RamblinRandol

The One With Armond Bell – Someone Like You

I’ve rewritten this opening line a thousand times because this is too unreal. Back in March, I had an idea that maybe I could make a difference regarding the homeless youth problem by creating a podcast that’ll help but a face to homelessness by interviewing those who have experienced it. Well…

Today’s the day. It’s here! The very first episode of Someone Like You (SLY) is available for download anywhere you can listen to podcasts. Never in a million years did I think this was ever going to get off the ground, so I hope you’ll join me on this journey by subscribing, rating, reviewing, and sharing it with friends.

Someone Like You is a podcast that’s exploring the homeless youth epidemic that’s currently suffocating and stumping our country. Every other Friday I’m going to interview an individual who has experienced homelessness in hopes to get a better understanding of how to end it.

Every night nearly 6,000 kids search for a safe place to sleep each night in Los Angeles and I believe the solution starts with you and me. It’s important we get to know these young people in order to put a face to homelessness because I’m willing to bet once we get to know them, they’re Someone Like You.

People are hard to hate up close, move in. – Brene Brown

Stay tuned.

Someone Like You – Episode 1 is LIVE

People are hard to hate up close, move in. – Brene Brown

Stay tuned.

What Are Ten Wonderful Things About You? Gratitude Wants To Know.

Happy Monday fraands, hope everyone’s weekend was good, decent, and uneventful in the best way. This moring’s blog is going to be quick because I forgot to write it last night and I’ve got twenty minutes before I really need to get ready for work. This might be my best blog yet because I won’t (can’t) allow myself to overthink each sentence and thought.

It isn’t always easy to remember our strengths or the good things about ourselves. Personally, I find it a helluva lot easier to call out my negatives than praise myself when this question is asked: What do you love about yourself?

When asked my hands usually go dry, heart palpitations increase and my brain literally freezes. The world goes in slow motion and I begin to stutter. My mind repeating one phrase, “what do I like about myself? What do I like about myself? What do I like about myself?”

Nothing ever comes to mind.

But this morning my gratitude journal asked me to name 10 wonderful things about myself and something about using the word wonderful helped me consider what I do think is wonderful about myself.

The word love is confusing for me so it throws off my way of understanding the question. So for the first time ever, I tried to consider 10 whole things I thought was wonderful about myself.

We each have personality traits that are really awesome, so I challenge you to answer the same question. I’ll share mine but I double-dog dare you to share your own answers in the comments.

Let’s do this together!

Ten wonderful things about me:

My laugh is loudly sincere and wholeheartedly expressive of the joy I’m feeling in the moment.
I’m a seeker of knowledge. I want to truly understand the why, meaning and perspective of any and all given situations, a.k.a staying curious.
My want to be the change I wish to see in the world, nothing excites me more than giving back and helping make this world a better place.
I love to cook and trying new recipes. A gift passed down to me from my Pops.
Despite being armored up on the outside, any kind of unnecessary suffering truly bothers me.
I am brave.
I’m creative.
Book smart and street smart.
Incredibly strong, especially in the face of adversity.
Fearlessly authentic.

This did me more good than I thought it would. It felt ridiculous and absurd when I spent (what I felt) too much time contemplating my wonderful parts, and then physically having to write them down.

There’s something solidifying to writing them down. I actually believe what I wrote, so I encourage you to write yours down and share them with me in the comments. This might be the best way to start off your Monday.

Don’t worry, it’ll feel silly at first, but I promise you it’s more rewarding than not.

Now to keep up with my promise to practice gratitude to fight my tendency to forbode joy: Currently feeling gratitude for my spin class tonight. It’s going to kick my ass back into taking care of myself.

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, be my friend online. RamblinRandol is my quest for true belonging.

The Difference Between True Belonging & Fitting In

School was out for the next couple days because a snowstorm blew through upstate New York and I was excited to have the day off to play in the snow. After getting bundled up and prepared to be in the frigid temperatures until exhausted from fun, I went outside to find my two siblings to play.

