Every Woman is Powerful
I believe that every woman is powerful, and just needs to explore her inner strengths. This is a story of an ordinary woman who opened her eyes in the very normal middle class family, where no women was allowed to seek/find and or explore her abilities to challenge the family norms and traditions against women.
I first recognized my inner strength at age 13 when I started my social activism. I wanted to challenge the inhumane behaviors of men of the family against women and girls, many who were being forced to kill their dreams and desires on the name of family honor. These women had no say in the family matters. They didn’t have permission to decide things for themselves, or and make decision regarding their own education, employment, marriage or sexuality. The men of the family decided everything for them.
When she was just 15, one of my female cousins was forced to marry a man three times her age. Her voice wasn’t heard by members of my family even when she tried to resist. Yet all of the women of the family were silent.
I knew I had to do something.
This terrible incident broke something within me but also made me feel empowered enough to talk to my mom and other women of the family. I tried to convince them to speak against this terrible thing that was happening to my cousin but she asked me to stop and bear everything silently and accept it as a tradition of our family.
Few days later, i had to face the similar situation, which I refused to accept and my whole family started blaming my mother for this as till that time we were only four sisters, and on every single thing my mother had to bear the blame for only producing girls. We had nowhere to turn, and I finally convinced mother to take action. She took my sisters and me away, rented a house and started working as domestic worker to feed us. I admire her for her strength and courage, and this changed me, showing me that every woman is powerful enough to speak out against injustice.
In 2004, I started a theater group called Chanan Theater Group (now called Chanan Development Association), a national youth-led organization to raise awareness and educate women and girls about their basic and fundamental rights in my community. My group become the part of a national civil society campaign against Hadood Laws and other discriminatory laws against women in Pakistan. Through this campaign, we reached over 300,000 women, girls, and youth to raise awareness about these laws against women and to encourage them to become the agents of change within their families and communities to stop them.
Many people are inspired by this idea of using theater to raise awareness on such issues to stop violence and discrimination against women and girls. Many women become activists against child and forced marriages, and even saved many lives by spreading the messages about women’s rights, girls education, right to employment, etc.
Until August 2009, I had no ability to express myself in the general public other than theater. That was how I found my voice, but there were limits for me. I wanted to find power within me to explore my own abilities and passion to take my vision even further.
In 2009, I attended the International Congress on AIDS in Asia and the Pacific (ICAAP) in Bali, Indonesia. I was there for more than 10 days, and I barely spoke a single word in front of other people because I felt low and incapable to speak in front of public, and especially in English. I was also keeping myself away from the public and wasn’t able to grab opportunities to grow in the development field, I never applied for any event because I always thought that I might not be able to express me and my work in English Language as I never went to formal school due to financial constraints and did all my studies as private candidate.
But while coming back home, I realized that there were so many people like me who have had similar experiences and are doing the same type of work. If they can communicate, speak and express themselves then why not me? It was the movement of my life when I decided to seek my inner abilities and find myself to not only express things for me but for others as well.
#YoungWomenSay is a collaboration between Say It Forward and The Torchlight Collective in support of International Youth Day (#IYD2016). This campaign features blogs from incredible young women from around the world about their experiences overcoming adversity.
We invite you to follow Say It Forward on Twitter and follow The Torchlight Collective on Facebook, Twitter and #TheTorchlightCollective
Crawling out the dark
First of all, i want to thank every single soul that takes the time to read my story.
i also want to start out by making clear it truly IS possible for anyone to start making change for the better, if you truly want it.
My intentions of posting my story here is to inspire others and help them recognize who they are and what they really want in this life.
Stay with me here, i’m gonna start from the beginning of my spiritual journey and its gonna be a bit depressive and not really all happy feelings, but ive realized i’ve needed every ”painful” experience was in fact a lesson i needed to learn to become the best version of myself.
The first 12/13 years of my life i was a really happy kid, There was really not much in this world that could keep me down, it is in those years i feel like i have really bonded with my inner self even though i did not realize it at this age, reflecting back on those years of my life has learned me many things.
