation.

HBU – 14yo still uses this one for how ‘bout you, confirming the fact that teenagers exaggerate (see title).

SMH – I have seen this one in my 14yo’s Instagram feed.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it meant and had been dying to ask her.  I hesitated for weeks because I was afraid it was something wacky and inappropriate.  Nope.  It’s harmless: shake my head.

TBT – Another one from Instagram: Throwback Thursday

IDK – Oldie but goodie: I don’t know

BRB – Be right back, respectively submitted by my 12yo.

JK – Just kidding, respectively submitted by my 12yo.

CSA – I usually use it with a hashtag in front of it and the word 'survivor' behind it: child sexual abuse.  (Uncomfortable?  Statistics point to CSA being an epidemic.  Do something).

HALT – I love that this was the first acronym my girls reminded me of upon asking them for help with this list.  It’s one I learned in recovery and have taught them to use to discern their moods: hungry, angry, lonely, tired.  If they seem annoyed or down, I’ll ask “How many letters do you have in HALT?  How can you take care of it?”

Here’s to HALT and here’s to you, LOL. (Yes, I’m trying to end this post with as little awkwardness as possible.)

photo credit: See-ming Lee 李思明 SML via photopin cc

Save It for Later: 3 Things April

In Save It for Later you’re getting a brief run-down of each week's stand-outs from things I've bookmarked to "read later" either from my Diigo "Read Later" list, Pulse News, Twitter, and/or Pinterest.

I haven’t blogged for a month, so my read later list is quite extensive.  I’ll spare you the lot of it and share with you what I think is most important.  All happen to be relating to April.

April is National Poetry Month.  This week BlogHer gave us 6 Amazing Last-Minute Ways to Celebrate National Poetry Month.  I really like #5 which is an online app called That Can Be My Next Tweet that mashes up your own Twitter stream to create tweets that are somewhat poetic.  I tried the app.  Here are some of my mashed up tweets:

I Want and comment. I Want and the lights go. Do I pay my friend, Anna Mahler....

Linking up with a great info you've been posting here and doing nothing.

Couldn't be happier to one's courage. - I am now a difference in the great women making history?

Number 7 on the BlogHer list, spine poetry, is also fun.  Stack up a few books, take a photo of their spines, and voila, their titles make poetry.  Here’s one that I attempted:

You can share yours on Twitter with the hashtag #spinepoetry.

For more ideas on last minute National Poetry Month celebrations check out the BlogHer article or Poets.org

April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month.  As a survivor of child sexual abuse this is an awareness campaign close to my heart.  Like most of these month-long campaigns, I feel it is one that should be at the forefront of our awareness all year.

In the pursuit to eradicate child abuse the most important tool is prevention.  Prevention can only happen through education, answering the question of “how do we stop this from happening?”  The Child Welfare Information Gateway has a wealth of information on prevention geared towards parents, professionals and educators.  I also have been curating information on prevention on Pinterest for over a year.  There are several organizations working towards the prevention of child abuse.  The video below is from one such organization, Darkness to Light.

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  In light of the Steubenville rape case getting so much media attention, this campaign couldn’t be more timely.  I have been gathering information on preventing sexual assault at Pinterest and you can check out some very informative links by clicking here.  The National Sexual Violence Resource Center is always my first stop for solid, accessible information.  Their current campaign is "Talk early, talk often. Prevent sexual violence"  

Also, check out the newly launched NO MORE, “The first unifying symbol to express support for ending domestic violence and sexual assault,” which provides tools for individuals to get involved locally and on social media in order to shed light on the invisible problems of sexual assault and domestic violence.  I downloaded their free toolkit containing sample social media posts, email templates, and more.  I think it's great and you should download and use it, too:   Activate NO MORE

April is just about to turn into May but don't expect this to be the last you read here about the prevention of child abuse and the awareness/prevention of sexual assault.  Beware, I just may subject you to the torture of my own poetry, too!

Wednesday's Woman: Three Generations

 "Family is complicated, relationships are not easy."

Today’s guest blogger, Anna Mahler, is a regular contributor to Wednesday’s Woman.  You can find her at The Mommy Padawan sharing her observations and life lessons as a wife and mother.  Today, just a few days after her birthday, she explores the complexity of the family relationships that shape our lives from one birthday to the next, as daughters and granddaughters.

Happy Belated Birthday, Anna.

Wednesday's Woman: Three Generations

by Anna Mahler

Each week, I look forward to reading all the awesome Wednesday's Woman posts here at Sperk*. I've learned about well known women doing great things and causing needed change, everyday heroes and even women who are no longer with us but through their own courage and drive, was changing lives and the world we live in before I was even born.

