Day 1: My first 500 Words

For the month of January, I signed up as part of author Jeff Goins’ My 500 Words Challenge. Every day, we are to write 500 words. Free-writing. No editing. None. These are today’s 500 words. My goal for 2014 include writing a book as well as writing more here. I’m realizing that while my blog has a Perinatal Mood & Anxiety Disorders focus, I am human and do not have to stick to just pieces about PMAD’s. I plan to share more of myself here this year, to do as this piece mentions – to strip down – let the vulnerability of my humanity fly for the world to see.

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There is a naked tree behind our house. It is in the middle of a row of evergreens. The tree, in the autumn, has leaves which echo the fierceness of a radiant sunset. But in the winter, it stands alone, naked, at the side of the road. This year, however, there is a lone stubborn leaf clinging to one of the topmost branches.

I cannot help but think that this naked tree is like a writer in the midst of non-writers. As a writer, we are to strip our souls bare and stand out among the crowd for all to see. Our words are our thoughts put to paper. They hang there, as if they were ornaments on a tree. Other words may hang in the air as if they were shreds of torn and dirty paper, floating along in the breeze. But the words that stick, the ones that strip us to our very core, those are the ones for which we write every day.

They are the naked branches on the lone winter tree. The lone leaf is our stubbornness in staying away from the exercise of writing. Using our words, in written form, is like going to the gym for a top athlete. If we fail to get in consistent practice, we fail to stay in top form. Our writing falters, we falter, and we begin to perceive the world around us differently.

When you are a writer, every single instance of life is a potential story. From making tea in the morning, to cooking breakfast, to the actions of neighbors, to your children, to things your friends say, or even the beauty in the day outside your window. It is all a story waiting to be told, sometimes aching to be told. But if you haven’t been flexing your writing muscle, the story will fade into the darkness.

But what if you were the one meant to tell the story? Sometimes a story will cling to you if you are the one meant to tell it but first, we have to be willing to listen to the prompts swirling about us as we live life. It might be our story, it might be someone else’s story, or it might be a tale plucked out of thin air to be fancifully created by only you.

If you think for one second that you are not the one to share it because you are not capable, remind yourself that people have used words to communicate for centuries. One does not have to be particularly talented to use words. Practice makes perfect.

Remember learning how to ride a bike? I would be willing to bet you thought you were never going to get it right. But you kept trying as your parents (or another adult) taught you what to do. This is why reading is a critical part of writing. Swallow books whole – devour them – in addition to writing. You will not only be reflecting what is shared but you will be learning from those who have broken through the barrier of where you find yourself now. They are without training wheels – and you will be without training wheels soon as well.

There is magic, strength, beauty, compassion, truth, and hope in words. Do not find yourself afraid to use them this year. Let this be the year you fearlessly share the story you are meant to share. Go. Write.

2014: Breathe, Yawp, Live

‘Tis the season to split oneself between the nostalgia of days gone by and the promising anticipation of sparkling new things yet to arrive. It’s the time of year we find ourselves inundated by “Best of” lists and the ever daunting “resolution” lists. December ends and January begins in an odd state of limbo swirling around us as if it were a beautiful and haunting blizzard threatening to swallow us whole if we stopped long enough to stare at the accumulating drifts of lists beneath our feet.

Is it okay for us to stop and stare at this vortex of nostalgia and anticipation? Will we be awestruck by the ferocity of the electricity dancing about in the overhead clouds? Or should we doggedly march forward, one right after the other, heads down, ignoring the invigorating storm?

Stop and smell the roses, we are told. But we are also told not to let the grass grow under our feet. Take the road less traveled, it will make all the difference. Do not go gentle into the good night, rage, rage against the light. We are all meant to meet that light one day. But until then, take the road less traveled and refuse to do anything less than rage against it. Yawp until you can yawp no more. Live life, don’t let life live you.

We seek, in life, a balance of joy and sorrow. We reach for joy when the sorrow shreds our soul to the bone, bleeding our hearts dry until there is nothing left, not even the marrow to suck out of life. So we are still, frozen, in grief, pain, whatever the reason, until joy surges forward and replenishes the marrow and our life force. With this resurgence comes the drive to rage against life. How do I know this? Because I have been there – splayed open for the world to see, my heart atrophied and hardened on the bare floor, aching for hope and love. It stayed there awhile, resigned to never finding love again, trapped in the penumbra of a hovel deep in the woods. Yet, it still beat and now, it is full of life-blood, dancing in the light of joy because of a daring rescue.