These times also allowed me to greatly bond with my mother for wich i am forever grateful, My dad being a football/soccer coach and my 2 brothers playing in the team, they would never be home and my dad wouldn’t really look at me because he was focussed on my 2 brothers and their sports, so it was mostly me and my mom, my mom being a chronic fatigue patient made it difficult for her to always give me te attention and playtimes i wanted as a kid, There was a real sense of understanding how others felt really early in my life that just accepted it and starting figuring things out on my own, so i learned myself how to ride a bike, and this is where my love for the world really started to grow, once i was able to ride my bike to whatever place my heart desired was really amazing.
Now i wanna look back to my school times, My primary education was amazing and horrible at the same time, for some reason i was really really loved by those kids. i was the most popular boy in my school for 6 years literaly having people follow me around at all times. Then once i turned 13 i went to secundary education, This is where things really started to turn bad, it was like entering a whole new world where i really didnt mean anything, i went from the most loved person in my school to a nobody in a new one, From being one of the most loved kids, to a kid no one cared about, at this age and time it really crushed my soul..not understanding what went so wrong, this really started messing with my head and it made me feel really stressful and lonely, it was at this time my journey really started.
I would stay home from school a lot because i HATED every second of being there, and by staying home the kids/teachers started throwing insults towards me, saying i’m just a lazy kid that doesnt even try to fit in and all that, i’ll never forget some of the things grown up teachers have told me, on the other hand i am happy it happend the way it did because this triggered my self growth, i finished my 1st year there and then swapped schools because the teachers became way to much for me, next school same thing happend, swap school again, same thing happend.
At this point of my life i was about 15/16 years old at this time, truly lost in a dark place. i can’t even begin to write down all of the negative and dark thoughts my mind were creating in these times, at this point of my life it was clear something was getting worse, i would always feel tired no matter how much rest i had, always felt depressive, turning to docters who just pointed me around saying “you just don’t wanna go to school”
my dad telling me it’s all in my head, all those docters/teachers telling me it’s just in my head, really made me doubt the way i felt and it made me not listen to myself, after a lot of struggling with this we went to a new docter, and finally for the first time i really felt like she actually listened to me and understood me, not just saying i’m tired of school but actually recognizing a problem, after some serious time of being depressive and struggling with this, They came to the conclusion, i am also a chronic fatigue patient, When the doctor told me this i really didnt know how to feel, in a way i was really happen he said it because now atleast i knew what was going on was not just in my head..or was it? on the other hand i felt really sad because i would be stuck with it for the rest of my life. It was at this point, the age of 16 i completely dropped out of school because it was rather impossible to attend every class and learn while being this tired and depressed, after long searching we found a way i could work on a farm for 3 hours a day, 4 days a week, This was awesome for me as i really love farmwork and animals etc etc, yet i didnt feel happy, being in a very very toxic relationship wich is a whole other story on its own, it just didnt feel right, but i stuck with it till the day i turned 18 years old, i quit the job and started sitting at home, figuring out what i wanted to do with my life, it was also at this time i had ended the toxic relationship, i should add me being with this girl that didn’t really allow me to see anyone besides her/dropping out of school made me lose everyone i ever had, when i ended the relationship it was really just me ready for some good things, i totally loved the freedom i had, i would go partying, drinking, smoking and all those things..After 1 year of doing this, discovering Cannabis and other drugs, it became boring very quickly and i realized this is really NOT why i am here on this planet, It made me really confused because this 1 year was the most amazing time i’ve had in forever and yet it didn’t make me feel complete, I started noticing the friends you make while out partying really don’t care about you at all, once stop you going out, they will forget you in a blink, this made me really confused and sad again because i had thought i really found happiness and it didn’t last. it was at this point i got a pretty bad Cannabis addiction. I’m 19 at this point, the Cannabis addiction got me rounded up around some pretty messed up souls, doing other hard drugs, ive experienced with them, and got into a 3 month like addiction/crisis with ampethamines, The first 2 weeks were just so amazing, this burden of always being tired was totally gone, i felt good i felt happy but after 3 weeks of it, i stopped feeling the euphoria and active mood, Coming down from it was the absolute worst. i felt like i hit 3 times deeper than rock bottom, completely lost, lonely, knowing i had to stop this and get my act together. Being awake for 100+ hours at times completely isolated in my room ive started reflecting on every litle thing that had happend, not understanding how this could get so out of hand so quickly, i felt deeply ashamed for being me..untill at some point it just turned,
