If I Were Your Mom

Over the last several days, I've spent a significant amount of time reading through the comments that have been and are continuing to be posted on "A Room Without Feathers." Some have made me howl with laughter (which is an especially good thing for me right now), and some have made me shed tears of compassion and hope (which is also an especially good thing for me right now). Every single one of your comments has touched me in its own unique way, and I deeply appreciate you taking the time to share your hearts not only with me but with my readers as well.

While all of the comments are special to me, I am particularly moved by the ones from some of my younger readers ...

"I had my suicide all planned out and then someone told me to read your blog and now I'm still alive. There's been a lot of ups and downs in the last two years but my life is on a good road now and that's thanks to you being so honest in Easier to Die." 

"My brother Lucas tried to kill himself four times before he was 16 and the last time he did permanent damage to his eyes and he's blind."

"But there are some of us in junior high who read you every week and you help us. Your storys tell us not to give up and to be kind to everyone. I think you have a good spirit and I hope I can meet you sometimes."

"My friend Kevin was bullied about being gay from when we were 8 years old and called names like fairy, pansie, facggot, sissie boy just to name a few. I am 15 now but Kevin jumped off a building last summer and he didn't live threw the jump." 

"My brother Mike killed himself two months ago. I came home from school and found him. He hung himself in the closet. He made a video on his phone and said he was dying in the closet because it was where he had lived his life. I hate myself because I didn't know Mike was gay."

As you know if you've read my last couple of posts, I'm struggling with writing right now ... for the first time in my life, writing is hard for me. But as I read back through the posts this evening, I knew there was something I need to say tonight ... something I have to say tonight.

To my younger readers ... if I were your mom, I would tell you how proud I am of you. If I were your mom, I would tell you it's not your fault. If I were your mom, I would tell you not to give up. If I were your mom, I would tell you it really does get better. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you have more courage than I can ever hope to have. If I were your mom, I would tell you to never stop believing in yourself. If I were your mom, I would tell you to be open, to be honest, to be real and to be transparent. If I were your mom, I would tell you not to let anyone ever steal your joy. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you're perfect just the way you are. If I were your mom, I would tell you that your journey is only beginning. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you matter ... so much more than you know right now ... you matter. If I were your mom ... if I were your mom ... if I were your mom ... I would tell you that nothing ... absolutely nothing ... will ever change how very, very, very much I love you.

If I were your mom, I would tell you to just be you ... I would tell you to just be the incredible, amazing and awesome you that you already are.

Thank you for sharing yourselves with me and for walking this journey with me ... thank you Gary and Matthew and Stefanie and Elizabeth and so many others ... you truly bless me with your strength, bravery and overcoming spirits. If I were your mom ... I would tell you to never ever change.

15 Minutes

One of the things I love most about spending time with my granddaughter Coraline, whether that time is spent talking on the phone or Skyping on the computer or visiting her in Canada, I love that she doesn't measure the time we have together in minutes or hours ... my little Boo measures the time we have together in fun and happiness and love. She doesn't care about time ... she cares about being with her Ghee. Coraline counts our time together by the laughter we share and the books we read and the silly faces we make and the stories we tell. It can be 15 minutes or 15 hours ... to Coraline, it is simply her Ghee time and that's all that matters.

Last night I attended a meeting I didn't want to attend ... well, I attended the meeting for 15 minutes before I bailed. I've tried all day to convince myself that my 15-minute unwilling attendance last night was the same as willingly attending the entire meeting ... pretty sure that's not true .. pretty, pretty, pretty sure that's not even a teeny tiny bit true. Here's the thing ... the really hard thing for me to admit ... I left the meeting knowing full well I should stay. But those meetings make me uncomfortable ... those meetings drag me kicking and screaming out of my comfort zone ... those meetings force me to see things in myself that I don't want to see ... those meetings are just hard, really, really hard, and I'm just plain old tired of doing the hard stuff. And because I so obviously know what is best for me (that's sarcasm, by the way, in case you didn't catch it), I stayed for 15 minutes and then I left ... 15 long, tortuous, uncomfortable, weepy minutes and then I left.

When a friend suggested today that my title for tonight's post be "15 Minutes," I instantly knew that her interpretation of my 15-minute stint at last night's meeting meant something altogether different to her than it did to me. She saw me going to the meeting, even if it was only for 15 minutes, as a victory while I saw it as a failure. To her, those 15 minutes counted as a huge, gigantic, enormous step in the direction toward healing while to me, they counted as some of the longest, most painful, intensely humiliating minutes of my life. My friend saw those 15 minutes as an opportunity for incredible personal growth while I saw them as a reminder of how greatly I have failed and how far I have yet to go. 

I'm not going to lie ... I didn't want to write tonight ... there wasn't one part or piece of me that wanted to write tonight. But just as the bitter cold air hit my face when I stepped outside after work, a warm and piercing truth hit my heart as I walked to my car. My little Coraline doesn't measure our time together in minutes or hours because she doesn't have to call me or have to Skype with me or have to play with me ... she gets to do those things with me. Every minute I have with my precious granddaughter is measured in fun and happiness and love because in her mind, spending time with her Ghee is a get to rather than a have to activity ... she sees every single minute we have together as a gift.

Something tells me those 15 minutes at the meeting last night meant far more than I thought they did ... far, far, far more than I thought they did.