But some of my favorites have been the personal friends and family some have written about and I have to admit, I often feel twinges of jealousy while reading.  I wish I had a great female role model, someone personal involved in my life today.

These were some of my feelings as I sat, thinking about who to spotlight for my own Wednesday's Woman this month.

As my thoughts drifted to the women I have known, the women in my family, I started to see that maybe there is more positive there, more influence and insight than I am sometimes ready to see.

There was Marion.

I remember being very little and thinking my mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Long, dark hair, pale skin against red lipstick, a tall and slender body always impeccably and stylishly dressed. She was everything I felt I was not with my brown skin, frizzy hair and short legs.

She was always busy, super focused on the business she and my father owned and ran. It seemed like there was nothing she couldn't do, nothing she hadn't experienced or didn't know how to handle until lung disease raged a battle none of us were ready for. One that even her super powers were unable to defeat.

From her, I learned about strength, drive, and independence. I know the work ethic I was constantly praised for back in my corporate america days came from her, something that kept me afloat over many, difficult years.

There was Elizabeth.

My grandmother lived next door and was my babysitter and after school care for many years growing up. I loved spending time at her house and still have wonderful memories of it today.  She smelled like a light perfume and fresh talcum powder and always wore lipstick as well. No matter the day or time, PBS was on the t.v., the house was warm and smelled like good food cooking and she herself was full of softness, patience and care. She taught me how to tie my shoes and tell time on her clock on the mantel. She'd let me light her incense cone in the little Buddha holder and ring the tiny bells she kept on the shelf next to it.  We watched people dance around bubbles on Laurence Welk and Bob Ross paint happy little trees.

From her, I learned warmth and softness and love.

Both of these women are no longer a part of this physical world but parts of them both are forever with me, mingled in my blood, deep in the soul, invisible tattoos burning deep within.

So often I only think of what I wish had happened, things I would have changed or the bad and difficult times.

Women are magical and complex creatures.  Family is complicated, relationships are not easy. Why would it be different for the three generations of women that we were?

But when I see the the lessons both offered and the way their lives have molded mine at times; independence, strength and drive - softness, love and warmth, what an amazing combination, these gifts they left behind.

Because they have inspired, empowered me and deeply affected who I am today, I'm honoring my mother and grandmother for today's Wednesday's Woman.

WEDNESDAY'S WOMAN IS A WEEKLY FEATURE DEDICATED TO SPOTLIGHTING WOMEN WHO ARE ROLE MODELS FOR OUR DAUGHTERS. . . AND THE WORLD.

photo credit: colorblindPICASO via photopin cc

Time for Patience

Remember when you were little and the school year seemed to drag on for an eternity?  Forget the school year.  Each class seemed to last longer than summer break.

I remember staring at the giant, industrial, white-faced clock hanging on the classroom wall, watching the second hand slowly tick around its sphere.  Each time the second hand met the big hand, I felt relieved.  One minute down, 40 to go before the bell rang, signaling it was acceptable to move my body out of boredom, discomfort and anxiety.

As an adult, it's different.  Time flies.  Does anyone know why this phenomenon occurs?  One day seems to last a second, a year is like a day.  And now, January is almost at its end and I have yet to set any definitive goals for the year.

I know you are saying, “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.  It’s OK.  You can start, or change, any time.”

This is true.  However, as one who struggles with depression, when I give myself permission to stall, or get to it tomorrow, it means three days on the couch.  

Three days on the couch means the depression is fed with a powerful fuel that helps it continue for three more days.  Then I am left with nothing but a fried brain full of terrible self-talk and a sweaty bottom stuck to my jammie pants, jammie pants stuck to, you guessed it, the couch.

I do not remember the word I chose to focus on last year in order to focus on having a good year.  I think it was “fearlessness” or “courage”.  I think I exhibited some of both.  Each time I let bravery simmer to the top it was met by the outside world with enthusiasm, empathy and encouragement.  I was and am grateful for that.  But my inside-world, my self-talk, quickly drove any success into a massive car wreck.

Although the destruction did not go noticed by anyone, I saw it.  I saw it in the things I did not do.  Instead of taking advantage of the momentum of success, my focus fastened itself on the things yet to be accomplished.

 

I have experienced success.  I know I can do it.  That’s not the issue.

The issue is that I have no patience.  If it’s not done now I tell myself "I can’t" or "It’s not for me" or "It's something I do not deserve."

That’s all pretty harsh. 

No one deserves that kind of talk, so why inflict it upon myself?

