A Lesson from Tigger in Bouncing… Back

posted 19th May 2012    Written by: Cassie    CATEGORY: All Posts, Cassie, Season 6

I have been good.  So good.  Like brilliantly good.

Like kick-a-thon of excitement-five-hundred-feet-in-the-air-surrounded-by-clouds-I’m-about-to-explode-what-a-relief-there’s-a-canon-ball-in-my-canon-leg-to-release-my-energy kind of good:

I have been going to the gym 3-5 times per week, working my way up slowly from walking to jogging, and eating when I’m hungry then stopping when I loose the taste which has meant I’m not hungry anymore.  After years of forcing myself to work out, I find that I actually want to go.  I look forward to it, or more reasonably, I love the way I feel afterwards.  I have a terrible time getting through my day without it.  Not because it’s necessary, but because I now realize how much better I feel with it in my life.

I never knew what good felt like because bad is what I thought good felt like.

Wow. Confusing.  I don’t get you.

Well, it’s like this… I often felt tired, stressed, and achy.  That was my normal.  I felt as heavy as I look.

With these changes, I don’t feel heavy.  I feel light. It’s like when I breathe the whole Eastern Winds come in and blow out all the toxins with it.  I have this sense of clarity.  The energy that pulsates through my veins is almost euphoric.  I want to run.  I want to throw my hands in the air.  I want to “WOO!” every time something happens- exciting or not.

I wake up the second my alarm goes off without pressing snooze. “WOO!”

I take a smooth sailing dump.  “WOO!” (And then of course, giggle. Because I’m 5 yrs old.)

I step off the bus on my way to work. “WOO!”

Then my routine ran into conflict.

I hadn’t strayed from my little world nor my routine as I was creating new art prints, writing more, and you know, doing that financial stability thing where you go to work.  Then, my friends needed help moving.  So I volunteered.  I said that infamous, YES.

Oh. Boo hoo.  You missed like a day.

Well, I did miss one day.  I also was so sore from helping that I missed the following day… and the one after that.  Because I had missed these days, I felt bad.  The soreness from the move wore off after a day and a half, but what was left was the achy feeling I used to have from not being active.  That feeling, then, kept me from going the day after that!

Now, I am in no way blaming my friends for loving me, because, obviously, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to, if I did not love them in the first place.  I actually enjoyed helping them move!  It was a super hot day, but that usual feeling of “Man, I could be writing right now or doing something else that’s on my to-do list” did not come up which made me sooo happy to be able to be in that moment there and then.  Plus, they paid us with gratitude, pizza and beer (which I also did not feel bad devouring before, during, or after- SCORE)!  These moments of being in the present were amazing and huge steps for me.  The day was totally worth it as well as to help out friends during a house-to-house move which is never fun to undergo alone.

This week has been a pain pulling myself out of that downward spiral where I can’t get out of bed, and I just want to sleep until the minute I have to leave for work.  I have had headaches every day, and I’m not quite sure if they are from the disappointment I have in myself for letting it go for a whole week or the stress of the repercussions I’m bound to face.  Not to mention, the cranky person in the corner I had become at work.  (Let’s just say, last Wednesday, I was the last person you wanted to see at the Happiest Place on Earth.)

But I can’t take the past week and a half back.  It happened.  If I get down on myself, I will only push myself further into disappointment.  Instead of being upset and brooding (oh, I’m so happy I got to use that word! It’s like I’m Emily Dickinson with a weight problem.), I have consciously chosen to take that energy and just use it to wake up tomorrow morning, lace up my sneakers, and start again.

“A wounded deer leaps the highest.”
Emily Dickinson
(the one without the weight problem)

 

 


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I Have to What?!

posted 18th May 2012    Written by: Camila    CATEGORY: All Posts, Camila, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6

Happy Birthday Camila, you have abnormal cells growing all up in  your lady parts.

Excuse me, what?

Upon arriving home from work at the crossover between April 27th and April 28th, I stopped at my mail box opening it to find two letters with my name handwritten on the front of the envelopes. Oh goody! One’s got to be from Ima, my fiery Mexican grandmother, and who could have sent me the other one? Gah, so exciting, I love surprises!

Okay… maybe I don’t love surprises all the time.