Because of You

As I sit here on my couch typing, there's a sad, sad dog sitting at my feet ... a dog who already misses his boy in a big, big way even though he's only been gone for a few minutes. I'm not sure I've ever seen a dog more human-like than this one ... if he could talk, I'm pretty sure he would say something along the lines of, "Where is he? Where did he go? Is he leaving me forever? ... My boy is never coming back, is he?" Yep ... there's a big brown dog in my house who seems to be completely convinced he's been abandoned and forsaken by his one true love, and I'm sitting here feeling pretty sorry for the big guy and wondering what I can do to make him feel better ... what I can do to make him know Brad will be back ... what I can do to ease his pain and rid him of his loneliness. You see, Brad is leaving town early tomorrow morning for Las Vegas for a week-long freelance film gig, and his best canine buddy Max is spending the week with Julie, Ollie and me. Max is a great dog, and I know he'll cheer up soon, but for tonight, he looks like one big, lonesome, sad ball of dog fur. His droopy tail and sad eyes tell the story of what's in his mind ... Max is absolutely certain that he's lost his sense of happy forever.

I know what that feels like, you know ... feeling that I've lost my sense of happy forever ... I know that feeling all too well and I'll tell you right now, I truly hate it. It's as if I've been dropped off in a giant forest amidst a bunch of virtual strangers, left to wonder and worry if my real owner will ever return to rescue me and take me home where I belong. Suddenly, everything that mattered to me, everything that was familiar to me, everyone I loved and trusted is gone and I'm left wandering through the forest unsure of where I belong and terrified by every step I take. I'm just like Max ... I watch the door with the hope it will open and my life will walk back in.

For all the things I've forsaken over the last couple of months, I think perhaps the most difficult and painful for me has been giving up writing this blog ... or writing much of anything else for that matter. You see, writing has always been the one thing I've been able to do no matter what was going on ... both good and bad ... I've always been able to write. In fact, writing has always been my haven of sorts, my place I could run to ... my place where I knew I belonged. But for the last two months, I've had little to no desire to write anything at all. It's a struggle for me to write now ... for the first time, writing is hard, writing is frightening ... for the first time, I have no desire to write. And that, my friends ... that absolutely scares the living daylights out of me.

I'm amazed by the number of comments the "A Room Without Feathers" post I wrote with my friend has garnered, and I'm astounded by the number of emails and messages I continue to receive. I wish I could tell you that I woke up on New Year's Eve and the cloud of doubt and fear had magically lifted and I was itching to get back to writing. I wish I could tell you that, but it wouldn't be even remotely true. For now, I'm writing because of you ... because of your comments urging me on ... because of my co-writer who encourages me (translation: pushes me) every day to write ... because of my children and my granddaughters ... because of my family ... because of my friends ... because of my life-saving head doctor ... because of you. I'm writing not because of me, but in spite of me ... I'm writing because of you.

I was thinking this afternoon ... sometimes it's right to do something because of someone else, you know. And sometimes each and every one of us needs, deserves and requires some pushing and not-so-subtle persuading to do the right thing. And a lot of times the right thing is most likely the hard thing ... because of you, friends ... I'm writing because of you. 

Flight Risk

Remember last night when I said I was overwhelmed by the response to my joint post with my first-ever guest blogger? You can add about a gazillion notches in the being overwhelmed by the response category today, especially in the sub-category of comments being left on the post itself. It's been true ... puzzling to me, but nonetheless true ... that ever since I began blogging very few people have left comments on my actual blog but have rather chosen to email me or private message me on Facebook. For a long time, I thought perhaps that meant my posts were so terrible people didn't want the public to know they read The Tree House. Then for a long while after I told the truth about who I am, I thought the lack of public comments on my posts was because it's far easier to attack someone in private than it is in public. And recently, I've gone back to thinking that no one comments on my blog because it's not worth the time or energy it would take to leave a comment. So to watch the comments on "A Room Without Feathers" as they've steadily climbed today ... well ... honestly, that's both cool and terrifying to me at the same time. I think it's probably more cool than terrifying, though, so thank you to those of you who are commenting on that particular post and for your supportive and encouraging words.

A great deal of the comments and messages I'm receiving are positive ones directed to my friend who co-wrote the "Feathers" post with me ... in fact, I told her today I feel like I should be a little jealous of her rapid rise to fame among my readers. I was only kidding with her ... I am actually so happy for the way so many of you have responded to her that I asked her to write a solo post tonight, but alas, she said no. She did, however, without even a hint, trace or slight pretext of subtlety tell me numerous times today that I should write this evening ... going so far as to pull the "be nice to your readers" card in combination with the "they need you" and "they miss you" cards. It was her suggestion that she choose the title and subject matter for me to write about tonight that intrigued me enough to cause me to consider posting yet another entry this evening ... that and the fact that I've now heard three different people talk about something I'm very obviously supposed to learn and understand. But ... I meant what I said in last night's post ... please don't interpret my writing tonight to mean I'll be writing again tomorrow or the next day or the next day. No promises on anything right now ... no promises on anything at all.

I think it was the week before Christmas that the minister of the church I've been kind of sort of attending talked about the spirit of giving, and in his lesson, he talked about the most important gifts we can give another person ... our time, our attention, our focus. He talked about making time for people we love ... for our families, our friends, our co-workers. He talked about turning off our phones and being fully engaged when we converse with someone. He talked about the power of focus and of the importance of being completely present and involved in the lives of those around us. He encouraged us to perform a mitzvah ... an act of unconditional love and service toward someone who had wronged us in some way. It was a message I couldn't shake ... a message that has lingered in my mind ever since I heard it ... a message I will carry with me for many years to come ... a message that completely changed my way of thinking ... a message that caused me to stop dead in my tracks and examine my heart in a big, big, big way.

