Home Style Gravy

Drag has become a regular part of my life. Every time you might get dressed up for church, a fancy dance, or a theatrical performance, you are really doing drag. Anytime you purposefully alter your appearance to make an impression on others, you are doing drag. A lot of emphasis is placed on drag that is done by those who are purposefully transforming themselves to take on the impression of the opposite sex. This is a powerful and purposeful form of drag that is worth its currency in gold. I would also argue that drag is a valuable tool of empowerment to those who want and need to connect with their soul’s version of themselves.

On any given day, I am not the most attractive girl. I weigh over 300 lbs. My hair is long, thin, and lifeless. It is often pulled back into a ponytail. I fight to keep fly a ways tucked behind my ear. I wear dark wash jeans that are a little baggy with a V-neck t-shirt and some form of hoodie. No jewelry. No make-up. My footwear is either a slip-on Croc or a men’s work boot, depending on the weather outside. My “uniform” is comfortable and practical, but it doesn’t reflect the feminine. Now, I am a cis female and could just put on a dress and makeup, but that isn’t really me either. The reality of navigating the world in Spanx and layers upon layers of unbreathable flammable fabrics with a thick layer of makeup would be my own personal hell. Besides, there will be a point where I will just look like a sad melted clown.

In the safe space of my besties, Alex and Max’s home, I can live my fantasy and be in touch with the goddess that is Mimi. Over the years, my old dresses and costumes, underwear and wigs, nylons and jewelry, have found their way to our drag room. Combined with yards of sparkly fabrics, scraps of satin, and new infusions of makeup and whatever else we can repurpose, we have been able to come up with hundreds of looks with almost nothing. It has grown from a few bins in a closet to an area that has taken over what was once the largest room in their house.

Allowing ourselves permission to do this took a long time. It really started from a place of desperation. We were all pretty depressed and battling the curse of mid-life self-reflection. After following the rules, getting the careers, and buying the houses, none of us felt fulfilled. Painting our faces and putting on a costume and a wig lifted us. When I was diagnosed with cancer, after I had my surgery, even when all my hair fell out, dancing in drag made me realize that I wasn’t broken. I was still a whole person. Make-up can cover any imperfection. A little bit of fabric, pinned and tied in a certain way, looks younger and more flattering than any garment bought off the rack at Lane Bryant.

Filming our drag allowed us to really “see” ourselves. First, it gave us a purpose. The camera was an audience to perform to, and we were all hams. What came next was the ability to watch ourselves over and over. After a while, a personality began to appear. We all have had many breakdowns either while filming or after filming, and this was usually caused by not accepting who we really were or by trying to be something we were not. Eventually, when you are able to remove the judgement of yourself or how you think others will perceive you, I was finally able to really see myself. I began to enjoy what I saw. I would even venture to say, I learned to love myself and appreciate my own unique beauty.

Once you are blessed to find such an avenue of self-discovery, you want to share it with others. I have shared videos on this blog before; the boys and I have shared these videos with our families; I have even shared the videos with some of my students. Still, it is amazing how tepid the response can be. Some of the people we know best in the world are reluctant to share the joy and humor of these videos because it features guys in dresses. When you are so passionate and feel a conviction to share that passion with others, putting your art out there is like showing someone your new born child. You hope someone will like it; you wish that they too will see the beauty in it.

Uploading a video is frightening, but waiting for a response is agonizing. I have never felt more alone than waiting to see if anyone will watch it, like it, or comment on it. This is not much different than when my students hand me a paper to look over. I teach basic, transitional English to adults. Many of them have a lifetime of experiences to write about, but lack any confidence over their usage of grammar or structure. I like to let them know as quickly as I can that I am a friendly audience. My goal is to help them express themselves to the best of their ability. I always hope that those who stumble upon our videos approach it from the same place of love.

Of course, the desire for feedback is strong, but sometimes you need to just let go. Over the years, perfectionism has improved and also impeded our drag. Waiting for perfection stifles what is inspired. Attaching your worth to the acknowledgment of your peers just makes you crazy. So, release it. I am rebooting this blog because I need to write, and this site is my home. The boys and I are putting out our drag because we love it.