After searching the front and backyard, checking the neighbor’s yard and woods behind both our houses, I found them hiding behind a snowbank across the street. They were making snowballs and giggling.

When I went to jump into the ditch with them, they both scowled before letting me know I wasn’t invited. “Go away, you’ll tell on us. You’re no fun.”

“You’re no fun,” was a phrase I was familiar with, both my parents used it to fling it at me when I didn’t laugh at their jokes or understand what they thought was so funny. My siblings and parents shared this and no matter how hard I tried to fit in with the jokes and fun, it never worked.

I tried to be fun for years and then succumbed to believing I wasn’t fun and lived out their truth.

After reading through the first half of Braving The Wilderness by Brene Brown I finally felt like someone understood how I felt when it came to family.

She speaks about the moment she didn’t feel like she belonged in her family and how it affected her until she was in her mid-forties.

“Even in the context of suffering–poverty, violence, human rights violations–not belonging in our families is still one of the most dangerous hurts. That’s because it has the power to break our heart, our spirit, and our sense of self-worth. It broke all three for me”

– Braving The Wilderness, page 14

And when our heart, spirit, and sense of self-worth breaks, there are only three outcomes according to Brown’s research data…

You live in constant pain and seek relief by numbing it/and or inflicting it on others;
You deny your pain, and your denial ensures that you pass it on to those around you and down to your children; or
You find the courage to own the pain and develop a level of empath and compassion for yourself and others that allow you to spot hurt in the world in a unique way.

The pain I feel is deep, so deep I don’t even know where the roots are to rip them out of my being. While I’m no expert, I will honestly tell you I’m extremely good at doing numbers one and two.

For years I tried to fit-in and for years got rejected, but I continually knocked on that door hoping it’d open and the outcome would change (not just with family).

Constantly setting myself up for disappointment made me the expert at numbers one and two. Anger has been my shield for MANY years and honestly, I’m still fucking angry.

I’m afraid of losing my anger armor. If I don’t have anger protecting me, then who am I and what will happen to me if I leave myself vulnerable and open to other emotions?

In Braving The Wilderness, Brene defines the difference between fitting-in and true belonging which sounds simple because on face value who doesn’t know the difference between fitting in and belonging? It’s in the word.

Her clarification between the two words was the flashlight I needed to start navigating my way out of the cave.

“Belonging is the innate human desire to be part of something larger than us. Because this yearning is so primal, we often try to acquire it by fitting in an by seeking approval, which are not only hollow substitues for belonging, but often barriers to it. Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.”

She goes on to add true belonging also includes having the courage to stand alone when it’s needed, and feel comfortable with that decision. i.e. standing up for what you believe in wholeheartedly, even when you’re surrounded by different opinions.

I’ve been trying to fit into family and friend relationships for my entire life, basing my worth off what they’d give me in return. You get told throughout life that ‘family is everything’ and ‘all you have is your family,’ so it’s a confusing message when you don’t feel like you’ve ever belonged which makes it even more difficult to stop knocking at the door.

This new understanding of true belonging has lifted a burden off my shoulders I didn’t know was there. True belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are. It requires us to be who we are, therefore freeing me of the responsibility to feel like I need to fit in.

“You are only free when you realize you belong no place–you belong every place–no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.” — Maya Angelou

Now to keep up with my promise to practice gratitude to fight my tendency to forbode joy: Currently feeling gratitude for the relationships I have at my office.

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, come be my friend online. RamblinRandol is my quest for true belonging.

It’s A Shame; He Was Doing So Well With His Shoveling

“When you have depression it’s like it snows every day.

Some days it’s only a couple of inches. It’s a pain in the ass, but you still make it to work, the grocery store. Sure, maybe you skip the gym or your friend’s birthday party, but it IS still snowing and who knows how bad it might get tonight. Probably better to just head home. Your friend notices, but probably just thinks you are flaky now, or kind of an asshole.

Some days it snows a foot. You spend an hour shoveling out your driveway and are late to work. Your back and hands hurt from shoveling. You leave early because it’s really coming down out there. Your boss notices.