Last Sunday, I went to a different church with a friend from work who's been asking me for quite some time to join him and his family in worship. The church last Sunday is completely different from the other one, so you can only imagine my surprise when the minister last Sunday taught a very similar message to the one I had heard at the other church only a couple of weeks prior. He talked about the necessity of getting small with others ... of getting past the outer, superficial stuff we all cloak ourselves with and getting to the heart and center of who we are. He talked about how critical it is to every relationship in our lives that we be fully present and engaged with those whom we love. He talked about the need for eye contact in every conversation we have ... yep, he said we should look one another in the eye every single time we talk ... nope, I'm not kidding, that's really what he said. He talked about asking questions of others, digging deeper, being truly invested in another person and taking the time to seek out what matters to them. He talked about the absolute necessity for listening ... real listening ... serious listening ... undivided attention listening.

Two very different ministers at two very different churches teaching almost the same identical lesson in two very different ways to a whole bunch of very different people ... unplug and be present in the lives of others ... take the time to learn what is most important to them ... put down your phones and iPads and really, really, really listen to what the people you love and care about are trying to tell you ... talk to each other eyeball to eyeball and not through technology ... see one another ... love one another ... help one another. And then just a few days later, I read the words from my friend in our joint post ... "I choose to take the time for empathy. For listening. For making a difference. I will choose to put down the technology and engage with those I care about." Yep ... I'd say that's a lesson I need to learn alright ... I'd say that's a lesson God is trying to burn into my heart ... I'd say that's a lesson that is probably way more important than I know.

Something the second minister said has been gnawing at me over the last week ... he referred to himself as "a flight risk" and as he explained what he meant, I blinked back the tears because I knew I was guilty of being a flight risk to people in my own life as well. He demonstrated his personal flight risk behavior ... checking his phone while conversing with another person, indicating that text messages, emails, tweets or FB updates are of higher priority than the person sitting across from him ... constantly checking his watch, demonstrating his concern or anxiousness about the amount of time the conversation is taking ... moving away from the person as they speak, signaling that he wishes to exit the conversation ... abandoning the conversation when someone he deems more important or more interesting enters the area, displaying his lack of value or respect for the person who was involved in the original conversation.

That minister stood in front of his large congregation and told them that his friends and family considered him a flight risk when it comes to relationships ... he stood there and said they were correct in their analysis ... he stood there and said he wanted to change his behavior ... he stood there and asked them to forgive him ... he stood there and begged us not to be flight risks to others. I don't know about you, but I'm guilty ... guilty of not being fully present ... guilty of not paying attention to the needs of others ... guilty of not really seeing the people I interact with every day ... guilty of not listening ... guilty of not hearing ... guilty of allowing the tyranny of the urgent keep me from engaging with those whom I love and care about ... guilty of being a flight risk ... and my guess is ... my guess is I'm not the only one.

One feather at a time, friends ... one feather at a time.

To Those of You ...

To say that I'm overwhelmed by your response to last night's post seems so inadequate, and yet overwhelmed is the only word that even slightly approaches how deeply moved I am by the sheer volume of messages I am continuing to receive. I am truly humbled by the kind, supportive and encouraging words of so many, while at the same time deeply saddened by those whose words are filled with hate, judgment and rage. My hope and prayer is that perhaps the new year will bring with it more love and less hate.

To those of you who are sharing the post through email, Twitter and Facebook ... please know that both I and my co-author are appreciative of your desire and willingness to reach out to others with the hope of helping that one someone ... that one someone who desperately needs to know they don't have to sort through their feathers alone. That's been a consistent theme in a lot of the positive messages I've read today, by the way ... people need to know they aren't alone when the feathers are flying ... people need to know the ones who say they care about them really care enough to help them see through the feathers ... people need to know they are loved and valued and appreciated and treasured for who they are and not only for what they do.

To those of you who are asking if last night's post (or tonight's, for that matter) signals my return to daily blogging ... the short answer to that question is no, but the more accurate and detailed answer is that I'm making no promises whatsoever. No promises to continue writing an almost daily post ... no promises to write once in a while ... no promises I'll ever write again. And by the same token, no promises I won't write every day ... no promises I won't write once in a while ... no promises I won't ever write again. I'm making no promises because I take promises seriously ... when I make a promise, I do absolutely everything within my power to keep it. That's why I'm really, really, really careful about making promises ... I don't make promises I'm not sure I can keep.

To those of you who are upset with me for not offering any explanation as to my departure from writing over the last couple of months ... I hope you can accept my apology and know that I am truly, truly sorry for any concern I may have caused. But I would ask that you know this as well ... there are times when the hurt is too deep, too personal, too potentially harmful to others to reveal. My lack of explanation and my failure to provide updates over the last couple of months was due in large part to my commitment to be honest, open, real and transparent in my postings for this blog. Yes, I've had the wind knocked out of me in a big way and that's why I haven't been writing ... sorry, but that's the best I can offer as an explanation.

To those of you who continue to believe in me ... those of you who continue to love me ... those of you who continue to encourage me ... those of you who refuse to give up on me ... those of you who see me for who I really am and stick by me anyway ... there are no words to fully convey the depth of my gratitude. You make me a better person ... you keep me breathing ... you teach me what traveling the journey together really means.

To each and every one of you who are reading these words tonight ... may the new year bring abundant peace and happiness and wisdom and grace into your life ... may you be filled to overflowing with kindness toward one another ... may you remain ever faithful, ever loyal and ever true.

