Stages

Life sort of comes at you in stages. It's not easy to recognize when you have entered a new stage or when the one you are in is about to end. You don't get a warning sign that says "life is about to change! Make the most of this feeling right now and then hold on tight!" You just kind of stop mid-step one day and realize that something has changed. There are no breaks, no pause button, and certainly not a slow down or speed up function. Life comes the way it comes and all you can do is try not to miss any of it. 

I remember the first time I noticed that my life was changing. My first day of therapy felt like I had started all over on page one. I knew that from that point on, nothing would ever be the same. I knew I had walked away from who I was and I started to grow up. The second time was the day my father and I got in the fight that changed my life. When I stepped into Judy's car, I knew things were going to change. The day I packed up the van with my step dad was really so emotional for me. Again, I was certain that I had stepped past the boundary of no return. All there was to do was go up from there. My third transition was the day my husband left for Germany. Oddly enough, I didn't feel it when he proposed or when we got married, or even on our honeymoon. The new stage didn't begin until the first time that we separated. This was really the first time I felt like a woman, and the first time I felt like a wife. As I waved goodbye to him, I knew that things would forever be changed. There was a period of time from when he deployed to the day we decided to start trying to have a baby. Maybe this would be the period where I knew things were changing. We grew on our own as well as grew as a couple during these months. I don't know when things changed that fourth time. Perhaps it was during our trip to Rammstein, when I was laying on the doctor's table after getting my spinal tap, when he told me that I should write a book. Maybe in that point when so much bad had happened and he brought light to me was the fourth time. 

But sometime between him deploying and us moving back home, life changed. It changed into this sort of transitional phase though. It changed into this up-in-the-air lifestyle. We got jobs that were good enough, looked for a house that was good enough, and everything we did was simply good enough. We settled into our current jobs, rented a little house, and for once we didn't have to be on the move anymore. We're restless, though. We like our house, but we're already a little tired of the constant repairs. We love our jobs, but we know we won't want to stay forever. We are living pretty comfortably, but we are both itching to do more. We also, honestly, hate this city. So I can feel it. I can sense this unsettling and it irks me that this is going to be an entire stage of our lives. I sit around and daydream about when this stage will end. 

Originally, when I had my miscarriage and first realized that we were not yet in that stage, I thought I would join the Navy. I love the military, I love the ocean, I love the idea of living on a cramped old ship, I love the idea of travelling the World, and I love the idea of spending some time out on my own chasing dreams. I've studied Navy things and I've been working pretty hard to train my body and eat right. This is something I want, but now that it has been a few months, I'm wondering if it is really what I need. 

You see, like I said before, I kind of love my job. I am really good at what I do and I am head over heels at the idea that I have been non-stop learning since I got here! My boss has taken me under her wing and she really likes the spark and the passion she sees in me. I get to dress nice, I get to smile and greet people, I get to see how many things I can multitask, and I am in a heated/air conditioned building with TWO windows all day. I get paid Holidays, paid sick days, and all kinds of hoity toity networking events. Other than having to sit all day, I am really happy with what I do. The main issue I was running into was having a sense of purpose. I sort of fell into that purpose when I volunteered to be a rape counselor. The more I thought about it, the more it just made sense. Balance this amazing job with a really important and fulfilling volunteer life. I can have it all. 

My husband recently got promoted too. He has started going on about trying to work his way up to assistant manager and maybe, one day, having his own piece of the franchise. He is so happy where he is, and he finally has the passion to work on getting higher up. It might sound silly, but it just makes me so happy to see this spark in him. 

So all of this got me to thinking. I mean really, really thinking hard. If I were to join the Navy, it wouldn't be for another year. I would want at least one more set of Holidays and honestly, my body works really slowly. Losing 50 pounds may be doable for many people in one year's time but I don't think my body works that way. Plus, I really hate having a goal of a specific weight. I just want to keep doing it the way that it works for me. On top of that, I would be joining when I'm around 22 or 23. I would do at least a 3 year contract out on a ship. That's time away from my husband, my family, my friends, and my rape counseling. Those are 3 years spent outside my field of work. If I hated it then I would be out around 25 or 26. I would have some savings probably and would be ready to get back to work, hopefully at a bank. I would be rusty, though, as I wouldn't be kept up with regulations and whatnot during my Navy career. I would also want to be moving away from Mobile, but that would be difficult as I would probably come home in the middle of a lease. You can see where this is going. To choose the Navy might be choosing the opposite lifestyle from what I really want. 

If I stay here, and both of us stay in our jobs, we will be in a totally different place in 3 years. It's safe to believe my husband would have moved up one or two more times, maybe into assistant manager. I will probably be fully trained on processing and can get a year or two of experience. Financially we should be able to pay off one credit card and comfortably pay down the other two. We can get a little bit into savings and then start looking at moving away. We can take one or two day trips up to look at homes. It would be safe to estimate that if we stay, we can be moving away by the time I am 25. We can get our home, get settled into new jobs, and finally be relaxing in a year or two after that. So if we stay put, and I use my volunteering to fill that need to help, to spread joy, and to really make a name for myself, we might be ready to have a baby by the time I am 27. When I stop and I think about it, that just sounds so nice. 