Lately I have noticed my daughters who are 12 and 14 have very little kindness for themselves.  If their hair is not just right, they are ugly.  If their shirt hangs slightly different than they imaged, they are fat.  It’s frightening.  Although I never verbalize my negative self-talk, they must be picking up this technique of beating oneself up from me through motherhood osmosis.

Enough.

The awesome team at Just.Be.Enough has chosen three words to focus upon for 2013:  “. . . words to help us in setting goals, dreaming big, and being intentional about our journey to being enough.”

I am choosing one.

Patience.

Just.Be.Enough

I unofficially put my focus word into practice starting two days ago.  On that morning I had dishes done, the floors swept and mopped, and the living room dusted by 8:30 am.  I finished all of the girls’ laundry.  I got help moving the treadmill from the basement to the first floor so that we use it.  I showered, put on make-up and took the girls out shopping.  I even said “hello” to a friend I saw at the store, which is unusual.  Typically I hide.

At 8:00 pm I was contemplating scrubbing down the treadmill and hanging blinds in the room wherein we will be using it.  But I stopped.  I had done enough.  I didn't want to overdo it, waking up the next day with exhaustion which would be permission to go back to the couch.

Patience.

Everything takes time.  Everything has a process.  Change does not happen overnight.  Success isn't awarded in an instant.

I will be holding myself accountable for being patient by linking up monthly with Just.Be.Enough.

You just read month number one. 

Time flew, didn't it?

photo credit: BramstonePhotography via photopin cc

I Can't Not Say It

As I posted the first Wednesday’s Woman of 2013 this morning, reentering the world of blogging after what seemed to me like a long hiatus, I was reminded of how healthy and necessary this is for me--the practice of communicating, connecting, healing, and celebrating.  Laughing with one and other and holding each other up as we reveal parts of ourselves that need light in order to move on and let go.  As a parent and as a person who strives to get better and be better, I need to be here.

This sort of self-declaration may seem redundant or unnecessary.  However, while I was away from Sperk*, I did a lot of thinking (at times, maybe too much).  I questioned whether or not I should devote so much of my time to this space.  It certainly isn't bringing in any considerable income.  And, at times, I don’t feel like I can share everything I need to because I have to protect my children.  I mean, I am choosing to share these stories.  They are along as participants only because they somehow ended up being my daughters.  The are not participating because they are dying for the world to get to know them through my eyes.

I questioned whether or not what I was sharing was relevant to anything. . .

or nothing . . .

or something. 

I don’t have all the answers to the above.  But I do know this:  Using my voice forces growth in the right direction.   When I am silent, my growth is stunned.  And already, after just one post, I feel as though it is possible to let go of all the pain and worry I conjured up while away from Sperk*.

I am in the process of discerning how much pain and worry I conjured on my own and how much was inflicted: 1) I already left the job I started in December.    This was heartbreaking and I still haven’t figured out if being a teacher is really my calling.  2) My mother sent me the most evil text in the world in December.  (I am sure she felt the same about my text to her.)  This was heartbreaking and I still haven’t figured out how to put this one down and let it go.

But I do know this:  Without this process—writing, posting, and commenting—I will never figure it out.  So, here I am.  Stay tuned.

photo credit: Will Lion via photopin cc

Memories Captured: Remembering the Joy

In November of last year, 2011, news reports came out that there was a scandal of child sexual abuse at Penn State University.  Shortly after hearing the news, my significant other, M, recovered memories of his own child sexual abuse.  During the same time, I was at a crossroads in my relationship with my mother due to my own issues with childhood sexual abuse.  I severed all ties with her by February of 2012.  M is currently teetering on the fence with his family, exploring how to make their relationships work in light of his memories.

For families that have been torn apart by abuse, the holidays can be a heavy burden and filled with grief.  For M and me, 2012, this year, was the first year we did not have to make excuses to avoid Thanksgiving with family.  No one called to invite us.  On one hand, this was a relief.  I know that my healing cannot be done with my family in my life.  On the other hand, the grief that remains is something I would rather not contend with, for grief is a prize fighter.

During Christmastime 2010, as we were ushering in 2011, not knowing the aftermath of child abuse was going to plague our days at the end of the year and well into the next, we celebrated.  We sang.  We danced.  We loved.

During Christmastime 2010 we made a video. 

Last year, during the Christmas of 2011, we did not create a video.  In fact, I can’t find many pictures from then either.  I could say it was just too difficult with the girls going back and forth, to and from their dads for extended periods of time.  Or, we didn't have them on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, so what fun would it have been to make a video?  But those would be lies.  Last year, during the Christmas of 2011, we were heavy with grief.  The prize fighter had us in a TKO.  Although we didn't let our emotions keep us from having Christmas, we failed to conjure the spirit to capture the moments of Christmas.

