This isn’t advice. It’s just me being honest, in case you need it too.
The last thing the internet needs is another expert.
So, I solemnly swear to never tell you what you should be doing. Nothing grinds my gears more than others trying to tell me “exactly” what I should be doing in order to achieve x,y, and z.
Because here’s the thing–the older I get the more I realize I don’t know shit. The moment it feels figured out, something changes and I’m back at square one. And honestly? Love that for us, it keeps us honest. (Except for the ones selling you that magic elixir.)
What I do know is how much I appreciated people being authentic and real with me about their truths. I learned the most from others sharing their own personal experiences. It helped process my own and I’d like to return the favor. Sharing what I’ve learned in hopes it helps you feel less crazy, less alone or less stressed about where you’re at.
Because if you feel like a mess on a rock floating through space, girl same. What even is my purpose here?
Hi friends, I’m trying hand over at Substack for a little while.
(I couldn’t keep sharing posts about silence and rejection from pitching, haha. And for some reason, opening WordPress feels like a drag. Not sure if it’s because at one time I had this popping and now it’s crickets or what but I’m trying to unblock the mental block.)
SO, if you wanna read the rest of the post above and learn more about the book that made me reconsider therapy, head on over to my Substack 🙂
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.
Hey, it’s Monday and my eyes and nose are so swollen I have to keep my eyebrows raised in order to see through my eyelids. No really. I tried this new face cream by Loreal and it blew my face up like a balloon. It has collagen in it and I don’t think you’re supposed to carelessly rub it all over your face, which I did because patience is not my strong suit.
Anyways, I hope everyone reading is having a good start to their week and if you’re not…at least you don’t look like this….
Last night I started reading my first (and I’m assuming the first of many) Brene Brown book titled Daring Greatly and within the first damn page had me pegged. The fact she nailed down one of my biggest flaws regarding relationships almost sent me slamming the book shut out of pure stubbornness and refusal to believe some random stranger could know me. As if!
The line that got me was this, “keep people at a safe distance and always have an exit strategy,” and the first thing I thought was, “No! Other people do this, too? This isn’t a problem!”
For as long as I can remember, having an exit strategy has always been super important to my own mental survival and not just when it relates to relationships or connecting with others.
Whenever I’m surrounded by large crowds (parades, movie theaters, restaurants) I make sure to note where the exits are in case of an emergency. Even when I get stopped waiting for a train to pass, I leave a car length spot in front of me just in case I have to be able to maneuver out of the line of cars to safety.
Being trapped and not being able to get out is my number one fear. It’s what my nightmares depict, so it only makes sense I keep people at a safe distance paired with an equally safe (for me) exit strategy.
What’s equally as interesting is that for the past two decades I have spent a good chunk of time getting myself out of sticky, tricky, and sometimes life-threatening situations. So how come I still fear it? Do I lack self-confidence in myself or am I paranoid?
I struggle with self-confidence but not in this aspect of the word, protecting myself and staying safe has consistently been my strong suit and it’s possible I’m too good at it. So much so that I know I don’t technically need anyone to help me make big decisions or guide me through life. I’ve proved it true numerous times, so it reinforces the thought “relationships are a burden.”
This safe distance blockade I’ve built was invisible to me up until a year ago. I didn’t even know I was doing it, or aware/curious that this might be why I struggle with every relationship I’ve ever tried to have, and recently realized my technique for protection didn’t avoid my marriage.
It sucks to have to write this sentence, but it’s true. I feel like we all know marriages these days don’t last, and while I love my husband like no other and would kill for him if need be, I still have an exit strategy just in case it doesn’t work out between us in the end, because I don’t want to be unprepared for the worst and depending on someone else to get me through.
The thought of asking for help is still widely unpopular with me. I’d rather have a couple root-canals and do leg day every day of the week than ask for help.
In short, reading this book is going to be interesting. There’s a part of me who’s really excited to see where this journey of self-discovery is going to lead, with a high hope me sharing will help someone else reading.
But I’m also afraid I might recognize a few traits I’ll need to alter that will be easier said than done.
Brene Brown also gives a list of guidelines to wholehearted living that I want you to ponder, as I’ve been mentally digesting it for 24-hours now and is also what Daring Greatly helps get its readers to do.
Cultivating Authenticity: Letting Go of What People Think
Cultivating Self-Compassion: Letting Go of Perfectionism
Cultivating a Resilient Spirit: Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness
Cultivating Gratitude and Joy: Letting Go of Scarcity and Fear of the Dark
Cultivating intuition and trusting faith: Letting Go of the Need for Certainty
Cultivating Creativity: Letting Go of Comparison
Cultivating Play and Rest: Letting go of Exhaustion As A Status Symbol and Productivity As Self-Worth
Cultivating Calm and Stillness: Letting Go of Anxiety As a Lifestyle
Cultivating Meaningful Work: Letting Go of Self-Doubt and ‘Supposed To”
Cultivating Laughter, Song, and Dance: Letting Go of Being Cool and ‘Always in Control”
How many are you actively doing? I can only say two or three, possibly. I’ve never struggled with perfectionism and exhaustion as a lifestyle doesn’t seem like a thing I do, who knows, I might get to that chapter and choke on my own words.