Alas, the “surprise” letter was from my friendly gynecologist informing me that my recent pap smear revealed some abnormal cells and that it is highly recommended that I have a colposcopy.

Seriously?! What the fuck is a colposcopy?*

Oh dear God, what if I have cervical cancer? What if I’m never able to bear children? What if I die before my anticipated age of 94? What if Geoffrey leaves me because I only have a year left to live? What if… what if… what if… and the tumult into agonizing over my life and being a woman, and my entrance into age 25, and fearing what could be wrong with me comes into effect. It’s still here, as I’m writing this. What if there is something wrong with me?

I just keep thinking about when my mother found a tumor in her throat. They had to cut her open to remove pieces of her thyroid not once, but twice. I keep thinking about how when she was pregnant with my baby sister when I was six and how she had to have a flight for life and her Dr. (Dr. Slice) told her in front of my three year old brother and I that she and the baby might die. Thank you Dr. Slice.

I’m scared. My sister and I are the only ones who haven’t had any sort of surgery. Sure we’ve broken some limbs, but I’ve never been under the knife. In fact when I broke my elbow after teeter-tottering on a hollow log wedged between two branches when I was eleven and they told me I might have to have surgery, I fainted. Now I have to have a colposcopy.

Okay, it’s really not that bad. It really isn’t. There’s probably nothing wrong. However, I can’t help that mind starts swiveling around and around thinking the same fearful thoughts over and over.

I don’t know, what would be the worst thing that could happen? Is it horrible that I think of the worst case scenario and resolve it before it even happens… just in case. Maybe that’s why everyone thinks I’m so calm, because I analyze everything before I react. That is unless I’m caught  off guard. If you catch me off guard I go into Camila crazy mode. Examples of this are as follows:

1) One New Year’s Eve in San Francisco I was sleeping in a hotel with my family. The fire alarm went off, I sat straight up in bed half asleep, and started screaming in sync with the fire alarm. My mom had to jump me and shut my mouth so I wouldn’t flee in hysteria.

2) Another time with my family, I was on a cattle drive and we were sleeping in our giant military tent with October winds blowing loudly through the valley. Again, in my half sleep I started screaming “TORNADO!” and then everyone except for my mother started screaming about this “tornado”. To be fair I dream a lot about tornadoes. I always escape them.

Anyway, back to the point. I’m nervous and yes, I know I’m going overboard with the worrying, but I can’t help it.

If for some unlikely reason I happen to be less likely to have children like Caitlin, then I know I’ll find another way to have kids. That’s one part of life I can’t skip out on. Hell, when I was in High School, I convinced my parents to adopt. I did hours of research, found an adoption agency, and had all the paperwork for them to fill out… and they started filling it out until my younger sister said that she didn’t want another sibling. She wanted to be the baby in the family and little Anna had her way. I even had my dad take me to Hobby Lobby to pick out fabric so I could start making the new baby a quilt.

To be honest, this whole, we need to stare up you vagina to make sure nothing’s wrong bit is making me think a lot about how vital it is for me to take care of myself and my body. I can’t ignore it when something seems wrong and even when nothing appears wrong. I can’t avoid going to the doctor just because I don’t have money. This, of course, being the factor which has inhibited me for so long.

I am more important than I think I am, and seriously, if I want to live to be around 94 then I need to make some changes.

* Now that I’m writing this, I have learned what a colposcopy is and have an appointment to get one. So no worries, I’m on it.


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This is a rant. Period.

posted 16th May 2012    Written by: Jill    CATEGORY: All Posts, Jill, Season 6

The other day, I was on a lovely date with a lovely gentleman.  He walked me to my car, and invited me over (me-yow!).

I responded, “Um, mumblemumble, I’m on my period; I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry?!  Why did I say that?  Why does a slow burn of shame and embarrassment spread throughout my cheeks before I can get those words out?  I’m sorry?!

If I had a choice in the matter, rest assured I wouldn’t choose for my lady parts to look like the aftermath of a Halo battle (that I lost!).  If I were hanging out next to God while watching evolution take place, we’d have a serious heart-to-heart about where this whole menstruating thing was going.  And then we’d brainstorm a less creepy word than “menstruating.”