With that being said, I welcome you to our new series, “Home Style Gravy.” Our drag is from our living room. It is simple and unpretentious. The hope is that for some viewers it will feel like gravy. Unexpected. Delicious. Extra. I have taken the time to build a page that showcases these new videos as well as some of the old. Enjoy them. Share them. If you have a second to like or give a positive comment on them, we would love it. Appreciation is something that is always welcome. I thank you for sharing the joy with us. My hope is always that you leave with a smile on your face and the feeling of warmth in your heart.

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Making One’s Self Miserable

It is easy to wake up and stub your toe getting out of bed to just proclaim that your day is going to suck. Law of Attraction states that you are just setting yourself to attract to more negative energy because your are already vibrating at that level. You can know that is what is going on and still be stuck in the wheel of suck. Once you are on that roller coaster, it is so hard to get off.

I have been feeling my energy slip. I feel like I am in a weird sort of limbo. I am done with my treatment. I don’t have to work this summer. I should be having fun, soaking it all up. Instead, I have been having a hard time getting out of bed. I just go through my news feeds and see how everyone else is living their life. I am bored. The weather is beautiful, and I don’t want to go outside. I break down in tears for no real reason. I find myself getting embarrassed with myself. I chide myself. I try to keep it to myself, but the emotion just keeps bursting out at the wrong times.

What is going on?

I had my life put on hold for nearly a year. During that time, all I focused on was treatment, staying positive, and focusing on having fun. Now that I am in recovery, I am worried about returning to the unsatisfying life I had beforehand where everyone else’s wishes and desires trumped my own. I blocked out my needs. I denied myself nourishment for both my body and mind. I felt alone, isolated. I know that if I return to that lifestyle, (ignoring my inner calling, fearing every move I make, insisting that I am not worthwhile) I will not make it.

When you have lived most of your life in that negative thought pattern, recognizing it and disrupting it is not easy. Your muscle memory makes it the easiest choice sometimes. I have been doing so much better. I can monitor my emotional guidance system and steer it in the right direction with practice. Yet, things that have deep emotional baggage or triggers can overwhelm my system quickly.

I have one thing that I know I need to do this week, and I haven’t been able to do it. I have to call my mortgage company and find out how much longer I can stay in my house. I need to know so I can arrange a move-in date for my new apartment, order a moving van, hire movers, pack, and prepare. Unfortunately, I just feel stunned and unable to dial the phone number.

I decided back in December that I needed to rethink my living arrangements. My house needs work. I have no money to fix appliances that are broken. I don’t have the physical energy or the tools to cut my yard or shovel snow. I have even lived without heat because I couldn’t afford to fix my furnance. Selling my house is a joke. It is more than $30,000 under water.

In exchange, I have been approved to move into an apartment complex where I am not responsible for the upkeep; I get free heat, television, and other utilities; and there is a washer and dryer, even a dishwasher. I would be free to move anywhere in the country at anytime I wanted to. I can see how much I would love it.

Just as I convince myself of how wonderful it will be and how necessary it is for my healing, I get a wave of crushing self-doubt. How dare you back out of your financial commitment? You will be ridicule for being an idiot. Owning a home is always a good investment. You are signing yourself up for a life of rent slavery. You’ll never be able to buy a house again. You’re throwing everything away. Imagine how much you’ll hate listening to your neighbors in the apartment complex. You won’t have a back yard. You won’t have a porch.

I have had conversations over and over again with Max and Alex about this. I know that for me moving will be a necessary part of my healing process. I am not the same person I was when I bought this house. In some ways, my reluctance to let it go probably attributed to my cancer. I have made my decision and I have to trust it. Second guessing just uses up energy that I need elsewhere. Plus, as the boys remind me often, I am all right just the way I am. No matter what, I am worth it. I have never been bad; stop acting ashamed of yourself.

Not There Yet

It is no secret that I haven’t been 100% my improved self over the last couple of weeks. Christmas really bumped me off my higher-flying disc. Even though some magical good stuff has happened, and I had the breakthrough with my dad, I have still been feeling a little off.