I wish that for those who read this. I know so many who have lost or faced difficult changes this past year. I am here to tell you that it gets better. The grey lifts, the sun rises, and the sky does fill with spectacular colour. It never stopped. It’s just waiting for you rise up from beneath the waves and see the tango of exploding soft oranges, pinks, and pale blues as you watch, breathlessly, the sun languidly traverse a cerulean sky until the clouds, holding hands, bed the sun beneath the horizon. As your feet find the shore, caressing the wet sand for the first time in eons, you exhale, letting go of the shattered soul which has claimed you for far too long. You slink out of your old soul and into your new one, the promises of joy filling your heart with a joy more beautiful than any fully bloomed scarlet rose covered gently in sweet morning dew.

Breathe.

Yawp.

Live.

This, this is your year.

Make it so.

#PPDChat Topic 12.09.13: Redefining Happy – The Road Back After PPD

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A funny thing happens when you Google “define happy.” You get a return of millions of results. There’s a prominent definition at the top of the results which is standard if you Google “define (variable word).”

It looks like this: Define Happy Google SearchThing is, those are all words.

They don’t capture the journey one must MAKE to arrive at “carefree, radiant, joyous, beatific, contented, etc…” do they?

No.

Words make a difference every single time. We use words to convey our feelings, our emotions, our journeys but we so often forget to dig deeper than the words leaping off the page (or screen) at us. We forget that behind the word “joy” there is a sour grape, lurking down the rabbit hole of the “o” in the middle of the word. Or we ignore the uncompleted circle in the “c” of carefree.

We use words to define ourselves to others in bios, in résumés, and on various other forms. Choose your words carefully for they reflect the journey of your life…of you.

Our words falter when we trip down the rabbit hole that is a Perinatal Mood & Anxiety Disorder or other Mental Health disorders. So we dust off our thesaurus and desperately search for happy. But it’s not where we will find our happy. We will find our happy in the battles we fight as we journey back to ourselves.

Join me tonight at 830pm ET tonight on Twitter as we discuss the challenge in finding ourselves again…the challenge of redefining our happy…it’s a helluva battle but it’s one worth fighting every time. See you there!

Whatever Wednesday: When a Fur is Really a Fir and No One Cares

I traveled this past week down to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving.

On Friday we ventured out to the local grocery store which was safe to do because my parents live out in a very rural area.

Of course the store had Christmas trees for sale out front because what else do you put on sale the day after Thanksgiving?

A fabulous green sign proclaimed the prices of these trees on the store’s front entryway door.

Fur TreesSee?

The “Large Fur” was only $29.99. The “Small Fur” was a steal at just $19.99.

After reading the sign again, I glanced at the trees. They were not fuzzy or furry. There were no furs on sale.

Upon entering the store, I went straight to the first employee I saw which happened to be the woman in the floral section. It made total sense to talk with her about this because well, she deals with the plants, right?

“Hi. So, I had a question about the sign outside about the trees for sale. Who can I talk to about it?”

“I’ll answer what I can…”

“Great! The word “fur” is misspelled. I’m sure it’s an honest mistake but the word for trees is spelled f-i-r, not f-u-r as your sign currently states.”

“Ummm….” She then gave me a blank stare. “Right. The large trees are $29.99 and the small ones are…”

I interrupted her, giggling because clearly she misunderstood me. “No, no, no. I don’t want a tree. I want the sign fixed because it’s misleading. Is there a manager I can talk to about that?”

“Well, the girl who did it… (insert puzzled look)… we’ll be taking them down later today anyway….”

“Great. Because those trees are not f-u-rs, they are f-i-rs.”

The kicker?

The above photo was taken the FOLLOWING AFTERNOON.

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#PPDChat Topic – Creating a Menu for Mental Well-Being & Motherhood

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We all know that once Motherhood crashes into our lives our nutrition takes a dive for awhile. Sure, some of us may manage to get great food after we’ve given birth and/or while we are running around after the little ones but some of us are grabbing whatever we can to keep ourselves alive as we rush around in the vortex of our children.

For those of us who struggle with mental health issues, including PMAD’s, nutrition is extremely important. What we fuel our bodies with does affect our brains. We need to be mindful of how we feed our minds – and not just with thoughts or events, but with nutrients.

Join me tonight for a very casual (read: not technical/medical at all) discussion about what we can do to improve our moods through the foods we choose to fuel our minds. Looking forward to chatting with you about what’s worked for you, what hasn’t worked, and what foods are better choices as well as how to easily incorporate these foods into a hectic lifestyle.

See you at 830pm ET, y’all!