Some days it snows four feet. You shovel all morning but your street never gets plowed. You are not making it to work, or anywhere else for that matter. You are so sore and tired you just get back in the bed. By the time you wake up, all your shoveling has filled back in with snow. Looks like your phone rang; people are wondering where you are. You don’t feel like calling them back, too tired from all the shoveling. Plus they don’t get this much snow at their house so they don’t understand why you’re still stuck at home. They just think you’re lazy or weak, although they rarely come out and say it.

Some weeks it’s a full-blown blizzard. When you open your door, it’s to a wall of snow. The power flickers then goes out. It’s too cold to sit in the living room anymore, so you get back into bed with all your clothes on. The stove and microwave won’t work so you eat a cold Pop Tart and call that dinner. You haven’t taken a shower in three days, but how could you at this point? You’re too cold to do anything except sleep.

Sometimes people get snowed in for the winter. The cold seeps in. No communication in or out. The food runs out. What can you even do, tunnel out of a forty-foot snow bank with your hands? How far away is help? Can you even get there in a blizzard? If you do, can they even help you at this point? Maybe it’s death to stay here, but it’s death to go out there too.

The thing is, when it snows all the time, you get worn all the way down. You get tired of being cold. You get tired of hurting all the time from shoveling, but if you don’t shovel on the light days, it builds up to something unmanageable on the heavy days. You resent the hell out of the snow, but it doesn’t care, it’s just blind chemistry, an act of nature. It carries on regardless, unconcerned and unaware if it buries you or the whole world.

Also, the snow builds up in other areas, places you can’t shovel sometimes places you can’t even see. Maybe it’s on the roof. Maybe it’s on the mountain behind the house. Sometimes, there’s an avalanche that blows the house right off its foundation and takes you with it. A veritable Act of God, nothing can be done. The neighbors say it’s a shame and they can’t understand it; he was doing so well with his shoveling.”

This was an explanation of depression shared anonymously on a Reddit thread and went viral. I’m sharing because mental health issues are still taboo in our first-world country and my wish is society as a whole would be more welcoming to those struggling with this ‘invisible’ disease.

Every year the foundation I work for hosts an annual fundraiser called Fight Night and splits half of the night’s net proceeds with another local at-risk children’s charity. This year we’re partnering with CHOC Children’s and its pediatric mental health initiative.

Here are some facts based on CHOC Children’s research:

Half of the children who struggle with a lifetime mental illness had symptoms before age 14 but received no help.
Only about 1/3 of children with mental health problems today receive any treatment.
Children with chronic medical conditions like asthma or diabetes are 2-5 times more likely than their healthier peers to have mental health problems.
Stigma, denial, and lack of access to care are barriers to healing.
The earlier a child receives high-quality, evidence-based care, while the brain is rapidly developing, the greater the possibility of a positive outcome.
Effective treatment in partnership with the family can change the trajectory of a life.
Suicide is the second highest cause of death with young people between the ages 10 – 24.

Clinical depression [1] is a “whole-body” illness that affects your mood, thoughts, body, and behavior. Many factors can contribute to clinical depression, including cognitive issues (e.g., negative thinking patterns); biological and genetic factors; gender (it affects more women than men); other medications; other illnesses; and situational factors.

For some, a number of these factors seem to be involved, while for others a single factor can cause the illness. Often, people become depressed for no apparent reason. In an effort to cope with the emotional pain caused by depression, some people try to “self-medicate” through the abuse of alcohol or illegal drugs, which only leads to more problems.

I was also made aware African Americans are even more less likely to seek treatment for mental health issues. The following [2] statements reflect some common misconceptions about African Americans and depression: “Why are you depressed? If our people could make it through slavery, we can make it through anything.” “When a black woman suffers from a mental disorder, the opinion is that she is weak. And weakness in black women is intolerable.” “You should take your troubles to Jesus, not some stranger/psychiatrist.”

The truth is that getting help is a sign of strength. People with depression can’t just “snap out of it.” Also, spiritual support can be an important part of healing, but the care of a qualified mental health professional is essential. And the earlier treatment begins, the more effective it can be.