The weather hasn’t helped. After being walloped with an ice storm right before Christmas, the “polar vortex” blasted through and dumped over two feet of snow. Everyone was locked inside their houses for days. School was called off for the first three days of break. While the city shut down, I still made it to my radiation appointments. Alex and Max had to dig me out one day, but I still made it.

If there is anything I have learned about constant doctor’s appointments, it is to make friends. I can tell that my doctors and radiation therapists like me. Yeah, I know…they like everyone…but I try to make life as easy for them as possible. I try to position myself as best as possible on the table. I only share positive energy, and thank them for their efforts. I feel like this good will has helped make my appointments go by as effortlessly as possible, with minimal wait time.

These radiation appointments drag my butt out of bed in the morning, but I find that as soon as I return home I slip back into bed. Finding the motivation to do much else has escaped me. The sky is dark and gloomy. The outdoors is cold and uninviting, but the inside of my house is almost the same. It is vacant, devoid of warmth and stimulation. A part of me feels like I am almost a little trapped. What if I can’t return to normal life after all of this is finished? What is “normal?” I don’t feel I can go back to the life I left; I don’t want to. Still, can I really make a different future for myself?

I have taken breaks to get something to eat, visit the mall, or visit Alex and Max. They have had their moments recently too. Several of our nights were just cut short by someone needing more sleep, or minor arguments, stuff. I knew I was feeling off my game, but just overlooked it.

Finally, one of the nights this week, I was sitting on Alex and Max’s couch while they and Alex’s brother were on their smartphones. This happens regularly. The conversation fizzles, and everyone goes on their phone. Sometimes it is to search for some information, sometimes they are chatting with people, other times they are buying time for the others to finish and for us to go onto our next thing.

I have missed the smartphone era. Now, I am the type of person who would normally have had the newest, most savvy phone. I love technology. But as my financial situation has fluctuated, I got out of cell phone contracts and have focused on spending the least amount of money as possible on utilities like a phone. Years have flown by, and I have wanted to join the bandwagon, but have been sitting on the sidelines.

Besides being lame, this behavior has made me feel really dated. It is bad enough that my current cell phone is as modern as a “jitterbug,” but social behavior is changing in this country. People are open and available, communicating 24/7.  These phones aren’t just status symbols; they are the way people are talking. I have seen people text each other as they are sitting right next to each other. As someone who doesn’t have a ticket to play, I do feel like an outsider.

I have expressed this to Alex and Max before. When you are both on your phones, it is like I am not here. You aren’t present. I am just sitting here waiting for your return. I can’t answer so and so on facebook, or see that article. All you got is me.

They have asked why I don’t carry my ipod touch with me to use while they are doing stuff. First, it isn’t a phone. It doesn’t have enough memory for a ton of apps. I don’t want to carry it around because I am convinced I’ll lose it. Besides, there is a part of me that hasn’t minded not joining the bandwagon. I am sort of off the grid. I often leave my phone in the car while I am at their house and just focus on being there with them. I don’t need to be distracted to another place. I am already where I want to be and with whom I want to be with.

Still, it is getting worse. It has gone beyond bucking a trend to being left behind. As people have become more comfortable with this technology, it is becoming normalized. Anyone under a certain age has already drunk the Kool-Aid. My reluctance makes me feel like I am more elderly than I am. You start to understand that you are missing opportunities by staying out of it.

Then, a commercial came on. At&t has a $45 a month, no contract, service plan for smartphones. You find one, bring it in, and your set. It is the same amount as what I am paying for my piece of crap phone. “Why not take the plunge?” Alex asked.

We tried to find out more about it that night, but I was too tired to figure it out. I had believed that having a smartphone was out of the question in my current circumstance, but maybe it was time to change that. Maybe the only one holding myself back from this was…myself.

The next day, I decided to go to At&t to investigate. After lunch, I pulled up to the store. There were a lot of people in there. From the moment I walked in, I was greeted by a guy and followed for the rest of the time I was in the store. (I HATE that!) I asked about the no contract plan. I asked to see what phones were available to purchase without a contract and if being on contract meant that I had to have a credit check.