in all those last years i’ve read a lot about spirituallity and other things, living by those quotes and all but not really living by them..you know what i mean? its like i had the wisdom to get better but i just never really let it into my life,fighting every feeling i felt, 100% focused on the negative, I’ve always been very very highly sensative and i’ve always had this feeling like, i don’t know how or when, but i will change the world for the better. i truly care for animals and people more than anything this world, Now i got so far off this road, that i couldn’t even see how it would be possible to change for the better. years and years of negative thinking, reading bad things, feeling horrible feelings it felt like i would never be able to be possitive again, like it was hardwired in my brain and the damage was done, Yet there still was this overwhelming feeling of “you will make it through this, you will change for the better” like something in the universe that wouldn’t give up on me even though i had already given up on myself. This feeling i really allowed to enter my mind,body and soul. it was at this point everything that had happend in my life, had a reason, those hard times many of wich i didn’t actually cover in this story because it is not the point, many of those hard times where in i’ve always asked myself, what have i done to deserve this? i have good intentions and i want to help and change people, why is this what i am getting in return? Reflecting back on this i am in a way ashamed of how much of my misery i created myself by focussing on it, instead of focussing on what i really want in my life. But i accept everything that has happend, every insult thrown towards me, every experience that made me feel really sad, i love and appreciate those things because without them, i wouldn’t be the person i am today.
This is somewhat my story, not everything that has happend in my life has been covered in it for some reaons.
Anyway now the part i am most excited about, HELPING YOU!
1. being lost : For any lost soul, not knowing how to get out this dark night, feeling they really never will fit in, completely lost in this world, you CAN change.
Reflect back on everything that has happend to you in the past, every feeling that you pushed away because you didn’t want to feel it, ALLOW them in your body/mind/soul, feel those feelings, try to look what those experience want to learn you! This is gonna be really weird for some people, but the experiences that hurt you and you totally ignored it, those are OPEN wounds in your soul. Talk to your inner child, tell them its okay and that they ARE loved and that you WILL make it through anything life throws at you, get the connection with your inner child back, I felt really stupid doing this but i was stunned by the effects it had on my mood and overal happiness, Once you see the bigger picture and the ways of the universe shaping you it truly becomes so beautiful, accept what you are, visualize what you want to become and become it.
2. Law of attraction / quantum physics : the law of attraction is absolutely amazing and i feel should be known and practiced by anyone walking this planet, You need to truly visualize what you want in your life, what you want to attract to you, and FULLY believe it, if you believe it for 99% only it won’t come to you! you need to really feel it, smell it, live it..all in your imagination. Pointing back to what i said earler about everything being in my head..”or was it?” this made my realize i shaped my own reality back when i was 13-18, i had always focussed on the negative, sending out negative thoughts into the world that came back to me and shaped my reality, no matter how good your intentions are, it your vibrating on a low frequency this it was you will attract. PLEASE REFLECT ON THIS.
3. Kill the EGO: start loving yourself, this was really hard for me as my thought process always went “i dont give a **** about this life anymore, in my eyes i’m already burried.” right don’t do that, you ARE worth it, just as every other living thing on this planet! start telling yourself you CAN do it and you deserve happiness just as much as anyone else! instead of checking your phone when you wake up, take 5 simple minutes to tell yourself this, that you are grateful for the gift of life, love yourself people. this has an insane effect on your mood, starting the day in a positive way is very underrated.
4. Be aware of what is happening around you: When you are a highly sensitive person like myself, you will get overwhelmed by other people’s feelings and thoughts, be aware that this energy and feelings are NOT yours! just take them in on a neutral level, think about it and see what you want to do with them. but whatever you do, DONT let them overwhelm your own feelings and energy. this was very important for me.
i think this is everything i have to tell you for now, I just wanted to do this to inspire others to do the same, it truly is possible. after 5 years of not being happy for 1 full day i’ve become the happiest i have ever been in my life and i’m feeling very loved and energized and inspired. now i want to spread this into the world by sharing my story.