So, to all my ladies out there still reading this long ass post—download Audible and create an account if you don’t have one because you get one FREE book as a thank you for signing up, so go read this damn book and join in on the convo with me.
Netflix has released a number of new Disney movies for the month of September and to celebrate I watched Hercules.
Hercules is the most underrated Disney movie ever didn’t smack me upside the head until Hercules meets Meg for the first time and tries to save his first D.I.D. – Damsel in Distress.
Meg is being held hostage by the River Monster and isn’t impressed by this stranger’s offer to help save her. She stay’s calm and cool while dismissing the need for any help and still manages to slip out a sarcastic response.
Cheers to Meg for emulating every woman in the history, ever. Ladies have been pretending to be okay for ions, despite looking down the belly of the beast. We always know how to keep our cool, solve the problem and keep the program moving.
THEN when Herc asks how she got mixed up with the likes of a River Monster, her answer was again SPOT on.
Some men are plain stupid.
I’m a big tough girl. I can tie my own sandals and everything.”
Can I also say how impressed I am that a story about a young man finding his place in this world depicting all his struggles was told by Disney, too? Can I get an amen?
It’s easy to forget that Disney stories are based off the Grimm Brother’s Tales with a happier spin. Disney copyrighted the “happy ending” and Hercules is a tale from Greek mythology, but it’s still important.
Just like many get upset that Disney told little girls to be saved by Princes, they did produce other sides.
Zero to Hero in a broad sense shows Hercules’ struggle to belong, and how a little determination and hard work can beat the odds with the help from those willing to go the distance for you.
Not everyone is a stepping stone in our careers, but the good ones are and that’s not a terrible message to tell kids. We hear millennials are nothing but dreamers and searching for their passions, but a large majority are working hard in an economy built against them … but I digress … anyways
Be a Jerk and Get Treated Like a Jerk
Nothing made me giggle more than when Phil gets smacked multiple times for being a womanizer or perv. As a kid you make the connection Phil wants love but is going about it in the wrong ways, so he get’s what is due to him. i.e. getting pushed into the water, multiple times.
Take Care Of Mom
Hercules loves his biological parents as well as his adoptive parents and makes a point to take care of Mom. After Hercules made his name as a Hero, he buys them a house next to the leaning tower of Pisa. How sweet is that? C’mon. So extra.
Meg Saves The Day
I think you might’ve missed what happened there at the end. If it weren’t for Meg, Hercules would’ve failed and never gotten to the pearly gates to make the choice to be with his family.
She dived to protect Herc and Hades’ curse was broken because he had promised she wouldn’t get hurt. Meg knew she could repair what she damaged by sacrificing herself. Talk about accountability!
What’s the old phrase? Behind every successful man is a strong woman? Meg is the original OG of Disney leading ladies. Get it, girl!
If there are any F.R.I.E.N.D.S fans reading, did you know Hercules is voiced by the guy Rachel was madly in love with at her personal styling gig? #TheMoreYouKnow
It’s Friday, so you know what time it is. Time for #SMHS – Sh*T My Husband Says!
There’s something special about being married and by special I mean hilarious. After a certain amount of time has passed you begin to get into the deep minutia of life and crazy metaphors, conversations, and ridiculousness get exchanged.
Here’s this week’s gem.
I honestly can’t handle him some mornings, he’s way to awake and fiesty for me, and I get up an hour earlier to run with the dogs.
Ahh–vacation, it’s finally here! Today me and the Hubs are driving up to Colorado Springs for a long weekend, it lieu of our Spring Breaks. The beach did have its appeals, but the mountains won out. Plus, it’s a dog friendly city/state and there’s plenty to do with your pups, a win-win for us.
While we trekked into new territory, it still looked pretty similar to home. Texas is ginormous, but it generally has the same feel. A lot of farm land, old rusty cars rotting away into the dirt piles and way too many cows. Did you know that there are more cows in Texas than people? “Let’s hope they don’t figure that out,” as my husband would say.
As we drove north west, nothing but open road, we rocked out to oldies but goodies. We rapped Lil’ Wayne, Eminem, and a mix of old southern rappers, Crime Mob anybody?
After knuckin’ and buckin’ we turned the music down, randomly told stories, and posed questions to stir up more random conversation, the kind you only have when you’re stuck in a car with nowhere else to go. Then, we enjoyed the silence and scenery.
Still in Texas, only two hours into the trip, not desperately wanting out of the car, yet.
One of my two, Hurricane Bailey, or just Bailey.
I think it’s more telling when you can sit in silence with your significant other, not having to entertain each other, or feel like there needs to be a conversation in order for us to be an awesome couple. I think when you find someone you can enjoy the silence with, that speaks louder than words.
We made our way through Wichita Falls, Amarillo and other small farm towns before we hit New Mexico. I was shocked by how quiet these small towns were. Not many people on the road, except the few cars that were driving through, and the one flashing yellow light on Main Street. Not official ghost towns, but close enough.