So…stop the stigma. Talk about it. Mental health matters. We need each other.

1-800-273-8255 – Your Life Matters

We are way behind the bell curve when it comes to understanding mental illness and it grinds my gears when there is no compassion or tried understanding. And I get it, not everyone is capable of understanding or compassion but what the hell is everyone else’s excuse?

Yesterday my husband and I ate a late lunch at our favorite sushi restaurant here in Orange County (Minato Sushi in case you’re wondering), and I overheard the table behind us discussing the recent suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain.

The adult son claimed, “Kate Spade’s suicide was more of a shock than Bourdain’s, at least he had a long history with substance abuse.”

I tried not to glare. How can one suicide be more shocking than another? Isn’t all suicide terribly shocking? And to me, it sounds like he’s trying to justify one suicide over the other by understanding the public personas each person put on while out in the public, which leads me to the next two questions…

How come we have to assess “who is more broken” in order to determine our own emotions about someone else committing suicide? Since when does suicide make sense? And PS: just because you feel like you know celebrities, TV personas, etc. doesn’t mean you have the full story.

Let’s talk about mental health. Did you know that suicide is the leading cause of death in the United States? According to the CDC, it is now the number one fatal injury across the states, surpassing automobile accidents.

In this same report, the data shows men (in every age group compared with women) kill themselves at a higher rate than women. See that diagram, here.

This stat shook me, too. How come men are more prone to suicide? Is it because of the societal pressure to be a strong figure who provides, never cries, and will always come swooping in to save the day on their white horse for the family?

It’s impossible nowadays to have a one-family income support the family. So let’s let this ideal die with the same notion woman aren’t as valuable as men in the workplace and everywhere else.

I proudly stand with the women’s movement, chant for equal pay, and felt relieved when the #metoo campaign caught fire. And I also have that same passion forward thinking in regards to how we’re raising our young men. This ain’t 1950, boys can cry if they want to, too.

Suicide is defined (like I’m sure you know) as a death caused by self-directed injurious behavior with intent to die as a result of the behavior. Suicidal ideation refers to thinking about, considering or planning suicide.

Suicide is a MAJOR public health concern.

Logic made a hit record about suicide prevention. Jada Pickett Smith and others in the spotlight made a statement about their own personal struggle with mental health issues. Conversations are happening; let’s collectively continue improving our understanding of mental health.

What’s the first step? Does anyone have any ideas?

I think misusing the term mentally ill is a good starting point. We’re in a culture where words don’t matter because they can be slung anonymously over the web. We self-diagnose and label others easily and incorrectly. Not everyone is a narcissist. Mom’s an asshole but she’s not mentally ill. Not every school shooter is mentally ill.

Words matter and we should be careful with them.

Once we regain the word maybe then we can begin to redefine it in a way everyone can understand. Mental health is the umbrella word like marketing is to communications. Mental illness includes everything from panic attacks and anxiety to bipolar and schizophrenia.

Suicide is complicated and sad regardless of who commits the act. May no one reading ever know what it feels like to truly believe family, friends, and children, would be better off without you in their lives. If you’ve had suicidal thoughts or are having suicidal thoughts call 1-800-273-8255 for help.

It’s okay to not be okay and ask for help. Your life matters.

Now to keep up with my promise to practice gratitude to fight my tendency to forbode joy: Currently feeling gratitude for everyone sharing their own personal mental health story to help spread the awareness. What are you feeling grateful for?

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, come be my friend online. RamblinRandol is my personal journey about understanding myself more with the hopes it’ll help someone else in the twenty-something/pushing thirty struggles.

The (Wo)Man In The Arena

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” – Theodore Roosevelt

Excerpt from “Citizenship In A Republic”
delivered at the Sorbonne, in Paris, France on 23 April, 1910

Thank Teddy, couldn’t have said it better.

My parents had this philosophy with me while I was growing up. They both stressed the importance of getting up after you fall, not caving in when it comes to your personal well-being and reminding me it doesn’t matter if you get your ass beat as long as you stood up for what you believe in (figuratively and physically) because that shows courage.