I want to say thank you for taking the time to read this, even though my english is not very good!
Sending love to all of you, Be the change you want to see. tell yourself you are worth it, and spread love.
thanks so much to all of you
I am thriving in spite of everything which told me I shouldn’t
I am amazing because I am thriving in spite of everything which told me I couldn’t.
Hi there, I’m 23 and a masters student, and had you asked me a few years ago if I thought I’d be in the position I am in today, I’d have laughed at you. I am the victim of childhood abuse, sexual, physical and emotional. Every adult in my life reinforced this idea that I was nothing, that I would always be nothing. I wasn’t good for anything except being abused. Even the people who were specifically meant to help me told me that I was aiming too high, I told a support person at college that I wanted to do my degree in psychology, she told me to look into being a librarian instead because psychology would be too hard. Last July, I graduated with a top end degree in psychology and started a masters in wellbeing and mental health. And I have days where I still feel like I am nothing, but I am thriving.
I thought that after the abuse I would never have a normal, healthy relationship. This year I celebrate 6 years with my partner, we live in our own place and have our own life. I could have turned cold to the world at large, but I never did, I have compassion for everyone I meet in life. I found the most amazing friends and made them family. I am naturally drawn to people whose family situations are less than ideal, yet we all seemed to muddle together and create our own and show love to each other in the ways that each of us deserves, and if that is not strength on all of our parts I don’t know what is.
This year, I finally decided that I would start sharing my story as often as I can on the off chance that it might provide someone else with hope. I have bad days. I have days where I feel angry and bitter and weak about everything that I have had to go through to get where I am, but like the wildflower that grows in all the places people think it shouldn’t, I am growing and I am thriving and I am a strong woman, and I stand with all other strong women out there, even the ones who don’t see their strength yet.
To Overcome
Live every day!! We get caught up in things that do not deserve our attention!! I’m a person that the world is throwing away because of accusations. Many days go by and I want to be angry because of the Injustice done to me but I have to remember that is the peace inside that is important!! Search for that piece He will carry you through the toughest times in your life!! Good people are getting harder to find they are rare and beautiful become one and you will be fulfilling what God’s purpose is for all of us!! Please continue and try to listen because this is how we learn greatness!!
The perfect size
Everybody has different Opinions on life and face different problems. Each individual feels his/her problem is the biggest. Same way today i will take through my life and problems i am facing. Your judged by people everywhere and your judged by the way get ready, your weight, your friends etc. And in my case my weight was the biggest problem for me and people around me. My weight does not let me wear clothes i want because people judge you. My weight does not let me dance because i am huge and the stage might break(they say it), my weight does not allow me to wear short dresses as my big fat thighs are seen. and at this point of time i started to ask myself am i not allowed to live my life the way i want just because i am fat? I was fat from a very young age back then people had no problem but 2 years back we came to know that i had PCOD. and then they started, everyone i knew and everyone i did not know started to give me tips and tricks to lose weight. my parents said no junk only fruits and i was surrounded by rules, diet, tips,excercise. Having PCOD i had a surgery to remove the cyst from my body. after 1 month of rest my weight lose journey started and i also with full determination did do it and lost 8kgs in 2 months but my thoughts had stopped me it was asking me only if your thin will you be given respect and not be judged and called names by people. so i stopped all of it. and gained all that 8kgs back(it was a mistake) but i realized it now but why did i stop was because i wanted to know only do looks have more importance than your heart But by me stopping my diet and excercise i had to face other body problems but that’s just because i had PCOD but what about those who don’t have. Because of being fat i am even scared to make new friends because i have a feeling they will somewhere somehow point out my weakness. but i think i am stronger than before actually those names, tips and restrictions gave me anger at first and made me cry a lot i mean a lot but also made me stronger and made me realize that i have to change and can only if i want to and now i have the belief and strength to do it and i not doing it because they commented or called me names but because i want to be healthy. after all i have gone through so much that i came to a point where i want to change and can change and life has thought me one more thing DON’T CARE ABOUT THOSE WHO JUDGE YOU BY YOUR CLOTHES, WEIGHT, COLOUR. Love your self. You are beautiful just the way you are, change only if you want but not for those who are just arrive into life to see you cry.