The no contract plan was fine, but finding a phone would be the most difficult. A lot of these phones, without a plan, were hundreds of dollars. The ones that were not were so bad that I was embarrassed they were even selling them. What I really wanted was an iphone. I started believing that it would be out of my ability to get. I couldn’t even try to look into a contract phone because I was convinced that I wouldn’t be approved and would feel embarrassed if I was declined in the store.

Because the guy was on my tail the entire time, I felt like I couldn’t think things through. I felt like I was going to suffocate and he was creeping me out. I couldn’t get out of the door fast enough. It wasn’t until my feet hit the pavement of the parking lot that I finally was set free from the sales associate. I got into my car and started bawling.

Why did the boys set me up to feel this way again? Just when I had become okay with the fact that this was out of my reach, they made me feel like it was an option again. I was setting myself up for failure. I am not deserving of a new phone. How many other obligations have I not met? They take priority. This is so stupid! Yes, I could get service from At&t…but I’ll never get an iphone. If I do, it will just be a stolen phone…or some piece of crap. I’ll never have a new phone.

I began to spiral. I hate myself because I am so miserable with money. I will never be able to feel like I have good credit again. I have made bad choices, and I will pay for the rest of my life. My student loans are my chains and shackles. How dare I pretend I could afford college? I got the knowledge, but I will always remain poor because I couldn’t pay for it outright. It is a reminder that I am a lesser class.

I couldn’t understand why I was bombarding my head with these stupid thoughts. Self worth was plummeting. I have had so much time off, but what was I really doing with it? If I couldn’t get it done (like house work) now, I should never expect that I would ever get it done.

The previous night, I had gone to a glass blowing class. It was a Christmas gift from one of my chemo angels. From all the way in Florida, not really knowing me from Adam, my angel bought me a Groupon for a glass blowing class to make ornaments. I love doing art stuff, so it was a perfect gift. When I made it to the class, they noticed that the name on my Groupon didn’t match mine. I told them it was a gift and the organizing ladies were very interested. Who was this magical person who got me this gift?

I told the ladies that it was my pen pal. I let them know that she was the equivalent of a stranger, and how nice it was to be thought of….but I couldn’t explain the whole truth. Well, I was diagnosed with cancer and got hooked up with Chemo Angels who send me letters every week. This was one of the beautiful things one of my angels has done for me. I couldn’t say the words because I didn’t want to feel like a cancer patient. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want the extra attention.

When I told the boys this, Max mentioned that I missed a valuable opportunity. I agreed with him, but I couldn’t understand why I chose not to reveal that part of myself. Max said, “you are missing an opportunity to show people that even though you had cancer, it doesn’t need to be a miserable, horrible experience.” By being able to share that aspect, like any aspect, I allow people to get to know me more and be more invested. It can help me make more friends, make stronger connections.

Not being able to do that means I still feel like I should have something to hide. The boys scratched their heads. What do you have left to hide? Your family knows, even your dad. Why do you still have to hide? There was a beat, and Max stated, “you are still not okay with it yourself.”

Back in the car, bawling about a stupid smartphone, I pondered. Was this the missing thing? I am horrible with money and don’t know if I will ever get ahead. Is my fear of being destitute keeping me from liking myself?

Hours latter, I thought I was doing okay…but hanging out with Alex and Max brought it back up. I told them about the phone ordeal and they knew it wasn’t a problem. “We’ll just buy one on eBay,” Alex said. They pulled up eBay on a laptop and I looked through them.

I hate eBay. I feel weird buying other people’s stuff. The last time I bought something on eBay, I got a broken old school ipod. I was able to return it, but I still felt like a dork trying to buy something on eBay again. I knew the boys would help me, but I also felt like I didn’t want to spend all this time and money buying an old phone that is already ancient by technology standards. It was sure to have quarks and not work as well as it should.

I finally went on the At&t site, held my breath, and tried to get an iphone 5, certified like new, for $1 with a two-year contract. I entered my information, held my breath, and submitted it. The screen changed and said I would be charged when it shipped. The fine print said that everything would depend on a credit check, yadda…yadda.