So, before I read Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly novel, entering the arena actually meant going into battle. I’d enter the arena prepared to defend myself against whatever I was faced up against.

Now, imagine the uncomfortableness that washed over me when Brené Brown uses this same philosophy as a metaphor for emotional development. Like what? You want me to enter the arena vulnerable with no defense strategy and only protect myself with the strength of ‘being seen for who I am,” and the internal feeling of self confidence to battle through tough situations.

My first thought? This is how ‘people’ heal? GTFO. This is how people get crushed and then take years to recover. Nope! Not for me!

And then I kept reading…

For over two decades I have spent time and effort perfecting my battle strategies to keep me strong and brave in the eyes of my opponent. This arena (when I picture it) looks like the Roman Collosuem and my strategy mimics that dance matador and bull performed back in the day, meaning the victory is never given to the bull. I am victorious each time.

This arena is actually a battleground. Brené Brown’s arena is filled with only you and all of your worst thoughts, emotions, and uncomfortableness. The battle is not being fought with anyone else but yourself, and honestly, I’d rather the bull.

Yesterday I woke up frustrated with just about everything going on in life. I started to rehash old arguments where I’d say all the things I wanted to say, began to convince myself this ‘need to connect with others’ was complete bullshit, overrated, and only for pussies, while also imagining how I could blow up every relationship I’m in now so that I could finally succeed at being left the fuck alone.

Oh yeah, and then I was frustrated by the relationships I wish I had with my brother and sister. I spiraled through this angry chaos, happily. Because this is comfortable.

I even called my Mom to vent knowing she’d listen to me bitch, ask me one question that indirectly puts the blame on myself, to then spending the rest of the convo to vent her own problems (and ignore mine) so that when I’d hang up, I’d have good reason to be fucking angry.

Messed up, right? I set myself up to be angry because it’s comfortable. SMDH

The hardest transition I’m ever going to have to do is redecorate my arena, and repainting those blood-stained walls is going to take more than remembering Teddy’s quote.

So what’s the point of this blog, what does it do for you? I’m hoping some of you reading also struggle with vulnerability and not wanting to ‘be seen’ as incapable of going into battle (physically). That you can relate to my struggle and find the courage to also figure out how to de-armor yourself despite the many years it took to build it.

I want to end with another quote I read yesterday that spoke to me and my need to constantly feel like I need to protect myself from everything. This quote from Viola Davis gave me another perspective.

“They tell you to develop a thick skin so things don’t get to you. What they don’t tell you is that your thick skin will keep everything from getting out, too. Love, intimacy, vulnerability.

“I don’t want that. Thick skin doesn’t work anyore. I want to be transparent and translucent. For that to work, I won’t own other people’s shortcomings and crticisms. I won’t put what you say about me on my load.”

I owe it to myself to let in love, intimacy AND vulnerability. There’s no way to let in only one, you’ve got to own ALL of it in order to enjoy it.

Now to keep up with my promise to practice gratitude to fight my tendency to forbode joy: Currently feeling grateful that I woke up in time (forgot to set my alarm) to go for my routine morning run with my puppies. What are you feeling grateful for? Tell me in the comments.

No Longer ‘Feeling Twenty-Two’ And I Don’t Think T-Swizzle Is Either…So There’s That

Sometime in the early morning of May 21, 1989, my Madre gave birth to yours truly at Buffalo Mercy Hospital. To everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t snowing. Today I am twenty-nine, no longer ‘feeling twenty-two’ and officially pushing thirty, but I’m not mad about it.

There’s a handful of people I used to know who will never be able to dread turning thirty, some didn’t even get the chance to move out of the teenage years. So while getting older does mean I’m getting closer to … the end … being able to age is a gift, and when my boobs sag to my knees I hope I have the same mindset.