When I think about all the growing and changing we'll be doing in that time, I can't help but smile. When I picture the two options, one of them just looks so much better to me. Being in this unsettled stage of life is really hard and frankly kind of scary. There are so many ways that we can alter our timeline right now. The smallest change could turn everything upside down. The biggest factor to me is that I don't want to lose my dream of being a mommy and I don't want to rush it either. I want to be financially better off and I want to be settled before we work on our little one. I want us to really know who we are and what we want out of life before we pour everything into a child. I want to make sure that we feel fulfilled and happy every day before we get those feelings from our child. I want a baby, probably more than anything else in the World, and I think right now we're in the stage where we can start planning for that reality.

I think from here on out I'm going to make that choice. When I think about work, I have to think about a 3 year or 5 year plan. When I think about moving rental homes, getting another dog, or chasing a passion, I need to think about a plan. Hell, I guess I should really make a 3 or 5 year plan. It's a little nerve wracking to realize I am at the point in my life that I finally need one of these plans. Some people make them when they are eighteen and others wait until they are thirty, but I think we're ready for a plan. I think this stage of life can last a few more years, bring us to a few more journeys, introduce us to a few more people. I am looking forward to the next stage of life when we can expand the Smith four into the Smith five. 

My Inner Heroine

A local photographer is doing a D.C. versus Marvel photo shoot. I started brainstorming immediately and then I did something unexpected. I signed up a She-Hulk...

I asked for input on my character choice. A lot of people said Poison ivy and I would be lying if I said I didn't really want to do that. Poison Ivy is the tall, lithe woman that is so good at being so bad. She oozes sex appeal. She is cunning, mysterious, and embodies the bad girl attitude. Who wouldn't want to play along as this classic heartbreaker? I started looking into some of my favorite heroines and villains. I considered Storm, but honestly I thought her outfit was too boring. Black leather isn't really my cup of tea. Cat woman wore a mask and I wasn't excited about the idea of not getting the full hair and make-up treatment. I thumbed through some more abstract options. I wanted to be someone that caught your eye and I wanted someone who would make dynamic photographs. 

When my search brought me to She-Hulk, I was sold. A brilliant lawyer turned super heroine? I was intrigued. She embraced the confidence and assertiveness of her alter ego so much that at one point she got stuck in her She-Hulk form? Kick ass! She is a feminist who has a love affair with Iron Man? Say what?! I think I'm in love. This intelligent, strong, sexy as hell heroine is right up my alley! 

What is going to feel more empowering than dressing up as the She-Hulk? I get to be a super-heroine that is known for her strength and her intelligence more than her body. She hardly ever fights in heels, falls in love, or lets the "big boys" run the show when she's around. I get to pose in all kinds of ugly-pretty photos. I'll get to snarl, flex, and break things. I love the idea of not worrying about keeping this perfect, photo ready face while I'm kicking booty.

This role seemed to be tailored to my body type, too. I felt like I wouldn't do justice to the statuesque form of Wonder Woman or the never ending hips of Cat Woman. I don't have the height of a Amazonian beast, but I have the curvy, muscular form the She-Hulk needs. The only thing I need to do is try and push myself more on my training. I'm already wanting to tone up and what's a better motivation than green make-up and a day full of pummeling?

In preparation for the shoot, instead of watching what I eat because I'll be squeezed into latex, I am going to be lifting heavier so I can show off some stellar definition. Instead of sucking in and sticking out my chest, I'll be working on holding a flex while throwing my punches and kicks.

 I don't think I've ever felt so inspired to get in front of a camera. I've done budoir photographs and wedding photographs, but those were such different atmospheres. This idea gives me so much more pride in my body. I feel like most women wouldn't touch this idea with a ten foot pole. Most women want the sexiest super-heroine. They want to be the fantasy girl that every man dreams of. All I want is to make a huge mess and spend all day being a total bad-ass. 

The "F" word

I was sitting down last night, thinking to myself, and I realized I am different. 

Recently I have heard ground shaking spoken word on the subject of growing up in the shadow of skinny. These women pour out all of their shame and anger. They draw up a picture of mothers who are thinner by the day. They speak of diets and exercise routines and an outpouring of love they received for each pound gone. It seems this may be the "typical household" and if that's the case, I guess I grew up atypical. 

My mother, as far as I'm concerned, is as tall as the sky is wide. Since I was a kid I marveled at the way she reach up, up, up, almost as if she could touch the stars and bring them down for me. I told myself that one day, I would be tall like her. I can't remember one instance where I looked at the shape or size of my mother's body and really had an opinion on it. I never compared her to her friends or to other people's mothers. To me it was always apples and oranges. There was no way to compare the beauty of one woman against another. 

I know that at one point my mother had a gastric bypass. I remember vaguely when she went in for the surgery. Surgery was for when you are sick. My mother was sick; her body was not feeling good and so she fixed it. I don't ever remember my mother sharing any negative body talk with me. I remember eating rolls of cookie dough on the couch with probably the millionth viewing of Mrs. Doubtfire. I remember getting our favorite chips, eating them, and then me styling (read: knotting the hell out of) her hair. My mother never made me feel bad about her body or my own. My mother never taught me to hate food. My mother never uttered the words diet, fat, or shame around me. She never projected her negativity on me or tried to tell me I should be some way that I wasn't. After her surgery, she had to eat a certain way. She told me it was painful otherwise. Somehow she never made it about being skinny. To be honest, I haven't sat down and had a conversation with her on why she did it. 