A Room Without Feathers

A young friend asked me a couple of weeks ago if I've been writing over the last two months, if I've been stockpiling posts and had a plan in mind for my spectacular return to blogging. An even greater sadness quickly permeated my already hurting heart as I looked into the young man's kind and gentle eyes and said, "No, my friend ... I haven't written at all." He smiled softly as he replied, "People need you to write, Terrie ... I need you to write ... the world needs you to write ... you need you to write." I tried desperately to blink back my tears as I shook my head and said, "I don't think so, friend ... I think I'm done." Later that evening, I wept for what I didn't tell him ... that over the last weeks I have tried again and again to write ... that I've spent night after night staring at the blank screen before me ... that I was certain my days of writing were over ...that I was convinced I had nothing more to offer anyone. I wept for what I knew but could not say ... that my confidence was gone ... that my spirit was broken ... that I was afraid to write again.

A few days later my very first guest blogger told me she was spending Christmas in the same place where she penned her first guest post ... her first blog post ever in fact. I published her post on December 31, 2012 ... and what a powerful post it was. I suggested she write another guest post to close out 2014 since I knew I wouldn't be writing one myself. She quickly suggested we write a post together, and I quickly replied that she should write alone. That night sleep eluded me as I thought about her words, her suggestion that we write a joint post, her thoughts for possible topics, her not-so-subtle attempt to get me to write again. But even more ... so much more ... I thought about the impact her words have had upon so many of you. I read back through countless emails I've received asking that she guest post more often, telling me of the difference her words and her insight have made in the lives of so many of you. And that's when I knew ... that's when I knew I had to try again ... for you ... for her ... maybe even for me. So settle in and read for a while … though I’m not at all sure about my own words, I am certain beyond any doubt that the words of my friend are well worth reading.


Writing isn't the only thing I've abandoned over the last couple of months ... perhaps the most telling, the most frightening, the most significant of all the things I've abandoned have been my nightly walks with my wiener dog Ollie. As is so often true when the darkness of depression envelops me, I only saw my own sadness and felt my own loss ... I didn't even consider what Ollie was feeling or what he needed. Until my sweet little wiener dog did something he's never ever done before ... until he let me know in no uncertain terms that not going for a walk each evening was absolutely, completely and totally unacceptable in wiener dog land. It was a Friday evening and upon arriving home from work, I flipped on the light in my bedroom to let Ollie out of his kennel. I stood in silence as I looked around my room ... there were feathers everywhere ... feathers on the carpet, feathers on the bed, feathers on the furniture, feathers on the clothes I had tossed on the floor, feathers on the ceiling ... there were feathers everywhere. As I stood there wondering if a flock of chickens had somehow made their way into my room and subsequently exploded, Ollie started barking ... and with each "Mom, you're home ... let me out!!" bark he barked, more and more feathers flew out of his kennel. As I peered at my tail-wagging, feather-covered little hound, I realized what had happened ... Ollie had completely shredded the oversize feather pillow that had been his bed for more than a year. I've been unable to get Ollie's pillow-shredding feather tantrum out of my mind, but only partly because I'm still finding feathers even though I've vacuumed a gazillion times. I can't get the feather episode out of my mind because I can't get the meaning of it ... the deep and powerful meaning of it … out of my heart.

When Terrie first told me about Ollie and the feather incident, the first thing that came to mind is Terrie’s video, “Ears Wide Open?” But because little Ollie can’t talk, this was more of an “Eyes Wide Open” moment. And maybe even an “Eyes and Heart Wide Open” moment. Terrie talks about while in a depressed state, it’s hard to see anything beyond her own sadness. I think that Terrie isn’t alone in this. When many of us go through difficult or troubling times, it’s hard for any of us to see what others are going through. Actually, sometimes it doesn’t even take a difficult or troubling time, there are just times that we’re more focused on ourselves than others.  

It’s hard to admit, but I’ve often been surprised to learn about others’ struggles, as I bet we all have. I’m guilty of interacting with people who I think have it all – thinking that maybe they aren’t dealing with as much, they aren’t as stressed, they don’t have to worry about things to the degree others might. Then, with ears, eyes and heart open, we learn more about others. We learn they are dealing with a lot of worry. It could be that their son has health problems, their aging mom needs daily assistance which is taxing the family, their job isn’t what they hoped, their spouse or partner isn’t being supportive, they found a lump, their partner is out of work, they lost a friend due to a disagreement and so on and so on and so on.

Personally, when I learn of these things, I’m maybe a little embarrassed. Embarrassed that I first thought that they had it all. That they didn’t have things to worry about. Embarrassed that I didn’t take more time to get to know them, to talk, to listen. And then it comes down to, for me anyway – exercising real empathy. Real understanding that everyone has stuff they are dealing with. Because that is a fact:

Everyone has stuff.

I think maybe it’s true that all things happen for a reason, that perhaps there are no coincidences in life. My endeavor to remove the feathers from my physical dwelling place has caused me to think an awful lot about the feathers that reside inside of me … feathers of shame and doubt and guilt and sadness and despair and loneliness and fear and isolation. Just as it seems I will never be able to rid my room of all the feathers left behind by Ollie’s shredding event, it so often seems I will never be able to rid my mind, my heart and my soul of all the feathers left behind from the times when events or words or circumstances tried so desperately to shred my sense of self-worth or belonging or inner peace. My first reaction when I walked into my room that evening and saw the massive feather chaos was anger … my first thought was “This is going to take forever to clean up … this is going to be an impossible task.” I didn’t see the humor in what Ollie had done … I didn’t see the opportunity for some much-needed deep cleaning in my room … I didn’t see that Ollie was trying to help get me back to the trail. When I walked into my room that evening, I only saw chaos … I only saw lots and lots of hard work ahead … I only saw what seemed to me an impossible obstacle to overcome.