Well, it didn’t say no. Matter of fact, I think I got it. Did that just happen? Is my credit not that bad? No…it is bad. Maybe phone companies are not as picky as they used to be. Nothing bad happened. Instead, I might have just simply got what I wanted.

I felt better, but I wasn’t a hundred percent. Over dinner, Alex and Max tried to talk to me about it. I found that I couldn’t talk about it without feeling emotion. The boys were like, separate it. I couldn’t. I gathered myself in the bathroom, and we continued on talking about something else.

Of course, when we got home, the subject got picked back up. Alex dismissed any of my distress about finances or being stuck in the technological dark ages as the grounds for my current slippage from my high flying disc. “You can’t start this year until you finish the last one. You still need to release the judgment of yourself,” Alex said. His answer was to dismiss me to have a conversation with my 13-year-old self in their office.

What? The boys made me act out holding my younger self’s hand and walking her into the office. I walked into the dark room and just sat on the couch. This is so stupid! I started to get a little pissed off. I knew they were over me because I was over myself. I hated that I was in this negative space. I didn’t know how to get out of it. Why am I tumbling backward? They have just done this trick to ditch me. It is a Saturday night and they are hoping to get rid of me. Should I just go home? I could then just stew in my own bed and not be an embarrassment anymore.

As I am staring into the dark, I am like, “okay young self, what am I suppose to know?” No voice talked to me. I did start seeing a series of pictures. I reflected on that lonely seventh grader. She was anxious, scared, and frightened most of the time. It didn’t help being relentlessly bullied at school and ignored at home. I had thought I was at my ugliest, but recent studies of my school photos made me realize she wasn’t that ugly. I was bigger, but not horrific. I had grown to like her in a way.

My current spiraling is similar to the spiraling I used to do in the bedroom of my youth. For hours, I would be alone. I wondered if life would ever get any better. I didn’t want to leave my room because I didn’t want others to see me upset. Behind my closed door, I wondered why no one cared about me. What was so wrong with me? Why am I so unlovable?

I had to come up with reasons, because I needed to understand why I was being bullied, why my mother treated me so bad. I went to the obvious. Fat, gross, disgusting…it was so easy why I would repulse others. In my adulthood, I have realized that these were never really the reasons.

By sixth grade, I probably realized that I didn’t like boys the way the other girls did. I had already developed, but I had no interest in the opposite sex for anything sexual. My mom was constantly afraid older guys would hit on me and would yell at me to not put on make-up, to not dress in a way to attract unwanted attention. That is most likely why I didn’t dress as nicely as I wanted to. I don’t think my mom understood that I didn’t want to be involved with a guy. I think she thought that I would get caught up with someone and there would be a whole sex/pregnancy drama. There was a lot of concern that I would be asking for it if I weren’t too careful myself.

I realized that my mom’s worries were unfounded. Still, the more concerned she got, the more she would tear me down. She thought that fear and ridicule would set me on the right path. I knew she was neurotic and was disappointed that the more she did this to me, the more she was admitting that she had no idea who I was.

No wonder why I kept stuffing my face. It was entertainment, counselor, protection, etc. I am sure some of the boys were just trying to pay me some attention, and my lack of return energy probably pissed them off. Or, they knew I wasn’t like the other girls and I was really insecure about it. I was so insecure that I was afraid to share anything about myself. Besides being awkward, I am sure some people thought I was just cold and thought I was too good for them. This made it easier for them to want to tease me. Getting teased made me feel like I needed to do anything I could to shy away from attention, so I clammed up even more. I tried to push out what they were doing to me. I ignored it. I would often be in complete denial of it, or at least tried to operate like I didn’t know it existed.

So, what should have happened? How could it have been improved? What did that little girl really want?

I know that all I wanted was to be loved. I wanted to feel like people got me and wanted to have fun with me. I was always doing my best to be the “good girl.” I wanted to succeed and make people proud of me. I wanted to share my worries with someone and talk it out, instead of letting them build and not knowing how to deal with them. I wanted to feel confident to learn new things, to fail and know that I was still okay. I wanted cheerleaders. I wanted to feel pretty and sexy. I wanted to feel desired. I wanted to feel like people were excited to see me.