I grew up with a lot of girlfriends. We went through our hormonal mood swings together, got each other sick, and were together at least 75% of our teenage lives. I'm sure at one point or another, someone decided they were on a diet. Hell, truth be told it was probably me. I do know for sure that it wasn't very often that someone claimed that they "looked like a whale" in an outfit or "needed to lose some weight". Like I said, I know it came up but it was never the center of a discussion. We didn't sit around the cafeteria drooling over rail thin models. We are all very different, which I think helped this dynamic. We had all heights and shapes. We would joke about trading boobs for hips or long legs for a rounder tush but it never felt like we were picking on ourselves. It was really just a backwards way of giving a compliment. I know that my friends never ever made me feel fat. They never made me feel like there was something I couldn't wear or couldn't do because of my size. They never encouraged me to joint them on a fad diet or insist that we needed to run together. We encouraged each other to chase our own lifestyles. If one of us was in a sport, we would go to her games and cheer them on. If one of us did a play, we would go to her shows. We did dance class together because it was fun and challenging and it was another hour we could spend together. 

The only place I clearly remember body shame growing up was in my own household. I have a million different memories of my step mother focusing on fat. She felt fat, so she took diet pills. She felt fat so she only drank water and ate salads. She felt fat so she couldn't wear certain things. I remember that at some point, these ideas carried over to me. She saw me as being fat and she wanted me to fix it. She didn't put me on a diet or make me run laps, but she was never without a comment. Certain clothes "showed my belly" so I shouldn't wear them. Dresses "weren't flattering". Snacks and treats "weren't necessary". These sorts of comments even carried through to my own father. She would pat his stomach and say something about him having a baby, or being round. She would tell him that it was no surprise, when she saw him eating something unhealthy. Her fat shame seemed to spread to everyone in the house. She made me second guess myself when I got dressed in the morning. She made me re-consider the food I enjoyed. She never let me forget that I was fat. I was fat and fat was limiting. Fat should be hidden and, when you get older, fat should be shed by any means necessary. 

I didn't know how these conflicting ideas had affected me until I got older. I knew I was beautiful. I knew that all shapes and sizes were beautiful. But I also knew that I was fat. I knew that I had to make sure I looked flattering all of the time because "other people don't want to see that." I was 75% confidence and 25% shame. I don't think most young women today can claim such high statistics. I feel almost like I am not entitled to feel fat because I was raised so positively. I feel like I shouldn't write about body shame because I never experienced it to the degree that so many do. I worry that maybe I am not qualified to teach you to love your body. But you know what? I'm going to keep doing it. 

I like the way I grew up, if we're being real here. I grew up eating strawberries out of the field and tomatoes off the vine. I grew up eating vegetables by the handful because they were so good. I also knew the sweet torture of waiting for brownies to cool, ice cream to thaw, and bacon to fry. I grew up running and climbing and playing like all the other kids. I worked hard on the farm and in school. I took a lot of pride in everything I did. I loved the sunshine and the animals...and my Gameboy and my N64. My perfect Friday was spent at the  movie theater or at the drive-in with a bucket of KFC. I was told, every day, that I was beautiful. I was loved by so many people that it was almost greedy to keep all of the love. I learned that some people thought being fat was bad. I learned that other people thought that dating, piercings, and trick or treating was bad too. I learned that it was important to have my own ideas on good and bad, and to live accordingly. I was called mean names and I was rumored about. This helped me figure out that words could not, in fact, kill me. I saw a lot of good things and a lot of bad things. I was blessed, but not sheltered. 

I continue to grow every single day. I reflect back on the things that brought me here. I remember all the things I learned, laughed about, and loved. I try to remember all the lessons but there were so many. If there's one thing I was fully equipped with when I graduated, it was a good head on my shoulders. 

Haunted

You guys, today I want to talk about something that is very scary for me. Last year I started to get really sick and it haunts me every day.

I remember when it first happened, but I am not sure what month. Maybe around October 2012 I woke up with blurry vision. My right eye was bothering me-it was as if I had just opened my eyes for the day and I couldn't quite focus properly. That night it still had not gone away and I decided to make a doctor appointment. A sudden change in vision is one of the symptoms that you need to report immediately. I was sent to an optometrist to get the issue looked at. After some testing they noticed my field of vision was decreased significantly in my right eye compared to my left eye. They wrote me an additional referral to a neurologist. I had an inflammation in my optic nerve known as optic neuritis. This vision loss was accompanied by severe migraines and lasted for about 2 months. Typically it subsides within a few weeks. 

This was just the first sign that my health was going downhill fast. I had been battling fatigue in relation to my hypoglycemia but it seemed to get worse. The fact that I could not sleep no matter how hard I tried probably wasn't helping. I took 2 sleeping pills every single night just to get 6 hours of sleep before work. I noticed aches and shooting pains all over my body. Little by little it got to the point where my whole body hurt almost all of the time. I was tired, I had headaches, and I was miserable. 

I was in and out of the doctor non-stop. I had MRIs, CAT scans, and so many blood tests. Every day seemed to come with a new symptom and I was so damn tired of feeling this way. I tried not to complain but I know I was whining my husband to death. When I got off work, all I wanted to do was take some sleep medicine and go to sleep because that was the only way to stop hurting. My doctors all kept saying multiple sclerosis and it chilled me to the bone. 