My life’s a miracle
Nov 24th 2017 I got into a very bad car accident, that gave me brain injury And left me into a coma for at least 2 days. My car was flipped over and everyone around me thought I died. I’m telling everyone this story because I believe everyone should keep their faith in the lord . Because god blessed me with a 2nd chance at life.they said I wouldn’t remember my family they also said there wasn’t a lot I was going to remember but I remember almost everything !! I woke up with no pain in my body or anything. I had no broken bones from the car accident so I wasn’t paralyzed or anything!! I believe the lord sent an angle to wrap their wings around me in that car accident.i praise and thank the lord for what he did for me so I pray faithfully now to thank him for what he has done for me. I also had love around me always my mother and my boyfriend ALWAYS stood their by my side they watched me and made sure I was safe and had the best care in the hospital.they prayed and also kept their faith in the Lord I’m glad they did🙏🏻🙏🏻 I also thank them for everything they did as well there is no way I can repay them.Ladies..this is advice for you don’t go out looking for Love always have HIGH standards! I have been with my boyfriend since I was 13 years old I am now 18. He’s gave me everything I wanted and never cheated on me ever he was sent to me by the lord himself. He traveled from work to my hospital bed everyday he also bathed me brushed my teeth and traveled from TN to GA when I moved from the hospital in Memphis to Atlanta. He drove to stay with me through thearpy and also to make sure I was ok every second of the day. He helped me improve always and he Still does.he has done a lot for me and I’m very thankful for him I love him deeply. my mom she kept praying to god for me she took notes and she held my hand threw this obstacle in life she was always there when I needed her I love her deeply and thank god for her! Keep your faith everyone god is real. Don’t ever doubt him
Disability
I was born with a disease that leaves most kids unable to walk, unable to stand. I am very lucky. I was able to walk and to run, almost like any other child, almost.
Growing up my biggest fear is to wake up one morning unable to walk. Wake up and find out I’m paralyzed waist down. At some point I was terrified.
Mentally it was the worst for me. Everytime we went to the doctor – which was so often I felt like I saw doctors more often then my family, I would see children that could’ve been me. It could’ve been me in the wheel chair. I wouldn’t let my mother know. She still doesn’t know my biggest fear as she is a single mom and I don’t want to bother her. I’m amazed by the strength she put into me. You won’t even be able to understand the amount of energy all these medical procedures require. The doctors said I wouldn’t grow in size unless we did an operation on my back and it was a success.
I’m trying to see it now as a blessing.
Yes, I can’t do many things that normal teens can do, but I am so lucky. I have a gift , against all the odds, I can walk. I can run through the fields , I can swim and jump and even almost skip. Please be grateful that you are able to do such things. Because many kids don’t have the chance. Please.
Stranger Rape
I was raped 7 months ago. The man who raped me was never caught.
I am 17 years old.
I am not even close to being okay.
My “friend” Lindsey decided to invite 2 dudes over to her house. One happened to be her boyfriend while the other one was just a friend of the boyfriend.
she left me alone in the room with him.
it was that day that I knew not every friend you have will always be a “best,” one. I have not been able to tell anyone about my story yet. Only my parents and close relatives know. It is rather embarrassing.
I have been going to counseling sessions every since that night and I still can not get the thought of that man on me out of my head. The smell of his alcoholic breathe, his scent, his chain. It wont leave me. I can’t sleep at night knowing that he hasn’t been caught yet. Makes me think he will come again. I feel like if I sleep I am going to wake up with him on top of me again.
The memories of these types of things never go away. But, I want all of you to know that you do have a voice. Please use it when you see and or hear something about someone or something.
I wanted to share a little bit of my story just for everyone to know that just when something bad happens, it does NOT mean you have to stop fighting. Live your life.