Eventually, I did get to points of my life where I felt this way but I lost it. I have fallen back to the same scared little girl, and am treating her as coldly as my mother treated me. At the time, my mother blamed me for things that weren’t my fault, looked at me as a hindrance or annoyance. I felt like I embarrassed my parents because they made fat jokes at my expense on a regular basis. It was easier to hear them call me fat than to call me stupid or vicious. I was a convenient scape goat to pin things on when others didn’t want to take responsibility. I thought that meant that I needed to constantly explain my motives, or why I wasn’t responsible, even if it was to death’s ears.

Well, it is 2014 babe. My mom isn’t around, neither are my tormentors. I don’t need to replace them. There is nothing to be gained by this negative momentum, just like there was nothing to be gained then. I didn’t deserve what I got then, and I don’t deserve it now. In the end, I was a cute girl who didn’t have anyone to show her a different way. Eventually, I was able to pick myself out of it…just like I will be able to pick myself out of it now.

I saw how I began to change. I took charge, stopped eating sugar, went for bike rides. I lost a bunch of weight, but still felt awkward. I didn’t have balance. I didn’t always know how to dress for my body. The guys never came. It wasn’t because they weren’t interested, but I wasn’t interested in them. They could smell it. I did what I love. I wrote. I drew. I traveled. I sang and performed. I didn’t worry about money, because I knew I would be able to figure out a way to experience what ever I desired to do.

I need to embrace who I was at every age. I need to be able to enjoy the insecure me, and the confident one. I need to find beauty and acceptance with the fat versions of me and the thin. I need to embrace the loud, brassy, unpolished person that I am. I need to stop apologizing for her and just be her. I need to remember who I am in everything that I do, say, wear, buy, and love. I need to release that I will not always be everyone’s cup of tea. Still, there are people out there who see me and really get me. I need to be one of those people.

When I look at Max and Alex, I am sure I could see a million faults. I never do. When I look at them, I see the people I have always loved. I don’t care what they are wearing, how big or small they might be, how gay or straight they might act. They are just Alex and Max. If they discover something new about themselves, or wanted to try something different, I would be immediately at their side, helping them. If they had an opinion I didn’t like, or said something hurtful, I would reserve judgment until I had more information. I want to be involved with their lives. I want to share their ups and downs. When I see them not taking care of themselves, I get upset. When I see them not feeling who they are, I get annoyed. If they do something that I may not entirely agree with, but know it is necessary for their growth, I release them to do what they need to do but keep myself available to help pick them up if I need to.

The way I feel about them is the way I need to feel about myself.

There is no version of me that I should hate, because they are all necessary. I am all of them. The more I convince myself that I am flawed, the worse I feel because I know it is untrue. I am creating unnecessary distance between who I think I am and what I am. The discomfort is my emotional guidance system telling me that I am off.

An hour passed. Did the boys expect me to go back into the living room?

Eventually, Alex walked in. “Is anyone awake in here?” I came out and tried to explain what my mind did, but words failed to really be arranged in a manner that befitted an accurate answer. Max gets the most frustrated about this. I imagine that he sees the answer/solution so clearly that it must seem painfully obvious. When I reach out and just miss it, he gets upset.

No one is more frustrated than me. A former me might have never even come over, let alone tried to talk about my frustrations with the boys. I have felt better, so I painfully know when I am off track. I know I need to find the track and get back on, but it is like trying to find my glasses when they aren’t where I remember them being last. My vision is fuzzy. I can’t see them. I panic. The added emotion doesn’t help circumstances, but the knowledge of what will happen if I can’t see, can’t afford new glasses, needing to ask someone for help…is enough resistance to make the solution seem farther away. Someone yelling at you to hurry up, or that you are stupid for having lost it in the first place (even though you have developed habits to prevent this from happening in the first place), makes the search that much more unpleasant.

Alex is noticeably frustrated and asks questions for futher clarification. Verbally say what you are thinking in your head. Use your words. What bad tape are you playing? How did you get there? There is a quiet, but known sense that I know the answer and can figure this out, I just need a little guidance. It is like a mother, who knows the kid has lost her glasses and is freaking out, going to the obvious places the glasses have known to be laid and looking around with clear objective eyes. She doesn’t have to find them and immediately give them back to the kid. She might see them and instruct the kid where to go, or at least give helpful hints to make sure that in the end the solution is had and growth and healing have occurred.