All I could think about was that I was too young. I am too good and too ambitious and too happy to get this sick. I'm not ready to be diagnosed. I'm not ready to watch myself decline until I am dependent on a wheelchair. I am not ready to hear those words that feel like a death sentence. I'm just not ready. 

With a lot of determination and luck, we made it up to Rammstein about a week or two before we PCS'd from Germany. I needed to be evaluated. They had to check my breathing because I had been short of breath with a rapid heartbeat for weeks at that point. They had to do another MRI and they had to do a spinal tap. I don't have words for the terror that filled me when I went in for the procedure. All I could think about was the chance that they did it wrong and I became paralyzed. I knew it was going to be painful and I was so scared I thought I would cry. I took a deep breath and they numbed me, and it burned. It burned, it burned, it burned, and the needle wasn't even in my spine yet. I took a very shaky breath and the needle went in. There was so much pressure. He had to wiggle it and still, it was wrong. He would have to try. There was nothing more I wanted to do then give up and walk away, but I knew I had to stay, so I did. The second time was a success and they showed me my cerebral fluid afterwards. My back still hurt pretty bad but I felt really strong laying on that table after they were done. 

The crappy part really starts here. My episode lasted from about October 2012 to March 2013. Five months of the most absurd collection of symptoms I had ever experienced, and they all stopped without warning. All of my medical records were sent to me and I never received a verbal explanation of my test results. I could tell that the records showed abnormalities. There were red flags on the page but I have no idea what any of it means. 

Now I have no health care. I cannot afford a $750 a month plan, so I go without. I have a huge stack of papers that suggests I might be int he very early stages of a very scary disease, but no solid diagnosis. The DSM-IV states that a patient must experience at least 2 episodes, at least 6 months apart, for a real diagnosis. This is a disease that goes into remittance and comes back without warning. This stays with you forever and only gets worse with age. There are few drugs out there and most of the healing is done through therapy. 

So now I wait. I focus on my vision and assess it for changes. I take note of every shooting pain, every muscle twitch, every migraine. I try to eat well and go to the gym in hopes that I can somehow combat it. Maybe if I love myself enough, maybe if I do everything my body needs, then it can get better. Maybe I will never ever have to hear someone diagnose me. Maybe I can get lucky. But in the back of my mind, I have this aching feeling. I know the tests for every similar illness and disease came up negative. I know my mother has fibromyalgia which puts me at an increased likelihood of having a similar nerve-related issue. 

I think the reason I am searching so hard for my "purpose" in the World, is because I have this nagging me. I feel like I have had to face the very real possibility that in a few months I could be very sick again. In a few years I could be physically disabled. What if I don't go out and do something tremendous right now? What if I stay in my acceptable job with my acceptable rental home until it is too late to chase my dreams? I don't want to know the answers. I want to go out there and chase my white whale while I can. I want to make sure I am really fulfilled before this starts taking away from me again.

And you know what? When this disease comes for me again, I'm going to fight it. If it tries to say I can't do something, you be your ass I am going to try. People come back from illnesses all the time. People make the best of their lives even with cystic fibrosis or missing limbs or cancer. Count my words; I will not lose my spirit to some disease. 

Fashion Passion

You want to know a secret about me? I am a closet fashion FREAK! I mean it, you guys. I will spend hours staring at all the pretty things I can't have. I fall in love with window displays. I pet all the pretty fabrics. If I went to the mall with some extra time, I would probably try on all the things!

The truth is, this is probably my most embarrassing secret. I started falling in love with fashion when I was in my early teens. I thumbed through magazines at doctor's offices and I was so lost in all the beautiful clothing. I dreamt about jewelry, fantasized about purses, and drooled over shoes. 

I grew up in a Mormon household. There really weren't any rules about not dressing nice, but it sort of felt that way to me. My step mom told me I looked fat, or maybe she would try to lighten the mood with the term chubby, if I ever wore something in my actual size. Everything in my closet was about a size too big. Without a big budget, I stuck to tee shirts and jeans. I could get more that way and plus, I was fat, so what did I care, right? Shopping felt like torture. My step mom was so conservative that anything I liked was shot down. I felt like I looked like a sausage in everything. Clothes were pretty on the hanger but "they didn't make clothes like that for girls like me". I had a huge closet of sarcastic tee shirts and baggy jeans. 

My friends tried to teach me about make-up and hair when I entered high school. I loved to let them make me up. I felt so damn pretty when they would paint my lips and straighten my hair. For once I looked like a normal, pretty teenage girl. I didn't feel poor or fat when I was all dressed up. I started to pretend I didn't like this though, because I could never afford my own make-up. My step mom didn't think I needed any and even a simple tube of mascara was $9! There was no point in finding yet another thing that I couldn't have. I was so tired of lusting over things. I was over the feeling of being less than because I didn't have the money. I remember when my friends started to give me some of their old make-up. I had about 4 eye shadows and I put them on every morning with my finger tip and I felt so pretty. My little pile of make-up was maybe up to 3 tubes of lip gloss and an equal number of brown eye shadows by the time I graduated. 

I watched all of the fashion trends come and go. I stood on the side lines and I would ache to wear just one. I would trade in all of my crappy jeans for just one outfit that made people say "Wow, you look really good today." When I went shopping with my friends, I would get an item from a nice store like Maurices. When i wore that one thing, I felt like a million dollars. People noticed me. People complimented me and it felt so damn good. I would try to pair that item with as many different things as I could so that no one would notice how often I wore it. Hell, I probably would have worn it every single day if I thought I could. 