Impossible? Or simply the next big challenge in life? Hard work, indeed, but the question is, is it worth it? Is it worth it to feel better, to grow, to become the person you want to be? It is tough, really tough. But worth it for sure. As we face 2015, I’ve been thinking about that impossible task for me. Or maybe it’s a couple of impossible tasks. It’s different for all of us. It could be that yours is to run a marathon, to de-clutter (yikes, that seems impossible for me!), to spend less time thinking about work and more time thinking about how to raise the most incredible little humans. Is it to overcome a fear of public speaking? To lead without reservations? To be confident in decisions that affect your family? Or decisions that affect your work family? To stand up to someone who hasn’t been supportive? To finally speak your mind, even if you know you might lose some support or even friends.

My goal is to think about the impossible task for 2015 – and see if I can make it more possible through a different focus, a different approach, a different point of view. How would my best friend approach it? My dad? My daughter? I can guarantee those would be three very different approaches. What is your impossible? And how can you reframe the situation?

Here’s the thing about feathers … they don’t float through the air or move around unless something or someone disturbs them. It’s when the wind blows and the air starts churning around me … it’s when everything presses in on top of me and screams at me to give up … that’s when feathers fly and that’s when feathers get ruffled. And when all those feathers escape from their cozy, comfortable resting place and start flying around all willy-nilly … well … that’s when I am forced to acknowledge that I’ve got a serious feather problem that’s going to require some serious hard work to fix. I’ve learned that when I’m still … when I’m quiet … when I focus on removing one feather at a time and don’t allow myself to become overwhelmed or intimidated by the enormity of the task before me, that’s when I make the most headway. Healing is the same way, you know … healing of my mind … healing of my heart … healing of my soul takes stillness, quiet, time, patience, determination, courage and strength. Healing takes focusing on one feather at a time … healing takes understanding that feathers can be used for good, for growth, for grace.

I love the thought of one feather at a time. What can I do today to make a difference? To start to make that change? What a perfect time to reflect – the beginning of a new year. What will I do differently this year? What will be my goal for the year? What is my impossible task? And where do I want to be on December 31, 2015? If I have a year to get there, what will I do each month? Each week? Every day? How will 2015 be for me? Or better yet, how will I be in 2015? I get to choose. Sure I’ll have feathers to get through throughout the year, but I choose how I am, how I react, how I grow in 2015. I choose to conquer my impossible. 

A few days after I was absolutely sure I had finally found and removed all of the feathers from my room, I discovered how very wrong I was … feathers are still showing up even now in places I would have never expected feathers to be. It would be easy, you know, to just give up and resign myself to the fact that I will never be able to clean up all the feathers. It would be easy to throw in the towel and acknowledge that I will never again have a room without feathers … to stop trying to remove the feathers that continue to appear … to say it’s too difficult, too time-consuming, too humbling, too impossible to ever have a feather-free room. The truth is I really may not be able to completely rid my room or my heart, mind and soul of every single feather … but if I stop trying … if I give up … I let the feathers win. If I allow the feathers to totally invade my heart … if I allow them to completely consume my mind … if I allow them to blatantly overtake my soul ... then I’ve let the feathers do so much more than win. I’ve let them trample my will to go on … I’ve let them crush my desire to keep fighting … I’ve let them suffocate who I am, who I really, really am … I’ve let them bury the real me.

They say that with meditation, the answers come in the silence. If one can spend time ridding the mind of all of the clutter, answers will come, the answers that are right for me, will come. The feathers flutter away and the truth arrives.

Now for me, this is one of my impossible tasks. Meditation. Calming the mind. Allowing the real thoughts to develop and be brought to the surface. To choose the feathers I want, to be reminded by some of those feathers about what is important in life, and to get rid of the feathers that are bringing me down, not allowing me to be the best version of me.

I read recently that it would be a good thing to choose a word for the new year. I have but a few more hours to decide on the word, but for now, for me, my 2015 word is CHOICE. I make the choices to guide my 2015. To achieve what I hope to achieve by making the choices to be who I want to be. I will choose to take time to meditate. I choose how to face the day. I choose which feathers I pay attention to, and which feathers to discard. I choose to take the time for empathy. For listening. For making a difference. I will choose to put down the technology and engage with those I care about. I will also choose this for my teenagers who might not make this choice!

Choosing the gift of time, and more specifically, meditation, will allow me to more clearly focus on those I love. Choosing to take the time to meditate, and not choosing to sleep for 15 more minutes, will allow me to choose the feathers I want, and rid my mind of the ones I don’t. And you can bet there will be some days that I will certainly choose to sleep in.

What will be your word for 2015? Is it patience? Is it persistence? Is it love? Is it to keep on keeping on (this qualifies for one word in my book)? My word may change throughout the year, but for now, my word is choice. I’m choosing to make 2015 spectacular.

There’s a difference in my response to the feathers in my room now as compared to when they first overtook my place of refuge and retreat. When a feather suddenly and unexpectedly makes an appearance now, I smile. Every time I pluck yet another feather from my bed or my clothes or my furniture or my floor, I see my little Ollie … tail wagging, feathers flying … trying so very hard to remind me of what matters most. I see him reminding me not to quit when life gets hard, not to give up during the shredding, not to stop believing in myself. I see my feathered-covered little wiener dog begging me to remember I can choose … I can choose to love … I can choose to laugh …I can choose to live. Even when the feathers are flying, friends … even when it seems as if the feathers will never stop flying … I can choose.