First, we’d talk cramps.  I see my insides having a secret meeting, and deciding to mutiny against me…all for the greater good, I’m sure.  But it still hurts!  It’s like my ovaries are going to break through my skull and start a travelling vaudeville act.  Get over yourself, ovaries, and take a nap or something.

Then comes the nice hormone flux.  I’m certifiably schizophrenic for those few days when my estrogen levels are running amok.  The world is great!  I hate everything!  The sun is so sad today!  Everyone, protect yourselves, and never mention baby animals of any sort.  The innocence!   Tears, tears, tears.  Game over.

My sex drive is a rickety wooden roller coaster ride.  It reaches maximum velocity, and if I can’t take a five-minute break to, um, take care of things every once in awhile, I may internally combust.  Yet, ironically, actual sex becomes oh so uncomfortable.  Real funny, biology.  Good joke.  Skip to the next scene where I forgot that things even work down there.  Yeah, it’s a crazy five hour flux.

I convince myself that calories don’t count during those days when I’m hungry non-stop.  Hey, friends, I’d love to hang out, I really would, but I don’t foresee us doing anything that will top binge eating by myself.  So, next time, guys.  Am I going to work out later to make up for it?  Nope; my range of motion is limited to the fetal position for the rest of the evening.  Unless there is a salty milkshake within crawling distance, I’m fine right here, thanks.

Also, can someone explain how I am simultaneously constipated and have to poop every five seconds?  Inquiring minds want to know.

The moments right before the flow starts are the worst.  I know you’re in there; COME OUT!  Get out of me! Freedom is so close!  FYI, I’m inventing the period vacuum if any investors are interested.

Even after all the PMS pain is over, there’s still a week of blood squirting out of my favorite orifice (this was a tough call to make, since all the others are also near and dear to my heart).  Why aren’t tampons covered by health insurance?  Midol, tampons, va-jazzling; think of the costs of my nether regions, Obama (but thanks for pushing for my birth control to be covered; you have my uterus’ vote).

Oh dear, the reasonable side of my brain just piped up.  ”Are we being a wee bit dramatic, Jill?”  Yeah, I am, and I’m blaming it on external factors that I can’t control like any sane human being.

And it feels damn good.  Thanks for listening, guys.  If you ever want to rant, I owe you one.

 

**Jill’s post script:  For the record, the gentleman’s response was, “That’s even better; I can show you YouTube videos!”  So, this isn’t a rant against our Y-chromosome sporting counterparts.  10 points for the response from all judges, including the Russian.

[Photo Credit: SerrNovik]


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What I Wish I Knew: Self-Love

posted 15th May 2012    Written by: Molly Mahar    CATEGORY: Life Lesson, Molly

[This post is the kick off to Ashley's (of Season 5) What I Wish I Knew Series for teen girls.  In her own words, "When I was a teenager, I had so many questions and I made the worst mistakes. I thought I knew what I was doing, but really, I had no idea. Thankfully, I’ve learned a few lessons over the years and I can look back now and laugh. But part of my mission here at Your Super Awesome Life is to help spare you that heart ache, that confusion, and all that uncertainty. So I had this idea to join forces with all the super awesome women who have inspired me, motivated me, and taught me a few lessons over the years. Without these ladies, I wouldn’t know half of what I know now!"

Thanks Ashley for giving me the chance to reflect on lessons I wish my 19-year-old had known!]

Dear 19-year-old Molly,

You’re embarking on your college experience with bright eyes and a fairly innocent view of the world.  It’s admirable, honey, but unfortunately, college is not going to be an easy ride for you.

You’re getting on that airplane for New York full of self-confidence and self-love, radiating with dreams and plans and possibility.  You are confidant in your abilities and secure in your integrity.

These are all qualities I wish you had known how to hold onto, Molly.

For whatever reason, high school has been a place where you learned how to be your free-spirited, positive, creative self — without too much concern for how others’ viewed you and without too much angst. I wish these lessons had stuck around for the next four years. Your life would have been so much easier!  Instead, your self-love is about to take a nosedive — pulling your health, self-esteem and grounded center — down with it.

