Tag: self-improvement

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When Reality Bites

I’m a dreamer and a visionary. Some call me unrealistic; I’m creative and think out-of-the-box. Some say I’m too particular. I’m an unrelenting doer aka stubborn; and a rebel, because I’m not tied to the status quo.  Since living with a SCI, my body also has a mind of its own.

There are days that my fingers rebel–they don’t want to bend, grip, or squeeze. For those times, I’m realistic. I keep plastic glasses and unbreakable dishes, go without make-up, dress in something that goes over my head, struggle with hygiene issues, and drop LOTS of things.

When my fingers are cooperative, my hands decide to drop what my fingers want to hold, like my litter scooper. That’s when it’s easier waiting 24 hours to, literally, “pick up” hardened clumps of litter from the litter box than to scoop them.

On any of these given days when my reality bites (ramifications of disability), or the day thereafter, you will find one or more of the following items strewn on the floor throughout my home: magazines, books, pens with their to-do list or notebook, pillows, dental picks, my hair brush, my cat groomer, broken glass, scattered espresso grounds with brown streaks of espresso running down my cabinet (and brown wheelchair tracks when I forget they are there); even a meal, partially dried and thoroughly stuck to the floor under my oven. C’est la vie! (That’s life!) Or, that’s (only a SMALL part of) my life.

To add insult to injury, I used to be a neat freak; still am, somewhat. To keep my sanity, and sense of humor, I’ve learned to let go (pun intended) of what I can’t control. That doesn’t mean that I don’t cuss, cry, or throw something in frustration. It simply means: I push on. Quitting isn’t an option. (Read the “I quit. No, wait. Never mind.” chapter in my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , for expensive frustrations!)

You can call me unrealistic, particular, stubborn, and/or a rebel. I don’t mind; you’ve a right to your opinion. But…

I KNOW: Thinking out-of-the-box to solve daily limitations and their frustrations instead of complaining about my circumstance, has brought me contentment and peace.
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I KNOW: Being persistent and determined to live as independently as possible instead of expecting someone else to take care of me, has given me that independence. I’m grateful for it.

I KNOW: In respecting my life and well-being more than fearing other’s judgement of how I live it, I am gratefully responsible for, and happily free to reach, my potential.

I KNOW: As a result of dreaming and believing in my abilities instead of succumbing to a disability, I’m living my purpose.

Are you?

When reality bites, bite back…with a bulldog grip!

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Blue Bird Days

For several years after embarking on my chariot (wheelchair) ride, I experienced a brooding sadness. No one knew about it, only me. After the second year, I pinpointed it to occur for a couple of months in the fall. It dissipated as subtly as it appeared.

In the third and final year, I realized it was a mild depression. This sadness resulted from my association with the month of my SCI, September, and the loss of participating in favorite fall activities and exhilarating winter sports. This realization began my resurrection.

I had already grieved the death of sojourning the remainder of my life via feet (although I do believe in miracles). Now, it was time to bury old dreams and resurrect new hopes.

I leased an apartment in a newly completed complex. I recall the prediction of a possible evening snow. With the late-night news came the announcement that, indeed, it was snowing.

I threw on a shawl, wheeled out to the sidewalk, and laid my head back as silent snowflakes sifted softly onto my face. I lingered there for the longest, drinking in the peaceful beauty, and praising God, out loud.

Yes, I remember wondering if my neighbors thought I was crazy; but my joy trumped worrying about what they thought. I missed the snow. Just because I couldn’t ski or cross country in it, didn’t lessen my delight. I was in heaven. (A “crippling” half-inch accumulation of snow caused all schools to be closed the next day. What?)

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In recognizing my sadness, I could open the mental windows for fresh ideas to circulate. My desire to do something about it, to find happiness in other ways, was the door to my freedom. Choosing to make the emotional change adjusting to disability, put me on my healing path.

My first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , is a beginner course for you to recognize fresh ideas that will revive your hopes for a promising future after disability, resuscitate mental clarity for strength to push forward, and encourage you to open the door to the productive, fulfilling future that awaits you. It’s your choice.

Still, snow is rare in Alabama, but that doesn’t limit my experiencing it. Warren Miller Entertainment provides me vicarious thrills “catchin’ air” around the world. Mostly, they film heli-skiing and backcountry skiing, WAY beyond my expertise. But this way, everyday is a blue bird day on champagne powder for me!

“On your left!”

SWUSH!