A quaint building in small town, Texline.
As we entered New Mexico, the scenery hadn’t changed much. When you enter a new state the scenery should immediately change, especially for people who have been in a car for 5 hours already. Though, it was starting to get hillier, the clouds were getting lower and that dirt mountain rock began to appear, we were inching closer and closer.
Finally out of Texas. Two more states to go!
“Rocky Mountain Dirt Stuff”
About 25 minutes upon entering New Mexico, the Jeep overheated and we couldn’t go above 40 mph. There was a loud grinding noise and we had to pull over. What kind of car overheats in 60 degree weather? Thank Zeus for Google. The Hubs got onto a message board, found the trick, and after a mini freak out from me, we were on our way again.
(Apparently, other Jeep owners had this overheating problem also when they drove 75-80 mph for a long period of time. If you find yourself in this problem, put the car in neutral, wait for the transmission light to go off, and wah-la, you’ll be on your way.)
As we entered Colorado, FINALLY, The Rocky Mountains, with their thin blue mist, were to the west driving with us the last 3 hours of the trip. The change in scenery helped, a little, but we were all ready to be done. That last leg of the ride always takes the longest.
The Hubs with the Rockies in the back.
While we wound up and down and around the mountains, we noticed a few historical signs talking about some memorial, we decided to Google, nothing like a little history on a long trip.
Ruins of Ludlow – Wiki
The Ludlow Massacre was an attack on the miners and families of Ludlow Colorado, by Colorado National Guard and Colorado Fuel and Iron Company. At the start of the fighting, any where between 19-26 people were burned to death in a single tent, women and children alike.
The strikes lasted from September 1913 to December 1914. It was dubbed one of the worst and deadliest incidents in southern Colorado history. The strikes were led by the United Mine Workers of America, and were fighting for better working conditions.
Interestingly enough, John D. Rockefeller, Jr. was the chief owner of the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company. The results from this massacre, led to 8 hour work days and chill labor laws.
Historian Howard Zinn described the Ludlow Massacre as “the culminating act of perhaps the most violent struggle between corporate power and laboring men in American history”.
In total, around 200 miners and their families lost their lives. The remains of the burnt town can still be seen in the completely abandoned city of Ludlow Colorado in the southern part of the state.
As we pulled into our hotel parking lot, It took everything I had to not run underneath the bed covers and fall asleep. It was dark by the time we pulled in to Colorado Springs, so I could only see shadows of mountain tops, but it was nice to know they were there.
In the morning, it was going to be a beautiful sight and I can’t wait to get the party started, vacation never felt so good.
The art of writing is a sacred being, its appeal is charming and the idea easy, the latter is never true. Writing isn’t easy and it never will be. If you write long enough you acquire a passion for words and new ways to express them, but it’s never an easy journey, though nothing worth while hardly ever is.
Any soul who enjoys the magic of writing remembers when they first got the itch to put pen to paper and create something creative. Any “great” remembers the craving to prefect a skill became apparent. A jolt of weightless energy that hits you hard, causing the lightbulb to brighten above your head. That’s what I want to do!
Personally, I was little, maybe six or seven, too little to actually be thinking about future plans, but I knew I enjoyed reading what I wrote and creating short stories were my fav.
I acquired an eccentric style of writing while in grammar school, and my mom thought it was adorable. I had a funny tendency to only write on the left-hand edges of my paper, the rest of the paper seemed tainted. I remember thinking, look how many pages I can write! Well, when you only use half the page …
My signature trademark was soon corrected by the first or second grade, whenever the teachers start to send you home with real homework. I’m sure it’s Pre-K now, the books are heavier and the snow they have to walk to school in is deeper.
Anyways, my itch started with writing fan fiction, I didn’t know that’s what it was called, but regardless, anybody remember the T.V. series Arthur? Yes, yes I did. I wrote my own stories for Arthur and his family and friends to wander through. I wrote some stories that were funny, others were sad. Mostly, I liked to write ones that had a good moral buried in it. Typical Shannon, I was seven going on 30.
My mom used to keep them in her dresser, the bottom right hand drawer. By the time I was in my teens the drawer resembled how stuffed and worn it was, papers were being pushed from the sides, the handle was hanging on by one screw and the drawer had long been knocked off its frame. It was the perfect setting for where my mom crammed us kids’ works of art.
The prized possessions were all slightly brown and had obviously seen better days. Every once in a while I wonder if my mom still has them shoved in that drawer, but the memory vanishes by the time one of us calls each other.
It took years of denying any worth to my writing before I told myself to shut the -efff up. I started my higher education with the thought I’d never leave education, I’d just become a teacher. I did my classroom visits and almost ran out the door, though working with kids was rewarding.
I think that when something sinks its teeth into you, it’s hard to deny the sting it leaves. Writing got its dirty paws around me long ago, and the sooner I realized it, the quicker I believed I did have a purpose. College really does seem to suck the life out of you sometimes.
When did your passions sink their teeth into you? Was it a furry, ( what was Arthur? An Aardvark?) cartoon friend that sparked your enthusiasm!?
RamblinRandol 