Usually, I try to make this day slip by without anyone noticing and to be honest I’m not really sure why. If I had to guess I’d say it’s equal parts annoyance when people try to make me feel special (yes, I know how that sounds), the fear of being let down again because nobody cares, and a mixture of hating the spotlight that comes with it is a day literally about you–and anyone else born on that date (haha).

And while “It’s My Birthday I Can Cry If I Want To” was a popular hit in the 1990’s, I’m not letting it be the anthem of today’s post (even though there’s plenty to unpack in the last post, I’ll leave it to another day). Instead, I’m going to try something new…

…enjoy today and try to enjoy other people wanting to enjoy it with me, even if it fucking. kills. me.

In honor of being 29 (and practicing letting others get to know me and being okay with being out there all ‘willy-nilly’) here are twenty-nine fun factoids about me you probably didn’t know.

I own [almost] every Nicholas Sparks novel
but Jude Deveraux is my FAVORITE romance writer, best book: A Knight in Shining Armor
In the 7th grade a boy brought me flowers for my birthday. He walked into our science class and gave them to me. I was so embarrassed I spent the entire period convincing him he shouldn’t like me, successfully.
I asked out the hottest kid in middle school by shouting the question at him in the hall as we passed by, he avoided my hallway after that, haha.
One winter I actually got to build an igloo with my Pops. It snowed so damn hard in Le Roy that year the snow was deep enough to build underground tunnels to and from the igloo.
My Mom was the best at making up shit to do to keep her three kids busy. My favorite was when we’d pull all the books out of the shelves and build a castle.
After watching Home Alone for the first time I couldn’t walk around the house without socks on because of the nail-through-the-foot scene. I can know acknowledge socks wouldn’t have saved my foot but holy hell did it make me FEEL like my feet were protected.
I once used sidewalk chalk to tell a neighborhood friend I didn’t like her anymore, wrote ‘Go Home Amber’ across 8 or 9 squares. The next day I felt so bad I went to her grandmother’s house to apologize. Her grandmother answered the door and I almost shit my pants because she apparently knew how to read, too. So I apologized to her and Amber, and swore I’d never do something so nasty again.
My family’s motto was “a family that farts together stays together,” My husband really had no idea what he was marrying into, lmao.
My first fight was with a kid who lived in the trailer park. He was sitting on top of my brother pushing his face into the snow and he couldn’t breathe, so I pushed him off my brother and kicked him down a hill. His mother ran out (bare foot) while I was helping my brother up and chased us half way home. I walked in the house with my brother and calmly said, “Timmy’s mom is going to call you. He was hurting James and I kicked him down the hill. I’m not sorry.”
In that same trailer park, all the kids would come to this one huge rock pile and play Kings and Queens. King and Queen were determined by how far up the tree you could climb without chickening out. I was always Queen.
The only movie I can line is Austin Powers.
I used to write letters to my tooth fairy when she was expected to visit. I’d ask her if she liked her job, what her house looked like and wtf she needed my teeth for…
I used to push a stuffed Big Bird in a shopping cart EVERYWHERE I went.
Don’t ever trust me If I say I have a favorite color. It changes every other year or week depending on my mood.

Okay, there’s no way I’m going to make it all the way to flipping twenty nine! What am I a narcissist?!?! Besides, I fessed up some good ones.

But on the real, even though this is the last year to claim my twenties, it feels like this is the first year I’ve started living. I hear your thirties are the best years anyway.

Currently feeling grateful for the time the Hubs and I spent yesterday in Los Angeles at the Happy Place museum 🙂

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, come be my friend online.

Starved for Joy and Hungry for Gratitude

If you starve yourself of joy, the best way to combat this tendency is to practice gratitude. Here’s what I learned in chapter 4: The Vulnerability Armor of Daring Greatly.

In a culture of deep scarcity–of never feeling safe, certain, and sure enough–joy can feel like a setup. Everyone in the family is healthy. No major crises are happening. The house is still standing. i’m working out and feeling good, Oh, shit. This is bad, disaster is right around the corner.

Hold the phone. Other people do this, too? You mean my secret (subconscious?) way of dealing with the too good vibes isn’t an original plan? You’re telling me this is one of the three ways people evade vulnerability and I fit into one of those damn boxes!?