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Dear Family,

I don’t have many disabled friends, although time and again, friends and friends-of-friends give me numbers to call of people adjusting to a disability, disease, or illness. In addition to living with a disability, my counseling experience seems the perfect fit. I can listen with an empathetic ear, answer personal questions, and offer practical solutions for daily living. Before moving away, one of these women became a dear friend.

She was a go-getter. Obstacles were met with determination. She thought of tomorrow as the result of what she made of today. She was, and I’m sure she still is, a trooper. We lost touch after she and her husband moved. It was fun with the both of us rolling around together in our homes. I hadn’t been in a room full of wheelchairs since rehab!

From all the conversations getting to know my comrades-on-wheels, with the exclusion of my friend Julie, this is what I’ve found: Most succumbed to disability.

Understandably, they were faced with the drastic lifestyle change. And, the added stress of dashed dreams, the uncertainty of tomorrow, and pressure to adjust before the impact of the new reality had sunk in, brought an emotional tailspin—depression. This is when family is most important, although it was their families that seemed to be the insurmountable barrier to their emotional freedom and physical independence.

Caustic remarks fueled emotional eruptions. Innuendos, hints, and sarcastic tones of unspoken resentments from care-giving family members were destructive to all; particularly, the ones with broken wings. They couldn’t fly away to safety, and healing. They were sentenced to flop around and be pecked by unkindnesses.

The saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” is untrue. Words wound, as well.

Family should be a safe environment nurturing us back into a productive life. Even so, it’s difficult for you who love us to stand back and watch the struggle—dressing, feeding, wheeling ourselves—when you could easily do it for us. But, we must be allowed the struggles. This not only increases our endurance but also our confidence toward independence.
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Independence requires we care for ourselves, apply make-up, or shave. Adjustment asks for time for our doubts and confusion to settle. In time, we gain confidence on the slippery slope of acceptance toward a healthy adjustment. Please encourage us to hope, to make plans for a new future. When the time comes, we will have learned we will be okay on our own. After all, this is true for anyone.

We don’t like feeling helpless. We don’t like feeling we’re a burden. Help us be neither.

We are aware that it’s a difficult adjustment for you. We do know you’re suffering, as well. Your dreams for and with us have been altered. You miss the way we were. You feel guilty because you do. It’s natural. It’s okay. You have your own adjustment. Together, we can do it.

Once we gain emotional freedom, prove our independence, and begin to laugh again, you can push us around.  We’ll accept a freebie, any day.

THANK YOU!

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Where art Thou, Romeo?

Movies and romance novels propagate the fantastical delusion of the perfect other in our lives. Though it’s subliminal: “…below the threshold of consciousness.” (Merriam-Webster), these scripts imply that The One is out there waiting to meet all our emotional and physical needs, just like that. The infamous line in Jerry Maguire, “You complete me.” doesn’t help in refuting this romantic notion of effortlessly living happily ever after.

STOP! There is no such thing. Forget it! He/she doesn’t exist. Was there a Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Two, Sleeping Beauty –After Her Awakening, or Cinderella-My Family Will Come? No, deluded romantics, because after commitment comes reality.

Because God knows the cost of true love, I believe that the physiological and psychological effects of being in love are His whimsical whammy for procreation. (You know, the surges of serotonin in the gut, aka butterflies, and the mood enhancer, dopamine, messing with the brain’s reasoning abilities.) If it weren’t for these out-of-control emotions, how many of you would knowingly walk into the most difficult role of your life? He knew the strength of emotion, as well as the emotional strength, necessary to star in this role. He is the Epitome, Price, and Prize of commitment, of unconditional love.

Although I have yet to experience it, I believe in forever love.The many couples who remain married after decades of living this forever love say that they work at staying in love, day-in and day-out. The secret is that neither one falls out-of-love with the other at the same time.

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PHOTO Heart REFLECTION SWANS LOVEA successful love story takes work and understanding. Getting to know anyone takes patience and time. It requires acceptance (of their preferences or prickly quirks), availability, kindness, selflessness, and persistence when things get painful.This is when most people throw up their hands and throw-in-the-towel on love. They choose to not deal with the conflict. What good story is without conflict? Besides, marriage isn’t a mindless emotional high. Who could sustain it?!

A committed marriage, or any committed relationship, is to selflessly support, help, and heal each other on the road to their (and your) personal wholeness. Let’s face it: the inevitable daily friction of rubbing shoulders, re-opens childhood wounds from early relationships; raw, unresolved emotions sting and irritate.