True Colors

Every now and again, I go online and peruse the articles in my old hometown newspaper, The Chattanooga Times Free Press. Even though I haven't lived there for more than 25 years, somehow reading the stories makes me feel like I still have a connection to what's happening back home. Some of the articles spark memories within my mind of events and places and people from my youth ... memories that are often so vivid, it's almost as if I'm being transported back in time to experience them once again. Like the other day when I read a story about a gate failure on one of the locks at the Chickamauga Dam that has caused a significant disruption to the flow of both commercial and recreational traffic on the Tennessee River. I learned some things about the dam and the lock system as I read ... I had no idea they were 75 years old and in need of some serious repair work. I learned that a proposed new fuel tax to fund the repairs has been quite the political issue in Chattanooga over the past few years.

The moment I clicked on the title to read the story, my mind flew back to all those Sunday afternoons when Daddy would take me to the dam to watch the boats go through the locks ... all those Sunday afternoons when he would patiently answer my repeated questions and quietly explain to me over and over again how the lock system worked. To this day, I can't tell you why I was so fascinated by the process of the boats and barges making their way into the channel, the giant gates closing behind them, the water rising or lowering to allow them safe passage to the other side ... but I can tell you this, it was completely and totally mesmerizing to me and it was one of my favorite things to do when I was a kid. 

My dad was a great storyteller ... the best of all time, in my opinion ... and as we watched the vessels in the locks, he would tell me tales of pirates and ships on the open seas. No one could paint a word picture like Daddy ... I could almost smell the sweat of the sailors and hear the roar of the waves as he spoke. In my mind's eye, I could see the great and mighty ships as they made their way from port to port and country to country. I could picture the pirates with their eye patches and wooden legs and the merchant traders with their fancy clothing and golden treasures. It was in the telling of those stories that I first learned what the phrase "showing your true colors" means ... the phrase was originally a maritime reference that over time made its way into general everyday language.

Back in the days of wooden ships and galleons, flags of color were used to identify a ship's nationality and to signal other ships of its intentions. Flags would have different colors, shapes and designs which conveyed different meanings and were used to aid in communication with other vessels at sea. The original purpose for the flags was meant for good ... an outward and visible system that presumed and expected a certain code of honor and integrity among those who sailed the ships. It didn't take long, however, for humans to do what too often seems to be indicative of their nature and develop a way to ... well ... a way to be less than honest with each other. The captains and crews of the ships learned quickly how to pretend ... how to deceive ... how to pillage and steal ... how to inflict the most possible harm. As sad as that truth is, what is even sadder to me is that it was after the battle had begun ... when things got tough and hard and mean and nasty ... that's when the crew would replace the false flag with the true one. Yep, in the heat of battle ... that's when the ship's true colors were shown.

I'm sure by now you're wondering why in the heck I'm writing about dams and locks and ships and flags ... I probably would be too if I were you. So here's the thing ... the really hard thing I've experienced firsthand over the last week or so ... things haven't really changed all that much since the days of those giant wooden ships, at least not when it comes to people hiding their true colors anyway. Even though I would give my life for it to be different, not everyone plays by the rules ... not everyone is honest ... not everyone is trustworthy ... not everyone is loyal ... not everyone has a sense of honor and integrity ... not everyone is kind. Even though I would give my life to make it not be so, there are people who are just not nice ... people who ... nope, I'm not going there ... suffice it to say there are some people who are just not nice at all.

It's often said that a person's true colors come out during times of stress or pressure or when the battle is raging, but I like to hope that my colors are always true no matter what the circumstances of my life may be. I hope when my life is complete, people will be able to say they saw my true colors in good times and bad ... I hope they can say I flew my true colors at all times. I hope with all my heart that those who know me best, that those who love me most, will be able to say they saw my true colors flying high in every moment I live. I pray that my true colors are those of kindness ... those of compassion ... those of honor and integrity ... those of trustworthiness ... those of openness, honesty, realness and transparency. 

Sorry for such a lengthy post this evening ... I'm taking a break from blogging for a time, so maybe that will make my wordiness tonight seem not quite so bad. In keeping with my sailing theme this evening ... I've had the wind knocked out of my sails this week, and it's time to abandon ship for a bit. It's time to step away and lick my wounds ... time to step away and think ... time to step away and make some very difficult decisions. Even though this post is long, I want to close with some song lyrics ... bet you can't guess which song, eh? Until later, friends, please, please, please take care of each other ... be kind to each other ... talk to each other ... listen to each other ... wipe each other's tears ... delight in each other's laughter ... love each other. May those be your true colors, my dear, dear friends ... and may you always fly them high.


"True Colors" by Cyndi Lauper

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

An Unexpected Guest

Over the weekend, I tackled the daunting task of reading emails and I must say I'm pretty proud of myself ... I read a TON of emails ... a TON. I learned a while back to always bring along some tissues when I plan to spend a significant amount of time attempting to make a dent in reading the multitude of messages I receive, because I know that tears are inevitable. Every now and again, after obtaining permission from the writers,  I share some of the notes I receive in my posts. I knew as soon as I read Sarah's message that I wanted to share her words with all of you with the hope that you will in turn share them with others. When I replied to Sarah with my request to share her message as a guest blog, she asked, "Do you think it will help someone?" I believe with all my heart that your words will help many, many someones, Sarah ... far more someones than you or I will ever know. Grab some tissues, friends ... you'll need them.