I worked at a thrift store and went a little crazy with the shopping. I was so excited to have my hands on sweat pants from Victoria's Secret and sweaters from American Eagle. I nearly had a heart attack when I bought my Coach purse. I wasn't even ashamed to admit I had bought it all second hand because I finally looked like a normal woman. I started getting so excited to pick an outfit for the day. Everything was so cute that I had a hard time making up my mind! I still felt a little tug at my heart though, because even if the tags said the clothes were expensive, they were simple pieces. I didn't have anything to wow. I didn't have anything that was on trend. I had switched out my graphic tees for plan scoop neck tops. My old jeans were replaced with skinny jeans, and the fact was I had just upgraded my old wardrobe into...well, a more expensive closet full of basics. 

I wasn't surprised to see how much I gleaned out and donated when we moved back home. I had collected so many clothes that I didn't even know what to do with them anymore. The worst part was how few of them I really loved. My make-up collection got pumped up a little bit. Half of it is stuff to conceal my under eye circles and the other half is 5 year old MAC eye shadow I got as a birthday gift. I'll admit that my shoes got the biggest overhaul, though. I own about 20 or so pairs of shoes and 90% of them are name brand. They are all cute and perfectly in-style. I could always use more, but I know that at the very least, someone will stop to compliment my tootsies. 

The more I grow, the more I yearn to change my wardrobe. I use my t-shirts for working out and sleeping, which leaves very little to wear on my days off. I dread wearing another pair of ill-fitting jeans or another tank top with a thin sweater. My boss helped me really bulk up my office wardrobe, so I usually feel like a million dollars on the week days. The update really boosted my confidence and helps me get excited about going to work. Now that I've experienced the difference, it makes it even harder to like my weekend wardrobe. 

I try to think of ways to save up for just one piece. I figure I can slowly work my way up to a full closet, little by little. But when I write up our budget, there just isn't enough wiggle room. I can buy a dress if we don't spend any money hanging out with friends. I can get a statement necklace if I don't pay my cell phone bill. When i finally do look and see some freed up money, I can't rationalize the purchase of one expensive item. I am so used to shopping for quantity instead of quality. I look at the clothing for so long and I get so stressed that I never actually make the purchase. My dream is to make enough money one day to buy clothes that really reflect my personality. I get so frustrated having to buy cheap clothing that falls apart so quickly. I haven't had the money to buy the proper sized bra since I got fitted back in 2011 and I have worn holes in 80% of my underwear. 

So I am confessing all of this to you guys. I love fashion. I am dying for a plaid jacket to wow this Winter. I am lusting over black boots with studs and high waisted jeans and loud necklaces. I am watching all of these amazingly fun trends come and go and all I want to do is stop paying my bills so I can join in. I want to embrace all of the awesome clothes they make for women! I want people on the street to look at me and know what I am about. I want to get dressed every day and feel like the successful woman I am. Here's to hoping I can fulfill my dream one day. I would be okay with someone starting a fund to clothe me or taking me downtown and Pretty Womaning me, too. Just say the word!

No...This Is Not "Like The Nazis"

Okay, I have not posted here in a while and I have no good excuse. In fact, I probably wouldn't be posting now if I didn't feel like I was burning from the inside because someone compared me to a Nazi. Go ahead and let that shit sink in. You remember the Nazis, whose goal was to commit genocide. You know how that is in no way similar to anything happening currently in the U.S.? Alright then I can get on with this post. 

I am just going to come right out and say that nothing that anyone is doing in America is similar to the Nazis. Are there people in America who think that the Nazis had the right idea? Yes. Are there people in America that claim to uphold these ideals? Yep. Do you see any of them openly committing mass murder? I sure don't. Do you see anyone killing thousands upon thousands of people in America? If you said "no" then you have illustrated my point perfectly. 

Now I want you to think of something that is as bad as what the Nazis did. Maybe you thought of a few and chances are, they were also genocide. Try and think of something that happened recently that is as bad as what the Nazis did. If something like Westboro Baptist Church picketing funerals came to mind, think again. I mean honestly, compare the two. One is a protest and one is genocide. One is verbal and one is physical. One is an on and off occurrence, one spans many years. One is an isolated incident, and one was widespread. What I am coming up with here on my end is that the two are really not comparable at all. Maybe you thought of a personal attack on a gay person. This is a little warmer, I must admit. Both instances include murder of a homosexual. Still, this is a really thin and far stretched comparison. We don't often compare the murder of one black person to the many deaths that occurred as a result of poor treatment of slaves. We don't usually compare a fishing boat sinking to the tragic sinking of the Titanic.

I think it is very important that we do not compare things to the acts of Nazis. The main reason I discourage this is because I think it cheapens the history. I think if we compare smaller and smaller issues to the mass genocide cause by the Nazis, we are only making it appear as a smaller and smaller issue. The reason we struggle to listen to the classes that discuss the reign of the Nazis is because it was so horrible. The amount of people who were killed, the ways they were killed, the true hatred in the hearts of the Nazis, those are the things we can't truly comprehend. This is one of the most vital points in history and most everything else will forever be in its shadow. I hope and pray that nothing that is honestly comparable ever happens again. 