If you feel you are with The One, are you going to run away when things get tough and let another scab form over your unhealed wounds? Or, will you stay to apply (and receive) the healing salve of true, unconditional love—the ointment of your soul?

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Extraverbalism

One intention for my blog articles is to stimulate thought; not just for the disabled, but for the able-bodied as well. Whether it tweaks a fundamental change in thinking, sparks a revelatory “aha moment,” or brings a view-enlarging paradigm shift, I want you, my readers, not only to be satisfied, but also to be challenged to be the best you.

Reading for information’s sake is a great learning tool, but self-examination and introspective questions result in self-enlightenment and personal growth.

Something Diane Sawyer said made me reconsider my equation for learning. If I’m not mistaken, it was a question asked of her by her father one afternoon after school. It was: “What questions did you ask today?” not, “What did you learn today?” though a good, necessary question.

We can deduce that that provocative question shifted her perspective, propelling her to become the renowned investigative correspondent/anchor she is today.

I was painfully shy in my younger years, and resembled the age-old adage, “Children should be seen, not heard.” It took years, and then some, to realize the self-centeredness of my shyness before I could perform as an extrovert. I had to learn how to carry-off the extrovert personality while having the temperament of an introvert. I learned how-to through required reading for a counseling course.

Most clients, and friends, come to therapy to “talk through” whatever they need help and resolution with. You want to draw them out with questions.

You also need to be a skilled listener; not only to what is said, but also to what isn’t said, in order to ask the poignant questions. I began using these methods with friends, colleagues, and new acquaintances to learn more about them, and to practice my extraverbalism.

Through inquiry, you can learn as well as teach. With the right line of questioning, a question can answer itself for the person being asked the question, an aha moment for them.

For instance: Someone has been burning your ears with insults, complaints, and criticism of a person they know. Ask: “Are you angry with so-in-so?”

In that instant, their ragings will boomerang back in their consciousness, registering their anger. Whether motivated by jealousy or envy, they’re mad about it.

You can also learn through intuitive translation.

Body language validates the truth, or exposes the untruth, of the spoken word. For example: Someone walks up to you, introduces themselves, shakes your hand with, “So nice to meet you.” then backs away.
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I don’t think so! If they were glad to meet you, they would remain within a comfortable space to carry on a conversation. If not, they may have issues with their own personal space.

You might then ask, “Are you uncomfortable?” The question lets them know you see them and understand. Even if they deny it, the question will provoke thought.

The more questions I ask, the more interested I become. The more interested I become, the more I learn. Amidst the conversation, the other party becomes the center of attention and leaves thinking I was a great conversationalist.Truth be told, we like hearing ourselves talk.

The juxtaposition of becoming an inquiring extraverbalist while being an introvert did not belittle who I was. It was not a character compromise. It made me a better me.

What changes have been incubating in you?

Are you ready?

Do it!

Become the best you. No one else can. http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html.

 

 

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My Pearl

I want to take you on an historic walk along the scenic ocean shore. Please, bear with my analogies. (I could have said “Bare with…” which means “get naked”…do what you will to get in the mood:))

It has never been my thing to talk a lot, particularly about myself. Solitude is, and has been, my oyster shell. Solitude remains a harboring place and cultivating bay for me.

 

Still waters

The sands of time have rudely, but mercifully, exfoliated the overgrowth of barnacles and parasites that have tried to infect the pearl God so caringly implanted inside me. In spite of or because of these rhythmic disturbances in my cultivation, my pearl has finally been harvested. It remains in the polishing stage, but its color and luster are appearing.

My voice, silenced since childhood, is my pearl. And like a ventriloquist, I talk with my hands; more specifically, my middle finger. NO, I’m not talking birds; I type with my middle finger.

I’m a slow southern talker of about 8 words a minute. I’ve been talking steadily for a while now but am still treading water in this social media thing. My cyber synapses are sparking to catch up with my speedy Gonzales fingers. ARRIBA!
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My first book has been out since June, and I’m tweaking my second. My first children’s book will be out late winter or first of the year. I post each Friday on this blog, AND the first week of each month, I update at www.facebook.com/ConversationsWithCynthia. I’m going to talk your eyes out of your head.

Of course, you can’t “like” my first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, until you actually read it. You can PURCHASE it at http://booklocker.com/books/6235.htmlthen, let’s talk.

Please leave me a comment or review after my June 21, 2012 article, “Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity IS HERE!”

Talk to you soon.

 

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A Hymn

Today, my topic is a hymn, like no other.