"Dear Terrie,

My name is Sarah ---------. I'm not one to comment on blogs or write to people like you but ever since I saw your video for the suicide hotline I keep thinking I need to tell you my story so you will keep telling yours. I stumbled on your video by accident late one night last week and I haven't been able to stop thinking I need to write you. 

Ellie and I were friends for over twenty years, we both worked as nurses at the same hospital and we went to the same church. My husband Jim and I kind of adopted Ellie since she didn't have any family nearby. She was twelve years older than me but nobody ever knew because she had such a youthful heart and spirit about her. Sometimes Jim would tease her about being Mother Hubbard because she had such a way with young people, all the children and even the teenagers loved Ellie. I rarely got to sit with Ellie in church because the high school youth group always begged her to sit with them on Sunday morning. Ellie had an easy laugh, a quick wit, and a big heart. I used to call her duck tape because of the way people would get stuck on her. 

I guess I always knew Ellie was gay even though she didn't tell me until five years ago. There was nothing feminine about her, short hair and I don't ever remember seeing her wear a dress not even to her mother's funeral. Even though we talked about everything and were best friends I never talked to her about her sexuality because it didn't matter to me one way or the other and I figured if she wanted me to know she would tell me. I remember getting so mad when the women at church would speculate if she was gay. I would get mad but I didn't say anything because I didn't want them to talk bad about me for being Ellie's friend. I was happy when Ellie did come out of the closet because I thought it would solve the problem with the church women but it didn't.

After Ellie said she was gay a lot of her friends disowned her even though her family loved her like always. I worried alot about her that first couple of years because she got depressed and had to put up with a lot of hate and unkind things being said to her and leaving the church. She got through all that bad time though because she was a fighter and was the strongest person I knew. She had some rough times after that of course but I thought she was finally coming into her own self and she seemed happy enough. She always talked about wanting to go on a gay cruise but that she wasn't brave enough to go alone. Like I said Ellie was part of our family and so Jim and I decided to give her a cruise for Christmas last year and that I would go with her. We went in May and I had lots of fun getting her dates with women on the cruise and seeing her get to have the freedom of being herself without anyone judgeing her.

On August 14th Ellie went home after eating dinner at our house for her 59th birthday and killed herself with an overdose of sleeping pills. Everyone keeps telling me its only been two months but I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not seeing that she wasn't ok. I ask myself everyday why I didn't pay more attention to the little things she said and why I didn't ask more questions about how she was doing. I'll never know why she killed herself that night and I replay our last goodbye over and over. We always hugged and said I love you when we said goodbye just like I do with my husband, parents, sons, and sisters. Ellie hugged me longer than usual that night when I said I love you. 

After I found your video I found your blog and have been reading it everyday. You have a special gift in your writing Terrie and I hope you keep doing what you're doing because I know you're helping people. I wish Ellie could have read your blog and seen your video. I know you get lots of messages so you may never read this but if you do I want to say thank you. I'm trying to make sense of Ellie's death and know what to do and I know it may sound strange but I think finding your video and blog are connected somehow to my healing process and helping others who are left behind after suicide.

God bless you Terrie and thank you.

Sarah"

May God bless you, dear Sarah ... may He bless you and comfort you and keep you safe. Thank you for being brave enough to share your story ... you've helped many, many people tonight ... many, many, many people, my sweet friend.

  

The Grouchy-less Camel

The circus ... boy, did I love going to the circus when I was a kid. It's a toss-up as to who was more excited when the circus came to town each year, me or Daddy. He would always stand in line to buy our tickets ahead of time at the Memorial Auditorium box office so that we would get good seats. I know it's hard for you young folks to believe, but there was no such thing as Ticketmaster back then ... you had to physically go to the place where an event was scheduled to be held to buy tickets. Daddy would never admit that he enjoyed going to the circus as much as I did, but I can distinctly remember the extra-special twinkle in his eye when he would come home with the tickets emblazoned with the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus logo and their famous tag line "The Greatest Show on Earth." He would flash the tickets in front of my eyes and say, "How about me and you go to the circus, Sam?" and I would squeal with excitement. It would be years later before I came to understand that it wasn't Daddy's love for the animals or the clowns or the trapeze artists that caused him to spend his hard-earned money on circus tickets for the two of us ... it was his overwhelming love for me.

I recall on one of our adventures to the circus, Daddy somehow managed to wrangle us a special behind-the-scenes visit, and oh my gosh, was I ever over-the-top excited. I talked about nothing else for two weeks prior to the circus, peppering Daddy with question after question after question about what we would get to see. I was especially focused on the animals, two species in particular ... the elephants and the monkeys. When Daddy told me our backstage tour included a ride on an elephant and a chance to hold a monkey and have my picture taken, I was most certainly the happiest kid on the planet ... until the day arrived and we were actually there. My excitement was immediately replaced with terror ... elephants are really, really, really big and monkeys pull little kids' hair and make them cry. No, really, seriously, totally true story ... I learned quickly that day that elephants are bigger than the biggest skyscrapers and monkeys have a very real fetish for hair-pulling. What began as my dream adventure that day dissolved into me alternating between hiding behind Daddy's legs and clawing my way up into his arms. I wouldn't even look at the animals, and I refuse to talk about what happened when the clowns tried to talk to me ... just trust me when I say that it wasn't at all pretty, and Daddy certainly never took me backstage at the circus again.