My story
Growing up was not always easy. From an early age (4) I had to fight battles never intended for a child. I never knew my father,my mother was married 14 times, relocating every 3 months. At 5, me and my older brother was taking away by social care for abondenment. It was an adjustment at first, but I became indepent very young and had being placed at different foster families with the best memories. For 6 years no contact from family, and then out of the blue she reappears, claiming us. Worst day of my life. 2 days home broke my ankle had to hide it from social services, being put in a hostel 50ks from home. I had development problems and could not climb stairs at age 11, guess what, I was the joke all year round. At 16 years she dissapeared again, but now we were to old for social care services. What I learned from this, You can’t rely on family and have to fight to keep alive. Today I have my own family and is grateful for my struggles, without them I could never be as blessed as I am today. Never lose hope.
From Cancer to Pregnancy
I certainly did not know when my husband and I got married in September 2016 that our lives, and marriage, would so quickly change. Just a little after we celebrated 2 months of marriage, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Words like “hysterectomy” and “adoption” were thrown out by my medical team and I felt such terrible despair. I kept thinking, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to go”. My husband and I were referred by my oncologist to a reproductive endocrinologist to determine what my options were. I was left with 3: the first of which was a less invasive procedure which may have given me the opportunity to carry children but with very high risk or miscarriage or pre-term birth. The second, I could undergo rounds IVF so that our children could be carried by a gestational carrier after a hysterectomy. The third, a hysterectomy and then adoption.
My husband and I had many discussions about our family’s future. We said many times that there are different ways to make a family, so we began researching adoption while we hurriedly underwent 2 rounds of IVF. We opted for the IVF before we even knew what we were doing, but time was not on our side. My cancer was aggressive, and we needed to make a decision. During my 1st round of IVF, and based on the recommendation of my oncologist, we decided on a radical hysterectomy which was scheduled for just 7 weeks later.
I shared the news of my cancer and the decisions we faced with my best friends. The next day, Heather asked if I would call her because she wanted to talk to me about something important. During our call, she said that months before, she had felt the desire to be a surrogate. She felt a calling and that she could help someone deserving to have a family. When she found out our news, she knew she was right. She offered to be our surrogate and I was overcome with emotion. I couldn’t believe that someone would be so wonderfully selfless to offer my husband and I the ability to have our own children.
Heather and I met in September 2001, in Park Hall of The Ohio State University. We very quickly became friends, spent time with each other’s families, and significant others. We were roommates beginning with our sophomore year and ending with our senior year. Though I moved to Florida after graduation, we stayed close. I was honored to be a bridesmaid in her wedding to her wonderful husband, Jeremy, in July 2007. Together, they created a beautiful life. Their eldest daughter Macy is a generous, empathetic child who is the spitting image of her mother in both nature and looks. Samantha arrived 2 years later, and is a fun-loving, observant little girl who took on her father’s sly smile. She is my goddaughter and I adore her. Heather has been by my side through many relocations for work, even visiting me out in the dead of winter while I lived in Green Bay, Wisconsin. After I met Jarrod, my soon-to-be husband in 2015, she celebrated our growing love with me. Heather stood with us as a bridesmaid on our wedding day. Though we live in Cleveland, Ohio and she lives in Columbus, we see each other as often as possible. Trips to Put-in-Bay, Hocking Hills and Punta Cana continue to nourish our friendships and feed our strong bond.
Many people know what surrogacy is, but aren’t familiar with what is truly involved nor the medical terminology. Jarrod and I certainly didn’t before we were thrust into this world! After the rounds of IVF, we had 5 embryos. It wasn’t as many as we would have hoped but we still had options, which made us incredibly grateful. It took several months after my hysterectomy before I really felt that I was back to myself in any way. It was the difficulty of losing my ability to carry children but also the unknown of our future that continued to loom over my head. Heather, Jeremy, Jarrod and I kept our future plans quiet as there were so many unknowns, and the more people that knew, the more we would possibly have to tell if it didn’t all work out. We began the first steps in June, which required Heather to undergo a medical exam by our reproductive endocrinologist’s team to ensure that she could again carry a baby to full-term. During that same visit, we all met with a psychologist to review potential difficult decisions that we may have to face as a foursome in this journey. If the baby is diagnosed with a birth defect, would we terminate the pregnancy? We all agreed that we would not. Jarrod and I would love our child no matter what. Heather and Jeremy had to answer a 500+ Scantron questionnaire to assure that they were also psychologically prepared for their role. We received the green light from the medical team and moved to the next step: legal.