To be honest, I don’t know if I’m more annoyed that a STRANGER is calling my shit out or that I’m becoming an annoying Brene Brown Superfan. Ooh! Or that I’m not as original or skilled at dodging emotions as I thought an hour ago.

So here are the three types of ways people shield vulnerability.

Foreboding Joy – never allowing yourself to feel joyful because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Perfectionism – the belief that if you look and act perfectly it will help you avoid pain and /or shame.
Numbing – dulling our emotions, personal feelings, and being a busy-holic to avoid what’s at the root of your own personal problems.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who has figured out how to shield vulnerability by foreboding joy. Except I didn’t know that’s what I was doing until page 119 in Daring Greatly. #smdh

Do you do this, too? The second you feel too happy, too joyful, or too good, you immediately stop, drop, and let your imagination run to all the worst possible scenarios that could jeopardize the joy your feeling moments before your head takes over?

You can’t see me, but I’m raising my hand in solidarity (actually I’m raising both damn hands) because I’m so suspect of good vibes I believe I’m actually un-jinxing it by worrying about all the potential bad.

Never do I ever want to be unprepared for ‘what’s the worst that could happen?” Hands down my number one fear. Well, it’s tied for first apparently. Vulnerability is trying to take the trophy.

What makes you feel vulnerable? Give yourself a second to think about it…then scroll to hear mine.

ramblin randol blog image — Photo by Sven Scheuermeier

Love makes me feel vulnerable. I don’t want to love anyone or anyone to love me, that way if something bad happens (divorce, death) it’s easier to recover.

Being pregnant. You’re not out running danger or anyone trying to harm you while 8-months preggers. And it’s quite obvious you’re vulnerable, no hiding it.

Too many good occurrences happening all at once or systematically. Shit like that doesn’t happen to me, the shoe always drops so don’t enjoy it for too long because when it does hit the fan, it’ll be harder to recover.

I used to think the best way to go through life was to expect the worst. That way, if it happened, you were prepared, and if it didn’t happen, you were pleasantly surprised. Then I was in a car accident and my wife was killed. Needless to say, ecpecting the worst didn’t repare me at all. And worse, I still grieve for all those wonderful moments we shared, that I didn’t fully enjoy.

– A man in his early sixties, Daring Greatly pg. 120

I don’t want to starve myself of joy and according to my boo Brown, the best way to turn the tables on foreboding joy is by practicing gratitude.

When I first read the bolded title, I snorted. Like, I am grateful. I don’t live on the streets, in a third-world country or in Russia, so how the hell else am I’m going to be grateful?

Nope, missed the point.

This is how I interpreted it: Yes, there are others in worse situations than you, but you are ENOUGH and deserve to feel gratitude for your own life. She recommends keeping a gratitude journal and making an entry once a day. This way you practice appreciating all of life’s big and small moments.

There are only two days in my entire life that I can whole-heartily say nothing could touch me because I was on cloud nine and truly enjoying the joy. Those two days were my wedding day and when I graduated college.

I don’t want to die and only be able to actually feel only two days of joy out of my entire life. So as ridiculous as it sounds to me, I’m going to start a gratitude journal (better than a food journal, right?) and acknowledge gratitude at the end of each blog.

Keep me accountable 😉

Currently feeling grateful for: the hot tub at my apartment. 
It's the only place the Hubs and I can communicate effectively 
with no distractions.

What are you grateful for today?

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, come be my friend online.

Shame. What Is It Good For? Absolutely Nothing.

Do you have shame? Apparently, we all do according to Brene Brown. Here’s what I learned after reading Brown’s chapter about shame and how to combat those nasty gremlins talkin’ nonsense inside your head. Sharing in case it helps one of you, too.

Do I have shame? “Well, I don’t know,” was my first thought after reading the question. On the surface level, I’m not ashamed of who I am, how I got here or where I want to go. There’s a chip on my shoulder I’m a bit proud of and have a deep inner strength that propels me to keep pushing forward–no matter what. All characteristics I’m proud to own.