Adult survivors of child abuse lose a lot of time.  Sometimes the good times are viewed through murky goggles of pain, anger, and sadness.  It takes a strange amount of courage to cut through the muck and be present.  Being present can take all of the energy leaving none for picking up the camera to capture the memories.

However, capturing memories is important.  Remembering the joy of the present offsets the pain of the past. 

Two bloggers I know, Galit and Alison, understand the importance of capturing memories.  They provide bloggers an opportunity to share their treasured moments each month in a blogging link up called Memories Captured.  I’m grateful for this.  It is a much needed reminder for me.  I do not want to lose any more time without it being documented. 

And so, to express my gratitude, I’m joining the link up this month.  My submission is our Christmas video from 2010.  It reminds me that we are a joyful bunch.  It gives me hope.  Maybe we’ll even create another this year.

photo credit: Brian Hathcock via photopin cc

Wednesday's Woman: Being of Service

Honoring Seane Corn, yoga instructor and founder of Off the Mat Into the World

Today's guest blogger, Anna Mahler, is a regular contributor to Wednesday's Woman and I also consider her a regular inspiration.  Meaning, her kindness is prevailing--always present, empathetic and aware.

Anna has a passion for self-care and deep self-awareness. She believes staying on the quest of loving oneself makes us capable of loving our children and each other.  I believe she is right.  She has a great ability to shine light on women who are reaching out to help us in the quest for a full, love-filled life, and today is no exception.

Be sure to visit Anna at her space, The Mommy Padawan.  I guarantee you'll be inspired.

Wednesday's Woman: What Being Of Service Truly Means

by Anna Mahler

Off the Mat Into the World

Seane Corn is a well known yoga instructor but also a passionate activist on a mission to bring the principals of yoga – love, compassion and mindfulness, into every part of our lives and the world around us.

At 19, Seane started exploring yoga and discovered that it's benefits go far beyond our physical selves.

“I liked yoga at first because of how it made my body feel, but within a few short years, yoga infiltrated every part of my existence. Because of the practice, I quit smoking, drinking, doing drugs and eating animal products. Because of the practice, I meditate, breathe, pray and serve. Yoga created the foundation that allows me to feel connected to spirit, the world and all her inhabitants.”
Source: http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Seane-Corns-First-Lesson-in-Yoga/3#ixzz28RH9oYgu

Seane went on to become a yoga teacher but also began exploring ways she could be of service to Off The Mat, Into The World. In 2007,  she co-founded the non-profit organization with the same name along with Hala Khouri and Suzanne Sterling. 

Off the Mat Into the World

others that aligned with her principals and personal beliefs. Inspired after working with YouthAIDS, an organization that provides services and products to children worldwide who are affected by the HIV/AIDS crisis, Seane came up with the slogan -

Off The Mat’s mission is to use the power of yoga to inspire conscious, sustainable activism and ignite grassroots social change.

From the very start, OTM has been active and successful in bringing the values and benefits of yoga to exactly what they state – off the mat and into the world around us today. 

Four years ago, a private client asked Seane to create a lounge at the Democratic National Convention. This became a place for people to relax in between sessions; offering yoga, massages, healthy food and meditation. After receiving a positive response as well as requests for more involvement,  OTM created their recent initiative, YogaVotes. It is an initiative to get people involved but to also bring love, compassion and connection in to politics and political discussions.

Off The Mat also partners with organizations all over the world to help create and provide safe medical and birthing centers, housing, education and training programs and raise awareness of global issues for change. One way they accomplish this is through a yearly challenge they call the Global Seva Challenge.

“Each year, Off the Mat (OTM) sponsors an international service project called the Global Seva Challenge. The Seva Challenge is a transformational journey that builds community, provokes awareness and action around global issues, and raises significant funds to support communities in crisis. Since 2007, the Seva Challenge has raised over two million dollars for projects in Cambodia, Uganda, South Africa and Haiti. In 2012 the Seva Challenge will be focused on the issue of sex trafficking in India and worldwide. “
(Source - http://www.offthematintotheworld.org/global-seva-challenge.html)

Raising awareness, providing refuge, sharing knowledge and encouraging compassion, mindfulness and love. To me, this is what “being of service to others” truly means and an awesome example of walking the walk and living the principals of what you believe. 

You can learn more about Off The Matt at http://www.offthematintotheworld.org/

And more about Seane Corn at http://www.seanecorn.com/



Wednesday's Woman is a weekly feature dedicated to spotlighting women who are role models for our daughters. . . and the world.