Last night, I went to a party ... nope, you didn't misread that statement ... last night, I went to a party. An extremely kind and generous person (who attended the event a couple of weeks ago when I spoke alongside my good friend Nate Phelps) had an extra place at her table and invited me to attend. The theme for the event was Midnight at the Oasis ... black tie creative attire, five-course dinner and a plethora of entertainers who transformed the event space into an oasis any sultan would be proud to call his or her own. Seriously ... there was a snake charmer, a henna tattoo artist, a magician, a fire eater who walked on pieces of glass, belly dancers and ... wait for it ... a real live camel. I'm not kidding ... there was a real live beer-drinking, kiss-stealing, tail-wagging camel at the party. Daddy would have been so overwhelming proud of me because not only did I pet the camel's furry neck, I had my picture taken with the snake charmer dude while he had two freaking gigantic snakes draped across his shoulders.

Now here's the thing ... I had a cruddy few days last week, as you know if you read my previous post. Add my lousy mood to my nervousness about going to the party last night, and you get one really grouchy Terrie. I was so grouchy, in fact, that I snapped at one of my close friends, and anyone who knows me well knows that it's really rare for me to pop off like that at anyone and certainly not at one of dearest friends. Thank God my friend is a loving, caring and forgiving person who immediately accepted my apology with her ever-present style of patience and grace ... followed by a text message a little later that said, "Have fun, relax and be yourself. When you're not grouchy, you're very fun to be around." That's a truly good friend, you know ... one who is quick to forgive me when I behave like a jerk and equally as quick to let me know that grouchiness doesn't look so good on me. And she's right ... she's always right.

I've thought a ton today about the camel from the party ... about how majestic and calm she was, and about how much it made me smile as I watched her drinking beer from someone's glass. I realized something as I was walking with Ollie this evening ... the camel was nice to every single person who approached her, no anxiety, no aggressive behavior, no grouchiness at all. All that camel had to do last night was be kind to everyone she met and lighten their spirits ... well, that and be photographed about a bazillion times. I watched as person after person rubbed the camel's neck and had their picture taken with the camel who loved every single one of them just the same. Actually, she seemed to love the people most who had a glass of beer that they were willing to share. I had a great time at the party, by the way ... the people welcomed me with open arms and open hearts, and I loved hearing their stories about their own journeys.

So here's to generous people who share of their money, their talent and their time ... to honest friends who forgive quickly but don't let me off the hook ... to the healing power of love and laughter ... and to camel fur ... here's to grouchy-less camels and their soft golden fur.

  

I Just Can't Do It Today

Ever have one of those days when the minute you wake up your first thought is, "I just can't do it today"? The "it" in that thought isn't one particular "it," by the way ... it's all the "its" that make life ... well ... life. I'm abundantly thankful that I don't have nearly as many of those days as I used to ... those "I just can't do it today," days ... days when it takes every ounce of strength I can muster to find the want and the will to make it through the day ... days when it would be so much easier to let the beast win ... days when I feel completely invisible and insignificant ... days when that invisibility and insignificance, whether real or imagined, threatens to consume me. While it's frustrating beyond belief that I still have those days from time to time, I'm so very, very, very grateful they aren't every day anymore ... seriously, abundantly, overwhelmingly grateful.

As much as I hate to admit it, today has been one of those days ... all freaking day long ... from the moment I woke up, it's been a "I just can't do it today" day. I spent my workday hiding out in my cube, headphones on, hunkered down at my desk. When I did have to venture out of my safe spot to return work to the project managers, I took the back stairs, kept my head down while I handed them the job jackets and got back to my chair as quickly as I could. I hate these kinds of days, you know ... these days when the tears stand ready to burst forth at any moment ... these days when everything in me screams that I don't belong ... these days when believing there is anything worthy or good or right in me is seemingly impossible ... these days when my mind aches from the incessant beat of hurt and despair. 

I knew I needed to go for a long, silent walk this evening ... I told myself all day that I needed a slow, meandering, completely alone with my dog, thinking walk this evening. When I'm having an "I just can't do it today" day and I don't want to see or talk to anyone, I walk my sidewalk route rather than my trail route. On my sidewalk route, I walk up the sidewalk to the back parking lot of the high school, cross the lot and walk along the drive that leads to a main road, cross the road and walk around behind the parking garage of a large company and eventually end up back on the sidewalk that leads me home. The only people I generally encounter on my sidewalk route are occasional students from the school, and it's rare that the kids ever even notice or acknowledge my presence. My sidewalk route usually provides quite the solitary path for my evening walk, perfect for nights like tonight when I needed to do nothing more than walk and think, and think and walk.

It's not unusual for me to contemplate what I'll write about in my posts while I'm out walking ... in fact, some of my best thoughts come to me while Ollie and I are taking our nightly strolls. But tonight, even though I tried desperately to stumble upon some semblance of brilliance to share with you, there was only one thought that returned again and again and again ... "Open. Honest. Real. Transparent." If you've been reading along with me for a while, those words are familiar ones to you ... those words are the foundation of the commitment I made to myself for the writing of this blog, and those words are the defining truths of the person I most desire to be. Open. Honest. Real. Transparent. And to be truly open, honest, real and transparent means writing from my heart ... even when my heart is having one of those "I just can't do it today" days. 

Now that I think about it ... maybe those are the days when being open, honest, real and transparent in what I write is most important of all ... those "I just can't do it today" days ... those days when I feel hopeless, friendless, meaningless, worthless, loveless. Want to know why I think that? Because there are millions of people who feel exactly the same way ... people who need to know they aren't alone in the fight.

Remember that the "I just can't do it today" days won't last forever. So limp if you have to ... crawl if you must ... drag yourself if you need to ... but don't ever quit, friends ... don't you ever, ever, ever quit.