In the moment, I am that kid panicking without the glasses. For me, the consequences of not figuring this out are dire. If I lost my female reproductive organs because I remained ignorant of whom I am, or at least was disowning who I was, what is the penalty for not getting it right now? But, it isn’t that dire. In the moment, I am scared and confused. Even though I have had a glimpse of the solution, I can’t hold onto it yet. I am cruising down the highway, seeing the Ikea, but not knowing how to get over to Ikea for their delicious meatballs.

Back at the table, I am still at a loss for words. My mind is blanking. I don’t know how to describe my new found vision. Max gets angry. “You can describe it in your blog in perfect detail days after the fact. I can’t believe that you can’t remember it now.”

I understand the thought process. My brain doesn’t work the way that I want it to most of the time. When faced with immediate social pressure, it can go blank on me. Sometimes, it hasn’t had enough time to sift through the data to understand it enough to speak on it at the moment. When I journal, I have had time to think about it. I can ponder it, explore it. I can change the words latter if I dislike it. Writing is not immediate. Sometimes it is a meditation. I can’t explain why sometimes it is easier to write it than to say it.

Usually, this would be done in some special book that I have toted around with me. The only one with real access to it would be myself. The danger of having a blog is that people read it. The old me is TERRIFIED that people I know are reading this. I don’t always like that they are accessible, that it is open to an interpretation other than my own. In these moments, I feel pathetic and am not always hip to sharing my acknowledgement of that. Also, making your writing public is putting yourself out there and making yourself accountable to your authenticity. I stand by what I write, but I am growing and changing every day, just like my writing.

What is the point then? I need to open myself up. I need to share who I am in this world with this world. I know that I am not the only person who is dealing with this stuff. I have read enough self-help books to know that I am not alone. I have also read enough of them to know that the solution is not cut and dry for everyone. You have to sift through the baggage. You have to listen to yourself. Only you have the operating manual for YOU.

Alex gets a bright idea, “you need to record an audio of your blog.” What? I get immediately embarrassed. Why? Who wants to listen to that? Are you serious?

“You need to start listening to your words and lessons learned before you go to bed each night, instead of the thoughts of others,” Alex said. Yes, I often listen to Abraham Hicks, or read different things through the course of the day, but this is cheesy.

“I do it with my drag videos,” Alex replies. “You love watching them. Do you think it is stupid that I do them?” Of course not! I love watching the mini music videos played back. Sometimes, it is like a time machine. I remember how I felt when they were made, and what a good time it was. Sometimes I watch them in amazement of how we look. It is hard to argue that you are ugly or untalented when you have a video where you think you might be cute and your movement inspires entertainment or awe in yourself. The medium also helps others to express their opinion of you, and more often than not…it is supportive or positive.

I kind of knew the idea was genius. It didn’t matter if anyone else listened, but if I could listen objectively, maybe it would help.

Alex set up his laptop with six entries he wanted me to read. Max got me a glass of water, and they both decided that they would go into the office, close the door, and let me do it without interruption. Max said he would even put on headphones if I was too nervous about them immediately listening to me.

Left alone, I immediately started to shrug off the brilliance of this. The posts were long. (Currently, this one is at nine pages in Word) I started to read them out loud. I became self-conscious of my voice. As I reread the posts, I found mistakes or words misspelled. I continued, trying to brush the objections aside. It didn’t need to be perfect; it just needed to happen. My mouth got dry. I would trip on words. At one point, I was convinced that the boys were listening with a glass held up to their ear behind the closed door. Still, I pressed on.

An hour or so latter, I finished. Alex immediately went to editing the audio. Is there anything this boy can’t do? We were all exhausted. Max was nearly passed out. Around 4 am, Alex said I didn’t have to wait around. He was almost finished and that he would send me the link to the final product.