I wish I could turn back time and give you this advice at the moment it would really make a difference…

You are strong.  Remember when T dumped you right before Junior Prom?  You held your head high while selling his new date her ticket, leaned on your girlfriends, and found a hotty underclassman to be your arm candy.  Remember when you lost those two major student council elections?  You never questioned your ambition to lead or confidence in your abilities, and bigger-better-brighter opportunities came through for you in pretty amazing ways.

You have integrity.  Remember when you walked out of N’s house because a high school career of older boys, beer, and smoking pot wasn’t what you wanted (even if did make you a popular girl)?  Remember when you turned down A because you knew you were in way over your head, even though it seemed strange to others?  You weren’t afraid to follow your heart, Molly, and do what you felt was right.

You are beautiful. Remember how powerful your body felt vaulting 11 feet in the air?  Remember the freedom from self-consciousness you felt skinny dipping in Spring Meadow Lake under the moonlight?  Remember the realization that you had nice legs and a great smile, so there was really no need to weigh yourself?  You withheld judgement of yourself or others on purely external measures of “beauty” and were healthier and happier for it.

You’re going to need this high school evidence of your authentic, sparkly self, sweet thing.

Why? Unfortunately, a period of raging self-doubt is about to hit you as you wade into unknown waters.

I know you’ll feel small and weak and insignificant.  I know you’ll feel lost to yourself, and that pain will manifest in so many harmful ways.  I know you’ll feel that you don’t have enough money, the right clothes, the east coast connections, or support for the loneliness.  I know you’ll feel like you’re not smart, thin, pretty, or athletic enough to “be anyone”.

I wish you knew, Molly, that self-love is the answer to all of your doubts.  Self-love is the answer to your fears.  Self-love is the answer to your self-consciousness.

Things that are not the answer?  Transferring majors to alleviate fears of making money in the future.  Getting drunk with your sorority sisters and making out (or sleeping) with anyone who finds “your overweight self” attractive.  Binging and purging and hurting your body.  Hiding your depression behind a mask of false cheer and fake positivity, as you cry alone in the shower.  Staying incredibly busy to avoid thinking about how insignificant and unhappy you feel.

I wish you knew that it’s okay to not “fit in”, that it’s more spectacular to simply be your quirky, good girl, adventure-seeking self.

You don’t have to drink to the point of blackout to bond with girlfriends or flirt with boys.  You can ask for help when you need it, not push through on ridiculously low amounts of sleep and ridiculously high amounts of caffeine and sugar.   You don’t have to buy the right jeans or go out every weekend to the big parties or bite your tongue when assholes make themselves bigger by tearing others down. It doesn’t matter what others’ think of your choices, Molly, as long as you are honoring your integrity and sense of self.

I wish you knew that you could embrace your body, your purpose, your uncertainty about the future with kindness, instead of cruelty.

You can’t binge, expose, puke, kiss, overextend, drink, buy or excel your way to confidence, sweet pea. It’s not a process of covering up, fixing, hiding or pretending.

Self-love doesn’t come from the outside in.

Self-love?  It comes from the inside out. It comes from gentleness, from the release of pleasing others, from acceptance of yourself as fabulously imperfect.

No one else can validate your worthiness, Molly.  Just you.

Just you.

I wish you could give that gift to yourself.

XOXO

31-year-old Molly

p.s.  Because I’m so much older and wiser now, I can tell you with full confidence that everything gets better.  You refind your way to your authentic self.  You started treating your body with more respect.  You end up doing work you feel passionate about.  You let go of needing to please everyone and be seen as nice.  You get your booty back to the west coast, full of like-minded spirits.  You feel free to be imperfect.  You even become an advocate for self-love and teach other women how to practice Fierce Love in their own lives.  Crazy, eh?

p.p.s.  Don’t borrow your roommate’s  clothes… Your “agreement” will only end badly!

p.p.p.s.  It’s okay to lust after the a capella boys, but honestly?  They make terrible boyfriends.

 


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When Breaking Up Isn’t That Hard to Do

posted 14th May 2012    Written by: Arielle    CATEGORY: Arielle, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6, What I've Learned

We had been seeing each other for a few months. He was smart and had really nice eyes.

