I believe...

I believe that you are much much too hard on yourself. I'm talking to both of us, so listen up us.

I believe that a flushed face after exercise and a song you play over and over and over again, and belly laughs with a friend over the most ridiculous thing are reminders of how good it feels to be alive. Touchstones, a quintessential part of a life well lived.

I believe life is hard for every single one of us. We all want to quit. We all feel like we are failing in 4 out of 7 of our life categories. Or maybe it's more like 14 out of 27. I don't know- I didn't pass the required math class for a Communications Management Major until my Senior year. And I think it was my third time taking it. 

I believe that whatever you look for, you will find. I feel so sad for the people who only look for bad, but pretend like that's actually all that exists. 

I believe that we wear our pain in our body, and we simply must get it out. Last year I had to get a tooth pulled to prepare for a dental implant (YES! It's as fun as it sounds!). As I felt the most intense pull and heard the crack of the roots release, I wanted to start to scream and sob. Not because it hurt, (thank God I was numb). But because I could feel this stored sadness and fear and anxiety coming out, deep in my bones. It was in incredibly intense feeling, and a reminder that we must talk, or write or exercise or create these feelings out. An occasional cry or adult beverage works too, unless it's daily. A lot of people drink to get their feelings out, but it doesn't work. It just hides them like dust swept under the bed. It adds up.

What a week. It was shorter, life was closed on Monday for Labor Day. I'm giddily anticipating Friday. Yes, giddily is a word- as a non-math, Communication Major, I should know.

I think a lot about what the boys' futures might look like. Sometimes those thoughts come like demons in the middle of the night. Note: nothing productive comes from those late night sessions, yet at times, they still occur. "It's time for sleep, I will not entertain you right now," I tell them. Sometimes it works. 

I know the boys are brilliant, and talented and so much more intelligent than any test can show. I don't say that in a patronizing or wishful way- it's a damn fact. As they get older, meetings and evaluations discuss long term plans. Vocational Goals. Job Skills. That is often the part of the meeting where I am physically sitting there but I go to Sephora or Cancun in my mind. If there was an overload alarm I would be blinking and beeping. 

I've been thinking hard about what life will look like when they age out of services. For some therapies- like Behavior Therapy- that's coming up very soon. Thank you Managed Care! I like you as much as dental implants! That's when I came up with the idea to ride the current social media/world trend and do "Content Creator" or "influencer" work with the boys. The "i" word- influencer-seriously makes me want to gag. I instantly picture a perfectly groomed girl with 22' beaded row extensions, and tarantula eyelash extensions, constantly using the word, "obsessed" to describe anything they find decent enough to promote. The truth is, we are all influencers in our lives and in the world. Influence: the capacity to have an effect on the character, development, or behavior of someone or something, or the effect itself. It's a noun/verb that should never be used recklessly. Ok I'll stop. I am madly in love with words and their meaning so sometimes I get a little too literal with the ones that feel sacred to me.

But I love shopping, living and sharing. And my boys do too, plus, they are pretty darn cute. Parker and I made a video asking for help to get to 10,000 followers on Instagram. That is sometimes a minimum milestone brands and companies look for. It's called "micro-influncer" omg, I hope you are laughing too. Maybe I'm just too old for this shit. 😂 (Hey! I just realized I can put emojis on here now!) 

 

There were lots of shares and kind words. I was like- This is AWESOME! We will get 1,800 and totally hit 10,000 and more! I will do whatever it takes to make this happen. 

Now, six days later, We still need 1,477. I even had a few unlikes today (thanks buttholes, WHY DON'T YOU LIKE ME?! 😂) My mindset is- This is stupid. We will NEVER hit 10,000. And I don't care anyway. In fact, I quit trying to get to 10,000. I don't care! We can do this without that number. 

I've realized this is almost always my middle mind set when something is hard. (Fine! I didn't want you anyway!) But when I stick with it- through the hard part, through the vulnerable parts- that's when I succeed. When I excel. When I tackle it like a full time job and I'm employee of the month. I'm ready for my plaque.

Anyway, since I've started writing this post, I remembered, truly, it's never going to be about numbers for me- connections and creation are so much more meaningful to me. The most important influencer we will ever be is the one inside our own home.

So Much Love,

Chrissy

FOLLOW US on Instagram HERE!

 

 

vulnerability

Vulnerability.

I crave it in connection and communication with others. Envy it when I see it in big doses in others. It escapes from me like a tiny hole in a pool raft when I write, when I love, when I connect. I feels so awful and then so good.

Vulnerability and authenticity. I am a bug and they are the light I can't get close enough to. Yet, somehow, it still feels like the place from which I run. The place that holds the dark. The place that if you saw, if you knew me, you would see how incredibly flawed I am. How hard it is sometimes to show up in the world feeling so freaking exposed. 