When my feet did all the walking, autumn was my favorite season.  I still love her displays of clear azure skies above amber and carnelian dressed trees, nippy winds raining down flurries of autumn leaves, and dropping temperatures ushering in winter. What I love about all four of the seasons is how they announce each others’ approach, like the warm-up opening act for the next season’s concert.

Since childhood, the one cohesive element in nature’s draw for me has always been the tent of the heavens. No matter the season, I lay transfixed on a blanket or cocooned in a sleeping bag staring heavenward, transfixed by its expanse, wondering, contemplating life, identifying the constellations, and praying. And, how I love a full moon!

In silence, I learned to listen to what I saw, and to trust what I heard. Though still, I can’t carry a tune with my voice, as I behold the night’s sparkling heavens, my heart sings to God.

I’m not alone when I say this: King David, who spent countless nights under the stars 3,000 years ago, wrote a psalm expressing his awe and understanding of the heavens.

He wrote: “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line (sound, parenthesis mine) has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.” (Psalm 19: 1-4 KJV)

On the next clear evening, find an exquisite view of the heavens. Pause beneath them. Listen to their symphony. Soak in their harmony. Feel your heart swell with awe and hope. Pen your psalm and sing it.
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No one will hear…except The One Who knows your name; The One Who hears your thoughts, The Wonderful One Who made you.

Just like the heavens shout without speaking a word, let your heart sing His favorite song.

He’s listening.

 

 

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Wheelchair Warrior

Let me tell you a story:

“There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead.” (It’s not exactly a curl; it’s more like a wave, if I have a perm. If I don’t have a perm, I wear unintentional bangs.) “And, when she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid.” MY story changes here to: When she was MAD, she was a Warrior. Let me explain:

Last week, I told you that my ebook was coming SOON. I was three-fourths through; I had about one more week of typing to do. As I’ve told you or you’ve read, or maybe you haven’t read and I haven’t told you, I type about 8 words a minute, with my middle finger. Five hundred words a day is great for me. It’s a good day. Recently, I typed a thousand in one day. I was elated to be ahead of schedule. How I did it, I don’t know. Magic fingers, I guess. What can I say?

I took a break, went to dinner, came back to my office, and opened the file. It was EMPTY—0 CHARACTERS!

I clicked here, clicked there, trying to find where it went. Was there an auxiliary file? No. The original file was still titled, but there was nothing in it. Seven thousand words circling Saturn!

Okay, I have “lost” articles, emails, FB notes before but not of this magnitude. I decided to call my computer guy the next morning. He had retrieved things before; he could do it again.

He said, “If the file remains with no content, it can’t be retrieved.”

I was sick; I was literally nauseous. I thought I would vomit. Instead, I cried. After a short cry (I do not indulge in pity parties.), I made my morning espresso. I enjoyed my morning indulgence then, went to wash my face and apply make-up.
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I decided on black eyeliner. After lining my eyes, I thought, “I feel like black eye shadow.” I have NEVER been Goth but, today, this felt right!

I DECLARED WAR!

I blackened my eyelids. My hand painted God’s zigzag lightening rod on my right cheek and on my left cheek. I drew a cross (the blood of Jesus) between my eyebrows, three interconnecting circles (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost) on my chin, and symmetrical arches (my angel’s protection) on my jaws.

Because this book is for YOU, my faithful readers, this MAD WARRIOR put her head down, fists up, and middle finger poised. Threatening the enemy, I DECLARED VICTORY to complete this book!

I am back again, two-thirds of the way through. Determinedly, it is COMING SOON. (You can order, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity while you wait. Click “Purchase,” and click the link to its web page. Order there.)

Today, I apologize for the delay.

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Wheelchair Pathfinder

This is an excerpt from my ebook that you can instantly download FREE with your subscription to my ezine. COMING SOON!

When I was five or six years old, someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Without hesitation, I said, “A boy.” As adults, we laugh at children’s cute misconceptions. We know it isn’t going to happen. Then, somewhere amidst the journey from innocence into adulthood, the majority of us arrive unfulfilled, bothered and bewildered of the cause. We wonder: How did I get off my path? What is my calling? What is my purpose?

Carolyn Weiss says it best. She says it’s never too late to get back on your life path. If you are alive and breathing, you have a purpose.