The Breath of Life

I feel I have been absent as of late, not just from Sperk*, but from something indefinable.  However, I won’t bore you with examination of the vague and give only the concrete.  Certainly there has been movement.  After months of a plague of depression, there has been forward progression even amid costly inconveniences:  Scruffy had his tail amputated after nearly chewing it off, the main drain to the house was clogged and filling the basement with feces, and my front tooth composite finally crumbled after many months of gingerly eating and cementing it with toothpaste during the night.  These were all financial setbacks, indeed, and at the most inopportune time of the year, the holidays.

The girls are well.  My tween who is emerging into a teen is quite gorgeous, like a sprouting tree in the spring, in her entirety, not just in her outward beauty.  My teen of 14 years is a constant mystery and deliverer of stress, but I’m learning to take it in stride with less seriousness and worry.  And last week, I finally put my year old degree to use and gained employment.  I’ll be caring for little ones full time.  It is funny that caring for small humans, during the most significant juncture of human development, pays the least in the field of education.  It is my opinion that early educators should be paid on the scale of professors.  And we should be required to have the same amount of education as college level instructors.  However, if that were the case, I wouldn't have my current employment, right?

The clock says 6:31 am, so I must wake the girls.  Here’s to coffee, cool autumn mornings, and the breath of life that keeps us going.

photo credit: Muffet via photopin cc

The Bully Wins When I Am Silent

I am not going to whine by saying, “People were mean to me in high school.”  High school was and is weird.  When one enters adolescence, one can no longer discern between right and left but are required to discern between right and wrong.  Coupled with the academic and social pressures, it is a wonder any high school student is “nice” to anyone.  I get it.  However, people were mean to me in high school.

Like most teens, I was lacking in the area of emotional intelligence.  Like most survivors of sexual abuse, I was lacking in self-esteem and skills to defend myself.  High school for me was years of rumors (most of which were not true), gum-throwing-into-my-hair incidents, shoving-my-body-into-locker moments, etc.  Yes, etcetera.  Yes, there was more, the most painful I’m not ready to share.

There were many afternoons I would come home from school and simply bury my face in my pillow and sob.  My mom would attempt to find out what was wrong.  Half of the things I told her about and half of the things I didn't.  Her best advice was to keep smiling and ignore it knowing that the attacks were due to my peer’s jealousy.

I went with this tactic and I survived.  But it didn't work.

Last Friday, my 13 year old daughter, a freshman in high school, and I were bickering during the ride home from school.  When we got into the house, she went to her room and began crying, face down in her pillow, sobbing.  I thought she was upset that we were arguing, so I at first tried to ignore it, the sound of her sadness paralyzing me.

Then, my own high school experience flooded over me.

I knew if I remained paralyzed it could potentially paralyze my daughter.

I went into her room and said, “Why are you crying?”

No answer.

“Is it because we are fighting?”

She answered, “No.”

I sat down on her bed and asked, “Did something happen at school?”

Something did happen at school.  It made me mad.  I yelled. She cried.  We calmed down and talked.  In essence, I told her to never allow anyone, even her best friends, to be mean to her.  We discussed strategies for solving the problem that would cause as little hurt as possible.  I held her face in my shoulder and she sobbed some more.

During the course of the weekend, by talking to the person who hurt her, she peacefully worked out her issue.  I would like to think that our talk helped and I am really grateful I was able to put my own experiences aside and offer her support.

I now see why a lot of parents are emotionally absent from parenting.  It’s painful—painful to watch one’s child hurt while at the same time re-experiencing one’s own hurts over and over again.  But the hurt is no excuse. 

The bully wins when I am silent.  I am done being bullied.

(This post is dedicated to Xiomara A. Maldonado who shocked me out of the self-pity that was keeping me from writing with this post:  You Hide It Well: My Secret Battle With Depression.)

October is National Bullying Prevention Month

photo credit: Miss Blackflag via photopin cc

Wednesday's Woman: Inspiring Joyful Lives

"Somewhere between Hot Mess and Guru lies The Sisterhood"

The Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

The Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms is two moms, Ellen and Erin, who are friends taking time out of their busy lives—with 7 children between them—to share their stories, give us advice and book reviews, and to ultimately remind us that even though this parenting business is very serious, it does not have to be humorless.  They are funny, intelligent, insightful and real.  They have been a steady resource of support, inspiration, and joy for me and are sure to be the same for you.