I don't know what leads people to use this comparison. I am not sure if we have some sort of need to dramatize things so much that we feel it is appropriate. I don't know if we are so upset that the much smaller issue really feels as devastating as this ethnic cleansing. I don't know if we really have so little concept of the tragedy that occurred that we honestly believe it can be compared to anything happening now. All I know is that it turns my stomach. This comparison will bring bile up into my throat and I'm not sure there's a phrase I hate more. 

From what I have seen, it is becoming less and less acceptable to compare things to rape. We know that losing a video game should not be referred to as "getting raped." We know that the way your boss treated you or the fine you occurred on a past due bill is not the same as them "raping you." Many people get embarrassed when these words leave their mouths, and they should. So why shouldn't the same be true when comparing something to the Nazis? Have we really grown so insensitive? Has it been long enough that we believe there is no reason to regard this issue with the same respect? 

Today I got compared to a Nazi. Today I stood up and said that despite the fact that the leader of the Salvation Army has said that he believes the bible preaches that homosexuals deserve death, I will still donate to them. I spoke intimately about how upsetting it is to hear such vile words be associated with an organization that does so much good. My family benefited from the Salvation Army and I am not shallow enough to believe that we were the only ones. I felt a tear in my heart when I decided that I will not let my own anger over these words dictate where my money goes. A statement was released stating that not all members feel this way and that volunteers come with their own ideals. I know from experience that the Salvation Army does much more than some other organizations. I know that every dollar I donate is going to feed the hungry. I know the cheer that the Salvation Army brings and I am not going to let one hateful comment take food away from that empty belly. I said that I will honestly be concerned that when I donate this season, I will be judged or even harassed by my community. I will be looking over my shoulder because I am scared that someone else will let their anger dictate what they do-and they will take it out on me. So there you have it folks, because I am standing up for my own moral decisions, I am in no way similar to a Nazi. But a man who made a very clear point to bring up the fact that he is a Jew and he lived in Germany, has compared me to a Nazi. 

I'd like to start a movement where we agree to stop using this comparison. Who is with me?

Rape Is Not a Feminist Issue.

This morning I said I had nothing to write about today. It didn't take long to find today's topic. As a supporter of rape victims and an advocate for justice, I feel it is important to highlight the fact that rape is EVERYONE'S issue.

*WARNING: This post has only mild content but does contain repeated mention of rape.*

The majority of the time, when the subject of rape is discussed, we focus on female victims. It only seems natural when you think about it. Most of the people who are talking about rape are women. Statistically speaking, around 90% of reported rapes have female victims. Victim blaming and slut shaming are fiercely directed at females. Trust me, I see it and I know. That being said, I would really like it if I started seeing more photos and statistics that included males.

I have seen a number of photos that are widely shared that specifically attack men with sayings like "teach your sons not to rape" and "real men don't rape." We need to step back and see what we are really saying here. When you say these things, what you are really saying is that men are to blame. When you urge people to teach their daughters how to fight off a rapist, and to teach their sons not to rape, you are sending all of the wrong messages. 

Think about how strong gender stereotypes are. Think about the idea that boys and men are still afraid to cry and still feel the need to be the bread winners, and then think about how badly these messages are hurting them. Have you ever stopped to think about why the statistics seem so outrageously heavy with female victims? If a man is assaulted by another man, how likely do you think he is to report it? Imagine all of the stigmas around his case. Think of just how heavy the shame is going to feel on the victim. Think of all the gay slurs, the emasculating insults, and just how much those things would deter him from reporting. If a man is assaulted by a woman, what are the chances that either he is going to admit that it was rape or even understand that it was rape? Men are taught from an early age that all sex is good sex. Look back on Chris Brown's interview where he brags about having sex at a very young age with a much older young lady. Men are praised for losing their virginity and celebrated for the number of sexual partners they have had. Not only that, but many times boys and men believe that they are bigger and stronger than women. When a man has a weak arm, he "throws like a girl". When a woman wins an argument, they get made fun of because "you just lost to a girl." This view of gender inequality can tie an outrageous amount of shame onto being raped by a woman. 

When I look at the ways society acts as a whole, I am not surprised to see the low reporting numbers for male victims. I am surprised at how many people believe that millions of female rape victims aren't reporting, but also believe that the measly 9% reporting rate for male victims seems accurate. I don't question for a second the fact that the majority of rapes do, in fact, have female victims. I do wonder how much the percentage would change if it was more acceptable for men to report. I think about how many men sit in silence all their lives. I think about how few male survivors are getting the help they need. Even as a rape survivor, I can't imagine the strength it must take to break through all of those gender stereotypes and admit that you were raped. My heart breaks over the idea that rape victim advocates are creating such an open and encouraging space for women to come forward and report their cases without including male victims. I stress over the idea that with all the good I am trying to do, I am successfully spread rape culture by only speaking about women getting raped. 

Rape is not a feminist issue. Rape is not a subject about equality. Rape does not consider your gender. Rape is as much my issue as it is your issue. Rape happens every few minutes. 

Millions of victims don't report, don't get counselling, don't ever heal because of rape culture. As a whole, we need to stop this. We need to support all victims. We need to punish all rapists. We need to be as open and supportive as possible. We need to keep sharing statistics, keep pushing for rape kits to be tested, keep spreading the word that rapists are getting away because of some sort of political pull. So many rape victims have been silenced, so we must speak for them. We must write, we must call, we must shout. 