Shannon in a nutshell; moved out at a young age and paid all her own bills without EVER having to ask for help, got herself through college and graduated with a Bachelor’s despite having to take a year and a half off to deal with the joys of being a Navy wife. It took longer than everyone else, but I paid my way through junior college and figured out how to manage University with loans, internships and a solid year with no day off to get me in the position I am now.

Point blank, nobody thought I could do it and nobody paid my damn rent or filled my refrigerator with groceries, or gave me daily pep talks to counter-act all the other shit that life was flinging at me in those years.

I did it, and then me and my man did it, together. And I’m proud of those years, proud to say we did it alone. The flame that burned deep in the pit of my gut kept me pushing, climbing and propelling myself to the finish line, is what I’m truly proud of about myself because not everyone gets the guts and glory.

But wait, one simple question breaks all that internal strength and leaves me fumbling for words. So, where’s your family? Boom. Instant shame. Well, instant shame mixed with anger, let me explain.

When people find out I’m not from around here (or wherever I’m living at the time) they immediately want to know how I got to the patch of grass we’re now sharing, which is great because I’ve gotten extremely good at giving the watered down ‘me in a nutshell’ version to people.

I’ll get to the end and without fail, the first question is, “so, where’s your family.” Cue anger. “Wtf do they have anything to do with this conversation,” is what I want to say, instead it’s, “oh, we’re spread out. Some live back in New York while others have planted in Florida.”

People are curious, I get it. But can I just control the conversation and only talk about what I want to talk about? Of course not, and this is where I begin to understand shame.

My family couldn’t pay for my college tuition, or give me the movie ‘going away to college’ experience. No dorms. No sororities. No college keggers. I had to pick (what I say in my mind) lower end schools because I couldn’t afford the fancy four-year state universities my friends got to attend. I had to work, pay bills AND try to finish school.

That’s shame.

It sounds silly to write down, but it’s true. The shame gremlins (what Brown calls the nasty voices in our heads) tell me I’m not smart or good enough because I didn’t go to a state university with a competitive football team, which leads to the circumstance of my parents not being able to provide that luxury.

On one hand I’m proud to have hoofed it myself, but on the other hand, I’m ashamed of why I had to hoof it. The reason I’m proud of myself for making it through is the same reason I’m ashamed, strange right?

I don’t want to be labeled, ‘less than’ because of circumstances out of my control i.e. finances. So when somebody asks me about my family after learning of my life’s journey, I assume it’s because they want to know where the hell my family has been through all of this and I instantly feel shame, not because I’m ashamed of them but because the person doing the asking is probably judging them for ‘not being around,’ and that makes me angry, too.

Brown says, “shame is universal and one of the most primitive human emotions we experience. The people who don’t have it lack the capacity for empathy and human connection. Here’s your choice: Fess up to experiencing shame or admit that you’re a sociopath. Quick note: This is the only time that shame seems like a good option.”

Okay, Okay, I admit it, I have shame.

According to her definition, shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging, and that there are 12 shame categories that’ve emerged from her research.

Appearance and body image
Money and work
Motherhood/fatherhood
Family
Parenting
Mental and physical health
Addiction
Sex
Aging
religion
Surviving trauma
Being stereotyped or labeled

Sidebar: There’s a difference between shame and humiliation (yup, apparently they’re not the same thing even though they sound pretty mutually exclusive). Shame is thinking “I am bad” while humiliation or guilt is “I did something bad.”

Shame holds us back and keeps us from being our best self. My best guess is that because I think less of myself I limit myself to opportunities that seem “too grandiose,” and possibly in other ways I can’t even see because I’m still operating out of shame, fear, AND guilt. WOOF.

How do you combat shame? Talk about it. Give it a name. The more you talk about it the less control it has over your life.

Cheers to hoping that Texan Brene Brown is right, because my damn gremlins are telling me this whole post was a waste of time and it’s not helping anyone, and that I just want to bable about myself…

I play better on Instagram than Facebook but regardless, come be my friend online.