For today’s Wednesday’s Woman, Erin and Ellen have chosen to honor someone who is an inspiration in the true sense of the word.  Erin and Ellen describe her as someone ". . . you would want your daughter to grow up to be. . . ." and I agree.  She has been a victim and a survivor.  She now thrives.  She claims to be "Inspiring Joyful Lives" and she actually is.  Her name is Angela Shelton.

Wednesday's Woman: Angela Shelton

by The Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Angela Shelton (All Rights Reserved)

"I share ways for survivors of trauma to move on from fear, anger, rage, and resentment and find peace, healing and happiness.  I don’t believe in staying on the trauma and recovery train.  I fully support Moving On from trauma, but we all go at our own pace, so there are many steps in the process – living happily ever after is the most fun!" ~Angela Shelton 

We have “met” many amazing women online through our short time blogging, but one of them takes our collective breath away with the scope of her work and her indefatigable spirit: Angela Shelton. Strong, powerful, beautiful, charismatic and tireless, Angela is the woman you want your daughter to grow up to be, the chick you want to hang out with over coffee, and, quite frankly, the answer to the world’s energy crisis. A whirlwind of activity with boundless enthusiasm and limitless heart, Angela is the very definition of a role model.

The Adventures of
Tilda Pinkerton

Angela describes herself as an author, screenwriter, performer, public speaker, and filmmaker, but her list of attributes, jobs, and accomplishments goes on and on and on.  She even has authored a new book series for kids, The Adventures of Tilda Pinkerton, which we were happy to read and review. She is practically a superhero (We really wish we had been bitten by the same radioactive spider! She seems to have about 10 more hours in her day!), but she is also pretty darn funny and we like that here in The Sisterhood. We like women who get things done, but don’t take themselves too seriously, and Angela Shelton is just that kind of woman.

At the very heart of all her accomplishments, her tireless energy (seriously, the girl could power a small nation all by herself), and her passion is the thread that brings it all together: her work as an advocate for victims of abuse.  She has traveled the country, spoken to Congress, written books, guest-starred on television, authored screenplays, acted, modeled  and edited and produced her own movie, but in the end, it all comes back to this simple but important mission. We could go on and on (Angela’s enthusiasm and energy is infectious), but Angela has a great voice and spirit and we will let her speak for herself. We couldn't help asking her our burning questions and she couldn't help but answering them with sincerity and kindness. That’s probably why she makes such a great Wednesday’s Woman.

1. You are a multimedia whirlwind. What is the driving theme to your body of work?

My mission is to work on projects that inspire people to live happily ever after - no matter what they've been through. That includes healing from past traumas and moving on with our lives. 

That drive shows up in everything I do (hopefully) from my projects to inspire trauma survivors to heal to the books I'm writing to help teachers teach larger vocabulary and concepts. 

2. How does Tilda fit into your body of work?

By writing the Tilda series, I get to practice what I preach--- living happily ever after. I've had a dream to write books in a barn house for ages.  Now, the series has begun and the space for the house has been selected! I'm doing what I love to do, which is what I try to inspire others to do. 

Plus, Tilda is full of inspiring life lessons. The thing she is most insecure about happens to be what saves the planet and all her friends. There are many people out there sitting on a creative idea out of fear that it's not good enough when in fact it may just be their most beautiful contribution to the world. 

3. You are an advocate for children. How does Tilda promote your message?

A publisher told me that Tilda is like a modern Mary Poppins, and I think that fits beautifully. Pinkerton, like Poppins, arrives in all her fabulousness and teaches children to be as great as they possibly can be, despite any adversary - even if the opponents are their own fears, worries, and insecurities. She leaves the places she visits better off than when she arrived. 

Like the work I've done in the recovery community, it's not about me - it's about the person who hears the message. It's up to them to move from victim to survivor and then to thriver. I can only point out the pathways I took along the way. Tilda gives you a magical hat. It's up to you to wear it. 

I would love my children to have a teacher like Tilda - so I wrote her for them! 

Searching forAngela Shelton

We love the humility and humanity inherent in her answers. We love this honesty from a woman who has won a regional Emmy for her role as Safe Side Superchick which aims to keep kids healthy and safe. We love this outlook from the mind that created the Be Your Own Hero Workbooks which empowers people to move beyond their painful pasts into healthy, happy tomorrows.  We love this passion from the whirlwind behind Searching for Angela Shelton. This is what classy and powerful and determined looks like. This is what every Wednesday’s Woman should be. Ellen and I both have girls on the cusp of young adulthood, so we LOVE Sperk* for celebrating wonderful women for them to use as guideposts. Wednesday’s Woman is truly a special place to land on the web.

Wednesday's Woman is a weekly feature dedicated to spotlighting women who are role models for our daughters. . . and the world.