I urge you to research rape centers in your area. I beg you to take a little time out of your life to go to an awareness run, go do a slut walk, go volunteer at a RAINN center, volunteer to answer calls with a rape hotline. If you have children, I know it's a scary topic, but speak to them. If they are very young make sure they know what is inappropriate touch. Teach your sons and your daughters about what is okay and not okay when people are touching their bodies. I know you want to put it off. I know you want to believe it isn't an issue because your child is very young. I was raped when I was five years old. I cannot stress this enough. If they are old enough to speak, they are old enough to learn. When they get older, teach them about consent. It is important for them to verbally give consent and it is their job to always get verbal consent before anything happens. A proper gentleman or young lady asks to kiss. Pressuring your boyfriend or girlfriend is not okay. If their boyfriend or girlfriend is not ready, make sure they know that they need to step back. No will always mean no. Your boyfriend or girlfriend will tell you when they are ready. Speak to them about alcohol and sex because this might come up. Let them know that if their girlfriend or boyfriend is drunk, they are not able to give consent. It is wrong to take advantage of drunk girls or boys. This topic is so wide and so complicated. I know it will be a hard discussion but it needs to happen. No one is teaching them this in school! Sex-ed does not include anything about this. It is your job as a parent to educate your child to the best of your ability. You cannot protect them from everything. You cannot always stop rape from happening. The best first step though, is providing them with knowledge. 

Let's keep on fighting the good fight. Try to be an ally and support for all people. Be strong and be loud for those who cannot. Together we can end rape culture.

I wrote this a while ago and since I have nothing I want to say today, here's this.

Look, life is straight up wild. There are a million things that make you worry, make you stress, make you rush, and it is so easy to forget all the things that make you happy. Consider this your reminder to go ahead and live!

The fact is we all have lives. There are bills to pay, jobs to work, and events to plan. We are surrounded by things that demand our attention. We are in a flurry of justs. Just scraping by, just taking another minute, just doing another dish. We are very caught up. Let's try to remind each other to unravel.

You're at work and you're about to dig into the third tuna salad sandwich of the week. It's cheap, it's healthy, and it's easy to pack up for the day. But there's a taco truck outside. It's taunting you with its shiny metal sign. The scent of taco meat is about to drive you mad and it feels like you are the only one eating a bagged lunch. You know what I say? Go to your car, dig through your quarters, and eat that greasy taco! The tuna salad will still be there tomorrow and those quarters weren't doing any good anyways. If you are feeling guilty about the calories, do some extra crunches or forgive yourself. If you're feeling guilty about the price, work through lunch or forgive yourself. Stop piling guilt on where it is not necessary. You follow that gut right to the taco truck and then forgive yourself when it leads you back to the bathroom for the rest of the day. 

You planned a wicked workout for your Sunday morning. You've gone over it in your head and you are so set on getting up and doing it. But it's Sunday and maybe the sunshine is so warm on your cheeks and the blanket is so soft and your pillow is so damn plush that you don't make it up until 10:00. When you wake up, your husband suggests that you go to the dog park and then get breakfast out. You're telling yourself that you should go do that workout. You're convincing yourself to give up a fun Sunday with your family for a sweat session. You know what? There's clearly a better choice here and I'll give you a hint: it doesn't involve a sweatband. You can turn this little date into a mini-workout if you want to. You can juggle fun and fitness! In fact, I highly encourage this. Instead of the stationary bike at the gym, go on a bike ride outside with your partner. Instead of doing an incline on the treadmill, go find a place to hike for a few hours in the sunshine. Instead of the row machine, hit the water with a kayak or canoe. Go out, enjoy nature, and most of all have fun! If fitness is important to you, find a way to incorporate it into the rest of your life instead of the other way around. You don't need to sacrifice all the time.

It's the end of the month and, as usual, your bank account isn't making you jump for joy. Most months you would throw the extra money on a credit card or pop it in savings. Most months you are turning down every invite between the 20th and the 30th and just this once you wish you could have fun. I say do it. Every once in a while, forget about being a responsible adult and just say yes! In the early hours of the morning when you stumble into bed, I promise you won't be regretting your choice. Memories are worth so much more than money. Try to be creative with your ideas so that you can enjoy fun and frugality a little more often. There are tons of things you could be doing for little to no money. If you have good family and friends, you won't need to break the bank for a good time. Much like exercise, I am going to remind you that nature is the best resource out there. If it's Winter, go have a snowball fight, go build snowmen, go ice skating. If it's fall go see if you can pick apples somewhere, rake some leaves and jump in them, make hot cocoa and sit on your front porch and chit chat. If it's Summer or Spring your possibilities are bottomless. 

The big point here is that life is always going to be the expensive, wild, untamed creature it is right now. You are going to feel like there aren't enough hours or enough dollars. Just remember that every single day is up to you. After the bare minimum has been met, prioritize everything else in a way that pleases you. Is it really important that you get that extra hour of sleep, or would you rather call up an old friend and catch up? Are you dead set on your diet, or could you spare time for an impromptu lunch date? 

Thanks.

Now that Halloween is over I can finally write about my favorite holiday...Thanksgiving!

My husband tells me on a nearly daily basis that I am the most particular person in the World. I guess that helps explain why my favorite season is Christmas season, but my favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. I'm not really fond of Winter all on its own. I think it's a drag to wear 10 layers to go outside...just to strip off 6 of them when you're indoors. Also, quite frankly, snow can get a little old if it lasts all Winter. There is a magic about the Christmas season that just puts it above all of the other seasons for me. I'll elaborate much more on that here in a month. For now let's focus on the glorious turkey day that is about to be here. 