So, Sunday came. The sun came up and I felt better. As the day went by, I wrote some, reviewed old photos of me, and watched some videos. The audios came, and I listened to them. Yes, I cringed when my voice cracked or I had an irritatingly long pause….but how could I hate this girl. I had to take off to a sleep lab for a sleep study. They were wiring me up for a cpap. I brought the computer because I knew I could write. Wires, all over my head and legs…and I am still typing.

This has to be it. I can no longer back track into this pool of unworthiness. If I have to shove my face into my face so I can no longer deny who I am, I have to do it. I use to love having pictures of me all over my living space. They reminded me of good moments. I enjoyed seeing myself from out of my body. The lens is less warped. At some point in my adulthood, I stopped taking pictures. I didn’t have anyone to share them with. I often didn’t feel pretty enough to take them. This whole selfie revolution happened with these amazing cameras on these smartphones being 100 times better than a separate digital camera. I could still take pictures with my crappy phone or ipod, but it was a conscious choice.

It wasn’t until last year, when we started dressing up and taking photos that I actively decided to take more photos. As I felt better, more photos came. Maybe that is part of the medicine. Sometimes we need to see ourselves reflected back to us.

Still a Screw Up

This last week has been exhausting. After finally feeling like I had made some progress, I felt like I might have taken five steps backward. I read somewhere that we all have a “pain body” that likes to feed like the Ego. I could no longer use the burden of not having the conversation that I needed to with my father as an excuse to beat myself down with. I felt super free and happy. So, I got thrown a little curve ball.

I finally got Alex’s brother, Ethan, his Christmas gift and was scheduled to exchange it with him on Sunday night. Ethan is like my little brother. I had originally gone to a Five Below to get him a $5 gift. It would be on par with what he was planning to give me. I walked through the store and just couldn’t find anything. I thought about going to a few different places instead, and felt so good that I wanted to spend a little more to let him feel as good as I was feeling.

I remembered that Alex had told me that he had asked his mother to not buy him pajama pants this year. It was similar to a kid telling his parent that he was too grown up for something that they had done regularly to that point. Still, pajama pants rocked and his brothers and I still got them from his mother. I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if I got him a joke pair, then put in a real gift card so he could get what he liked. It would be better than a piece of crap from the cheap store.

I went to Kohl’s and found a ravaged pajama section. A pair of Chevy ‘52 truck pajamas were hanging up and I about shit myself. Ethan loved that model of truck. I was pleased with my find until I turned around and saw another pair of road sign pants. He also collected road signs. I couldn’t believe my luck! I couldn’t decide between the two, so I bought both of them and a $10 gift card.

Pleased with my purchases, I went to the dollar store to get gift-wrapping. While I was there, I decided to throw in a gumball machine with gum (a gift I have given him the last two years). It was meant to be tongue-and-cheek, but still valuable. I left really pleased with myself. I was excited to give it to Ethan.

I made it to Alex and Max’s a little early. They had told me that it was okay. Originally, they had hoped to have a “date” night, but called it off because of the gift exchange. Ethan opened my gift. He didn’t have a big reaction, but I thought he was amused. My gift was a jelly bean pooping Peter Griffin and lottery tickets from each state they had drove thru.

Later, I asked Alex what he thought of my gift to Ethan. Alex said, “You knew he didn’t want pajama pants and got them out of spite. Don’t pretend like you got them out of the goodness of your heart. It is bad karma. You wonder why you get bad gifts from your family. Well, it is karma.”

Damn, was my gift that bad? Did Ethan think I was the biggest bitch? What have I done?

Ethan came back shortly after for a scarf he had left behind. I took it to him. Crying, I asked if he thought my gift was insensitive. Surprised, he said no. “I got you a pooping Peter Griffin doll,” he countered. I blubbered out that I had meant to be a little tongue-in-cheek, but I didn’t want him to think I didn’t love him. He gave me a big hug and told me not to worry.

He left and I grabbed my things and left after politely saying good-bye. I still felt miserable, like I couldn’t do anything right. Ethan even called me latter to tell me that he had actually missed not getting pajama pants after his brothers opened their gifts, so it worked out.

Nonetheless, this is just proof that although I might have conquered one challenge, there are still many more left to be faced.