Photo Credit: CC by jhansensnaps

The One Thing I Can't Say: I'm Depressed

The first time I remember feeling depressed was in the first grade.  My grandfather had just died.  During recess, I walked around the school yard without talking or playing with anyone for at least three days. One of those times, Sister Miriam Ann decided to bring me into my classroom and tell my homeroom teacher what she had observed.  This attempt to help me included empathy from both her and my teacher.  I felt it in their words, even though I didn’t believe what they said: “Your grandfather is happy in heaven with God.”

That was approximately 36 years ago.

Since then, I have experienced many varying levels of depression, from mild to clinical—after every break-up, every time a performance run ended, when I failed exams, after recovering memories of sexual abuse, after each of my children were born and after my divorce.

I have had varying types of treatment—talk therapy, rehab, medication and EMDR.  They all worked for a period of time.

Time is a tricky thing.

I am on the upswing from what I thought was a mild bout of depression.  However, when examining the calendar, charting the amount of time I have felt down and the number of episodes of Pawn Stars I have viewed, I have to reassess—it has been severe.  On the other hand, it hasn’t lasted that long and to the untrained eye, or to those who do not regularly see me, nothing seems unusual. 

I don’t think my daughters have even noticed.  Or maybe they have.  And that kills me.

It’s not that there are glaring signs of my depression staring my daughters in the face.  I do not stay in bed all day (at least, not when they are around), there is always food on the table, clean underwear in their drawers, and I have made it to every beginning-of-the-school-year parent meeting.  However, I know what would be staring them in the face if I was not depressed.  It would all be better—the condition of the house and my enthusiasm for after-school time beyond making sure they get their homework done successfully.

The funny thing about depression is that it can become comfortable.  An upswing towards feeling good, although being the desired goal, is uncomfortable and unfamiliar—scary. 

And what would people think if they knew I struggled with depression?  That question plagues me with such ferocity that I dare not admit even the slightest bit of sadness.  So things come out sideways.  For instance, yesterday when I was driving my older daughter home from school, a telemarketer called.  I answered the unfamiliar number with enthusiasm because the opposite, ignoring the phone, is typically one of the first signs that indicate I am depressed. 

I thought, “Yay! I am answering the phone.  I am getting better!”

The conversation started out pleasant but ended with an inappropriate outburst that stunned my daughter:

Telemarketer: Is Kimberly Speranza available?
Me:  (with a very sweet sounding voice) It depends on who is calling.
Telemarketer: This is [so and so] from [so and so]
Me: (continues sweetly) She’s not available to you and please take her number off your list.  I mean, this is Kimberly.  Please take my number off your list.
Telemarketer: Are you on the National Do Not Call List?
Me: (getting angry) Yes.
Telemarketer: How’s that working out for you?
Me: (blows her top) Why don’t you suck balls and die.

(Uh-huh.  I know, I know. It was terrible and completely out of character for me.  IT was my depression being inappropriately expressed as anger towards and innocent person trying to do their job.  Additionally, it was a not-so-fine moment of setting an example for my daughter of how to handle annoying phone calls--not OK.)

I tapped the phone to hang up as the telemarketer whaled with laughter.  My daughter heard him.  She said, “Mom! That was awful. He was laughing at you.”

And there it is.

I don’t want to be laughed at.

I don’t want to be coddled and consoled.

I don’t want to be looked at like an insane person who is incapable of functioning.

Intellectually I know the above list of fears is unwarranted.  I understand mental illness.  I understand it is nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.  And yet, here I am, feeling exposed and afraid.

I am afraid that if I admit I am depressed, I will no longer be taken seriously.  Everything I say, write, or suggest will be met with, “She’s just crazy.”  Then I will be ignored, no longer heard or believed.

Typically, in order to avoid that vulnerable feeling of being exposed, I’ll cover it up by announcing my new “thing”:  quitting smoking, exercising, juicing, writing 2,000 words a day, yoga, meditation, taking walks.  Some of which I have tried, some of which I have only contemplated while lying on the couch with the TV mindlessly flashing before me.  And when all turn out to be unsuccessful attempts at getting myself off the couch, the depression worsens.

In AA, the first of the Twelve Steps is:  We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

I believe that within the words of Step One lies freedom.  Admitting.  Saying what is.  Calling a spade a spade. 

I admit it, I struggle with depression.

Gratefully linking up with Pour Your Heart Out
 which prompted me to write about my struggle with depression.

photo credit: ashley rose, via photo pin cc

Hot Air Balloons

No one has asked if I have ever been on a hot air balloon ride. 

I wonder why?