First and foremost I want to say that this is not a cultural thing for me. I am Native American. I know the terrible things that have happened to my ancestors, but I choose not to dwell on such things. I have pride in my Native heritage and reading the muddied form of history that we pass onto our children sickens me. I would love to see historically accurate textbooks detailing the way the Native Peoples were treated. I personally prefer to hold these truths in my heart and mind on a much more regular basis than once a year. The fact of the matter is that the first Thanksgiving was a day of harmony. A Pawtuxet slave helped forge an alliance with the European settlers and taught them how to live off the land. A man who had already been used as a pawn to settlers was willing to share his knowledge with these strangers so that they could live and prosper alongside each other. This is a beautiful day and it should be remembered as such. 

I think part of my adoration for this holiday is the fact that it is under-represented. Since it is sandwiched in between the two noisiest holidays, people just kind of go through the motions. There's no set of carols, no costumes, no themed yard decorations. Thanksgiving has all but disappeared in a large number of households. If you ask most people what they are doing to celebrate, they will say they are going to see their family and eat. People honestly treat the holiday like it is just there so that they have to endure seeing their families and so they can eat until they bust. 

The main reason I love Thanksgiving is because it is the least self-serving holiday. It's not about having someone to kiss or buy you chocolates, it's not about being lucky, it's not about candy, and it's not about having the biggest present under the tree. Each holiday has a beautiful message behind it, but each holiday seems to be more about what you can receive than it is about what you can give. Thanksgiving is simply about giving, being, reflecting. First you focus on getting as many people in your home as possible. You want to see family, friends, neighbors. What a beautiful thing to want to fill all the empty spaces with faces of those you love. Then you prepare the food. You dig through family recipes, taking care to pack the brown sugar and sift the flour just like your mom, and her mom, and her mom did every year. How magical to take time to honor the great women and men of your family. 

The next morning you are up with the sun seasoning, massaging, perfecting the turkey for all who come. The skin is just right, the pan is just deep enough, and if you take care it will be juicy and salty just like your husband likes. Making food for snacking is always an afterthought, no matter how much you tried to remember this year. This is where your creativity really kicks in because there isn't much in your house that isn't for the great feast. The noise begins with children, with football, with the parade. Nieces and nephews circle your ankles, begging for a task to do. You try to catch every moment of the Macy's floats in between stirring, rolling, and baking. When the house has calmed and the oven dings, it's time for the best thing of all: giving thanks. Whether you each list one thing, or you compete for the most thankful, this is the true cherry on top of the holiday. Everyone is sitting, thinking, remembering all of the things that we forgot to be thankful for over the year. This is the time when we grow as individuals and as one patchwork family. We are all calm, we are all humble, we are all in awe of the lives we live and it is so perfect. 

When the feast is carefully placed around the table we are quick to add "this incredible meal" to our bottomless list of blessings. On each face is the gratitude of a person well-fed. Each eye twinkles with a knowing that it doesn't get much better than this. No one ever has words for the feeling in your heart when you're gathered around the Thanksgiving turkey. This time when everything just seems so full, so warm, and so good. It's a feeling we don't often revel in, and Thanksgiving gives us an excuse to do just that. 

I find it incredibly fitting that my husband and I wed on the day after Thanksgiving in 2010. This was the first holiday I spent with his family. It was the first time I had cooked a Thanksgiving meal. I had to learn recipes as I went and the task of making everything 'the Southern way' was just an added concern. I poured everything I had into that meal though, in hopes that it would show them. I wanted to show them that I already loved them. I wanted to say that their recipes and my recipes went perfectly together. I wanted to show trust in their advice. I wanted to scream and shout right next to them as we watch Auburn win the Iron Bowl, because I wanted it to always be just like this. 

Like all other holidays, the way people choose to celebrate can vary from home to home. Maybe you do a potluck so many family recipes are all brought together in a wonderful smorgasbord. Maybe you always go to one relative's house and eat solely your family's recipes. Maybe you watch the game instead of the parade and you drink beer instead of sparkling cider. All that matters is that we go about the holiday with the right mind set. We shouldn't feel forced into cooking. We should feel gladness in our hearts that we are able to share our hard work with those closest to us. We shouldn't feel burdened with hosting the meal. We should feel honored to bring all of the joy into our home. We shouldn't feel like we are boasting when we reflect and we shouldn't feel gluttonous when we feast. 

For one day, let us enjoy a little too much of something good. Let us take the time to interact with each and every person at the celebration because you are grateful for them. Let us remember that this only comes once a year and maybe this is the last time your aunt will pinch your cheeks, your nephew will draw on the walls, or your father will carve the bird. For once let us not take our company for granted. Let us not focus on the flaws of our family and instead focus on all of the things they bring into our lives. Gather around, get in too close, bump elbows with your left-handed neighbors, and soak it in. Spend all day and all night in good company and hold this in your heart. 

P.S. Please respect Thanksgiving by not playing Christmas carols 24/7 until the day after. I know it's painful. Trust me, I listen to Christmas carols all year but only when I am alone and cleaning my house. Just wait one more month to kill everyone with your Christmas cheer. Everyone will like you a little bit more if you follow this rule, too.