I talked to him about everything: my family, my friends, stressing out over not having a job. I even told him my dreams (the ones I have when I’m asleep, not my lofty life goals because I still don’t know what those are WHAT UP QUARTERLIFE CRISIS). He was always empathetic. Sometimes he made me laugh.

But something didn’t feel quite right. I had a really good time every time I saw him, but then I would reflect on it afterward and realize that a piece was missing. It’s not supposed to be like this.

I always do my best thinking when I’m walking through the city. I knew the end was nigh when, on one of my recent walks, I found myself mentally composing a breakup email.

For nearly an hour I ran test sentences through my head. How much of it should be about me? How much of it should be about him? Should I go into a lengthy explanation? Should it be super brief?

When I got home from my errands, I wrote and sent the email. He tried to get me to reconsider, but I stuck to my instincts. After two back-and-forths, it was finished.

That’s how I ended things with my therapist.

PLOT TWIST!

“Hey, I didn’t know you were in therapy,” said everyone reading this blog post.

“That’s because I never told you,” I reply to this imaginary and weird conversation.

I didn’t hide the fact that I was in therapy because I was embarrassed. I didn’t even hide it because I wanted to – in fact, I hated that no one knew about it, because it was so NOT a big deal that keeping it a secret felt silly. But I never felt comfortable just kind of dropping a “my therapist says…” in passing, and I’m pretty much always bad at making grand life announcements. So up until this moment, the only people who knew I was in therapy were me, my therapist and the woman who did my intake. But it’s over now, so I guess I can let the crazy out of the bag.

The first time I seriously thought about getting therapy was sometime in September. I did the research and then completely chickened out of making the necessary phone calls. After I lost my job and had an epic meltdown in December, I found the courage to start calling. I selected a program, went in for nearly a month of preliminary questions, and finally started seeing my therapist sometime in February.

I really liked therapy, actually. My therapist helped me hash out my feelings on different parts of my life, and validated that those feelings were legitimate. When he said to me, “Wow, some of those things would drive me to drink too,” it made me feel…good. Normal.

After awhile, though, I realized that it wasn’t enough. Having someone to talk to is wonderful but between two blogs and two journals, I’m pretty good at sorting through my thoughts on my own. The initial validation of my feelings was great too, but if the last 2 months at Stratejoy have taught me anything, it’s that I AM ENOUGH. And I extend this to mean that my feelings are enough. I don’t need anyone to tell me that it’s okay to go through what I’m going through. The fact that I have feelings in the first place is all the validation I ever need.

On top of this, I was booze-free for almost 2 weeks when I decided to quit therapy (I ended up starting No Alcohol May in the last week of Aprll), and in just that short time, my emotions really seemed to stabilize. It might be coincidental. Or it might not be.

Therapy was great, but it was great for reasons that never included “helping me with my problems.” And so I called it quits.

I hate quoting song lyrics because there’s something about it that reeks of emo teenagers with misspelled tattoos and poorly-lit Myspace pictures, but there’s a line from the Linkin Park song Somewhere I Belong that has stuck with me ever since I first heard it in 2003.

“I will never know myself until I do this on my own.”

This one simple line has been the mantra of my entire adult life. It might seem sad, but as someone who values her independence over pretty much everything else, I find it empowering. It means that I can always find it within myself to conquer the obstacles that lay in my path. I may lean on others or employ different tools to help at times (hello, Stratejoy and everyone here who has been so insanely wonderful), but in the end, if it’s my life, it’s ultimately my problem.

So I’ll proceed from here. I don’t have a therapist in my corner anymore, but the drastic upswing in the overall mood of my last few Stratejoy posts makes me realize that I’m doing just fine on my own. I may be outnumbered, but in the battle of Arielle vs. QLC, my money is on me.

 

Photo credit: My friend took this picture of me when we went camping last summer and I insisted on spending way too long trying to climb this not-very-high pillar.

Have you heard? The Stratejoy Book Club has officially launched!

We’ll be holding our first LIVE chat discussion.  May 21st, 2012. Grab your girlfriends, some drinks, some snacks, and jam with Molly about this month’s book, MWF Seeking BFF by Rachel Bertsche.

Find out about the book, the live chat discussion, and how to host an event or attend an event right over here on the page with all of the juicy details.


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