Maybe it’s a question that belongs in the middle atmosphere of relationship development—a place I tend to skip, traveling directly from the troposphere up to the heights of the ionosphere?

Maybe my swift ascent into too much self-disclosure turns people off?  Then, they forget the middle-atmospheric question about the hot air balloons.

As we know from Altman and Taylor’s social penetration theory, getting to know someone requires self-disclosure in steps, starting with a little and ending with a lot.  Altman and Taylor think intimate relationships can develop in no other way. 

The tough thing is, self-disclosure begets vulnerability.  Vulnerability brings discomfort. 

If I choose to dive into discomfort and tell, and it turns out well, or, it is reciprocated, then it’s a victory.

Contrarily, if I choose to sink into discomfort and it bites me on the ass . . . hopefully there are thick enough Band-Aids to absorb all the blood oozing from my bleeding cheek.

Contrarily to the contrary, if I choose to disclose nothing at all, I end up alone, isolated, and living in my own head, spinning in my imaginary world of wondering what others think of me:

Am I too fat?

Am I too dumb?

Do I seem too old?

Do they know I am broken and afraid?

And when it seems others are okay with my brokenness, it all comes pouring out, in one swift wave of self-disclosure.  Too much, too soon, off they run.  I float dangerously in the upper atmosphere, alone.

. . . sexual abuse is probably the most emotionally loaded inhibitor to communications and the surrounding atmosphere of trust and equality that must exist for intimacy to occur. Amid the psychological aberrations of the survivor's world are two key concepts whose mixture acts as a formidable barrier to successful interpersonal communication and, therefore, intimacy. These bywords for the unconscious dysfunction of the survivor of sexual abuse are trust and secrecy. (Engle, 1991)

I once lived in Clinton, New Jersey, in a nice condo with a husband and a baby.  Behind the sparkling, sprawling, new living community, off in the distance, I regularly saw hot air balloons being launched into the lower bit of the sky.

I have never been on a hot air balloon ride.  Have you?

photo credit: lunamom58 via photo pin cc

Hope after Divorce

Hope is around us and within us.  Always stirring and sometimes ignored.  Sometimes, when I get to the other side of an obstacle once thought insurmountable, I look back to discover what brought me to the other side.  It’s always the same thing—hope.

It was a day like today—sunny, warm and breezy—that I walked out of the court house no longer married.  During the brief hearing, the judge asked me to confirm that I wanted to keep my married name, Speranza.  I responded, “Yes.”

At that moment, I thought I was keeping my married name because I wanted things to be as simple as possible for my daughters.  Maybe I wanted things to be as simple as possible for myself?  I mean, what kind of paperwork was involved with going back to my maiden name?

Although brief, my divorce hearing was tense, sorrowful, and sickening.

What was I doing?  Was this really me standing here confirming the beginning of a new life in which I had no idea how to navigate?

Confirmations of child support, number of days with children, and financial awards.  Confirmations that I made a mistake, could not figure it out, and basically failed. 

I felt small.  He in his business suit, accessorized by an expensive lawyer and tears, me in my in inexpensive black slacks and a barely-crisp white blouse left in my wardrobe from the days before babies, when I worked.  I looked down; my black shoes could have used some polish.  His were shiny.  He cried and I didn’t.  I looked like a heartless, money-hungry conniver but knew I was just a lost middle-aged mom who didn’t know what she was doing or going to do.

When it was all said and done, I walked out of the court house, alone, onto the busy sidewalk and expected tears.  Instead I felt a swift breeze hit my face, looked up toward the sun and smiled. 

My last name was still Speranza.

Speranza, literally translated from Italian, means hope.

Some days, I do not know what I am doing.  Things my ex-husband used to take care of still baffle me.  But I try.  I have to.  Someone has to take care of the grown-up things—things other than caring for the girls, cleaning, and grocery shopping.  Those were the things I was good at before my divorce.

Today, I’m good at more.  I pay bills (sometimes on time), I have a degree, and I write.  I do figure out the grown-up stuff, even when I’m scared to death.  And I’m still a good mom.  Maybe better.

I remember one night this past April, because it was National Poetry Month, I wanted to read some poetry to the girls at bedtime.  I stumbled upon Emily Dickinson’s poem, Hope Is the Thing with Feathers:

Hope is the thing with feathers. . .

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity, 

It asked a crumb of me.

I read it aloud to the girls, twice, and cried. 

It was a soft cry, not one of those sobbing, guttural displays. 

I think the girls understood. . .something.

I understood.  We have hope.

Linking up with Flicker of Inspiration Linkup #56  

photo credit: kira.belle via photo pin cc