I have always been an explorer, much like my Daniel Boone-esque, frontiersman, explorer dad. (You can read the wild stories about him in my book, particularly the “That Was Then” chapter.) Back in my walking days, I spent endless hours exploring concealed paths off country dirt roads, ambling amidst woods, discovering hidden swimming holes, and forgotten Civil War grave yards. Occasionally, forgetting my compass, I lost my way. Of course, I always found my way back—I’m here to tell you about it. But, they were daunting times in unfamiliar places. It required maintaining control over my emotions—to stay calm and focused—search for familiar landscape, and persevere until I recognized my path.

I have ALWAYS been a writer. Growing up, other ambitions, and other’s ambitions for me, clouded my thinking, causing me to diverge from my path. Like the blinking arrows >>>>> direct a driver to merge into another lane, thoughts of becoming a nun (yep), an archeologist, Ms. America, a linguist, a famous actress, an Airline stewardess (to name of few), kept detouring me from who I was—a writer and teacher.

Because I never listened to my heart, I didn’t know who I was. My persona became whatever this noggin head imagined I wanted to do.

I entered and won beauty pageants until retiring my last three crowns at nineteen. I took Latin, Spanish, Italian, and French until I realized it took more dedication than I was willing to give. I majored in Speech and Theater until my interest in phonetics changed my path into becoming a speech and language pathologist. (This was God’s plan, after all. It was a trick up His sleeve in order for me to provide for myself after becoming disabled.)

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I still followed a couple of detours after that. I’m a S-L-O-W learner, but once I got it, a dust cloud follows behind me and my chariot. (You don’t see it on my book’s cover because my illustrator replaced it with wheelchair tracks. Whatever.)

I believe we wander from our heart’s path because we don’t recognize our value and belittle our gifts. We assume them common and mundane by thinking, “This is too easy. Anyone can do it. I’m nobody special.”

That’s the big LIE—to derail you off your life path, your fulfillment, your contribution to the world. Yes, the world!

Do you know what yours is?

I will help you find the path leading to your heart, the way I found mine.

HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU COMING SOON!

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Disabled or Enabled Thoughts

I may be living with a disability, but I have enabling thoughts, most of the time.

I enjoy reading and writing, and I love words, but there are times when OCD (Obsessive-compulsive disorder) sets in—like the Howard Hughes moment when I catch myself repeating, in my head, the same set of words over and over and over and over and over…. I catch myself repeating a slogan on a billboard, a car sticker silly-ism, a TV advertisement, or a thought reminding me to do something.

I fall out of the formal diagnosis of ritualistic behaviors because there is no mental compulsion driving me to relieve an identifiable anxiety. Except, I must confess, on rare occasions since I was a young girl, when a group of birds fly overhead, I am compelled to count them before they disappear from sight. Of course, that’s totally normal. Don’t you also need to know the avian population? No worry; I don’t keep count from one counting to the next and add them up. That would be CUCKOO, and compulsive. Repeating the same set of words in my head is recurrent, it isn’t compulsive, unless I don’t have a pen and paper readily available, or until I turn the oven off…turn the oven off…turn the oven off….

“STOP!” I say out loud, only to hear myself repeating the same stale words moments later. It’s like dictating a Western Union telegram—Stop (period). No such luck! It’s really aggravating.

To get to my point, research has shown that our thoughts (able-bodied and disabled alike), positive and negative, affect our emotions and physiology. Long before this type of research was accepted, James Allen wrote As A Man Thinketh. The following are food-for-thought quotes from his contemplative writing:

“The body is the servant of the mind. It obeys the operations of the mind….”

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“Disease and health, like circumstances, are rooted in thought. Thoughts of fear have been known to kill a man as speedily as a bullet….Anxiety quickly demoralizes the whole body, and lays it open to the entrance of disease; while impure thoughts, even if not physically indulged, will sooner shatter the nervous system.”

“Strong, pure, and happy thoughts build up the body in vigor and grace.”

“If you would perfect your body, guard your mind. If you would renew your body, beautify your mind. Thoughts of malice, envy, disappointment, and despondency, rob the body of its health and grace. A sour face does not come by chance; it is made by sour thoughts. Wrinkles that mar are drawn by folly, passion, pride.”

“There is no physician like cheerful thought for dissipating the ills of the body; there is no comforter to compare with goodwill for dispersing the shadows of grief and sorrow.”

And, along those lines—A REMEDY: When you find yourself feeling depressed and sorry for yourself, do something kind, thoughtful, and generous for someone else; not just once, often. He’s not heavy; he’s your brother. Your heaviness will be lightened, as well. I have always found this to be true.