Where does this come from? Is this the 9 year old girl who had to go on a high dose of prednisone to stay alive? I was in the hospital for 5 weeks and 3 days, I remember a priest in my room, performing the sacrament- the Anointing of the Sick. This Catholic sacrament is administered to bring spiritual and even physical strength during an illness, especially near the time of death. It is most likely one of the last sacraments one will receive. I had to have surgery to have a biopsy of my lung taken so they could send it to other hospitals, hoping for help in diagnosing the super sick little girl.

What are the odds of her surviving the surgery? My Mom asked my Doctor during rounds.

Let's step into the hall and talk, the Doctor responded. 

And that's when I thought I was going to die. I very well could have, and that's what my Mom was told in the echoing hallway. My heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't breathe, not just from the anxiety, but literally- it was so hard to breathe. I had been sick for a year. In and out of my pediatrician's office. On constant antibiotic after antibiotic. 

They finally found a diagnosis, the second ever pediatric case of Desquamative Interstitial Pneumonitis, a disease almost exclusively reserved for smokers and ex coal miners. I was on a high dose of steroids to stay alive for several years. I remember going home from the hospital. Signs scattered throughout my neighborhood, welcoming me home. All the neighbors waiting as my car pulled up.

I was hideous. That's what I told myself every time I looked in the mirror. My body was so tiny, weak from being sick for so long. My face was huge and swollen- a side effect of the medicine. Everyone looked so tan and healthy- flushed with August heat and the glow of swimming pools and Summer. I was sickly pale, having spent my Summer in a stale hospital room with glowing florescent lights and a tiny box TV hung from the ceiling. 

I remember telling my mom I was so ugly and so fat. She said it was the medication, and without it, I wouldn't be alive. I told her then I wish I wasn't alive. I hated that weak, sickly girl I saw in the mirror. 

Next, I was diagnosed with scoliosis. (Unrelated.) I had to wear a back brace during pre and teenage years. I would go to school early so I could hide my brace in my locker. I felt like such a freak. I learned how to use humor and made fun of myself so I could beat others to the punch. I had an eating disorder my Junior year of high school. I still only saw the chubby, prednisone full 9 year old kid. But now with a back brace.

These things- the things that you think you are over, are sometimes buried so deep in your bones. I am crying as I type this, realizing just how much sadness is still in there. Tears rolling down my face. So much imposter syndrome. So much- not skinny enough, too sickly, too weak. You weren't supposed to talk it out then- it was, Suck it up buttercup. You are lucky to be alive. 

But we go on living- right? We try our damndest to learn what we are supposed to learn. We move on. We learn to love ourself- or at least we try. But sometimes, it's so freaking hard. Sometimes I still see the sick, chubby, pale girl in the mirror. I know I can't always trust my eyes, or my perspective. It's triggered when I'm sick or hurt and don't know why. It's triggered by my skin in the Summer- I have vitiligo, (a condition in which the skin loses its pigment, which results in discolored patches in different areas of the body). Sometimes I want to cover my body and hide. That's hard when it's 110 degrees out. It's triggered when I feel like the only different in a room full of sames. It's triggered sometimes by social media- a place that sometimes feels so hard to navigate while imposter syndrome and a need to be liked is so much bigger than I know what to do with. 

I was laughing to myself this morning as I put on self tanner. Me: I want to be completely authentic and fully myself. But also, self tan, whiten my teeth, and get Botox. Ya know?!

I was recently interviewed for my friend Wendy's podcast called, What I Meant to Say. Regarding being inclusive of those with Disabilities, I said, 

“I think it starts with really bringing our own differences to light and examining them because we can’t love and accept differences if we carry shame for our own differences.” 

And I believe that, so I do the work. We are on week 2 of fostering two sweet puppies. It's hard, but getting easier as we establish our routine. It's also achingly beautiful. This experience is here to teach me, and I am ready to learn. 

Momma Laney has been an incredible Teacher for me. I had never seen a nursing pup before, and she came to us with sagging nipples and hanging skin. (I just googled, Do Dogs have Boobs? because I didn't know what to call them.) Oh mylanta. At first I was wide eyed and shocked. Ewwww, I don't want to touch them by mistake. Why are they so...hanging?!* I wondered. And then I saw the magic of nature. I saw Momma nursing her baby. I pet Laney without worry that I would touch her tummy by mistake. I realized how freaking beautiful she is, and how beautiful nursing is. I remembered that we are so much more than a feature that is different. Loving her, has helped me love myself. I'm serious.

Self-acceptance. So that's the work I'm doing right now, with you here. It feels awful. The tears have stopped flowing and I feel better. Lighter. Knowing that the uncomfortable is where we really grow and change. I love you, just the way you are, and I am working to love myself just the same. 

XOXO,

Chrissy

* OK, fine mine were like that after nursing, and that's why I still wear a bra to bed.