Both the intended parents (Jarrod and me) and the carrier (Heather and her husband) needed legal representation in order to essentially draft a contract saying that the child was Jarrod and mine. It felt so cold and read exactly like you’d expect a contract to. It made me even more thankful for my relationship with Heather because we have always been able to speak so candidly with each other. Even before we got this far, we had talked about everything that was covered in the contract: how many embryos would be implanted, what would we do if the baby was diagnosed with a congenital disease and ultimately, what would we do if we weren’t able to get pregnant this way at all. So, while the contract process took a bit of the romance out of this process, the four of us had very open conversations about what we would include. Finally, the contracts were created be our respective attorneys and now we could actually try to get pregnant!
People see in the movies the unpleasantness that follows when a woman has to inject hormones into her body to try to get pregnant. I don’t think people realize just how long this goes on. Heather began injections in August to prepare for the transfer at the end of the month. If we got pregnant, she would have to continue to inject herself with a substance that looked like maple syrup every night until the 11th week of pregnancy. That is definitely commitment! The transfer would take place on August 31. She was fully open to having two embryos transferred which would increase the odds of achieving pregnancy, recognizing that twins may be a possibility. Even so, we had about a 45% chance of getting pregnant at all, and twins were a 30% chance separate from that.
The day of the transfer, the four of us were nervous, held hands and just tried to be positive and take it all in. We went to lunch afterward, talked about what could be, and just enjoyed the time together. I had purchased a handful of pregnancy tests for Heather but the nurse had said to wait about 10 days before we’d see anything. Sweet, impatient Heather called me about 7 days later and said she couldn’t wait and had gone through all of them. I couldn’t stop from laughing. She had gone in for blood testing and the HCG levels (a hormone which a woman produces when pregnant) were increasing as we would have hoped! Finally, on September 14, the doctor confirmed: we were pregnant!
I couldn’t believe it. I was so excited, I wanted to go out and buy everything baby. But, I had to remind myself, we were so early in that I just had to temper that excitement. On September 29, we had an appointment with Heather’s OB/GYN in Columbus to see our first ultrasound. The four of us sat in a small, dark room, watching the monitor, not knowing what we were looking at. The ultrasound technician looked over at us and said, “Guess who has 2 heartbeats?” Heather and I held hands and cried together. The ultrasound technician cried! She told us that she had her two children via surrogate so she is just so happy for us. We began calling them Merle and Pearl, and we were all just ecstatic. Twins! We couldn’t believe it. On the drive home, Jarrod and I started throwing out possible baby names and reveling in the news.
We knew we wanted to find out the sex of the babies because we wanted to feel more involved in the pregnancy. It would help me to nest if I was buying girl or boy items. Prior to our early November appointment, we had opted to do a blood draw to determine if there were any congenital issues we should know about. Like our OB/GYN, we agreed that information is power. The test results would be able to tell us if there was a Y chromosome, which would mean there was at least one boy in there. It could be two boys or a boy and a girl. If there wasn’t a Y chromosome, it would be two girls. We found out shortly after that we were having at least one boy! On the drive home, Jarrod said to me, “Are you ready to meet your son?” and I just cried on his shoulder.
On December 4, we went in for our 16 week ultrasound and didn’t expect to find out the genders because all the week-by-week pregnancy guides said it’d be more likely around week 20. Again, we are in the small, dark room and the ultrasound technician finds Baby A, which is the boy. She showed us how she could tell it was the boy and we could see his twig and berries. Baby B was being a little more shy but showed us a perfectly shaped skeleton and their cute heartbeat waving on the screen. We had a different ultrasound technician this time, but by now, they all knew our story. The technician freezes the screen, turns to us and says, “Something looks different on this one!” We were having a girl. Merle and Pearl were confirmed for May 2018!
Now we are in our 20th week of pregnancy and the babies are the size of a banana. Jarrod and I are in preparation mode, cleaning out our guest bedrooms to make room for cribs and gliders, signing up for infant care and CPR classes and looking at trading in my zippy little car for a minivan. We have been married for 1 year and 3 months and have already gone through some incredible trials but we are stronger for it. It made us a better couple who is preparing for these sweet babies to enter our lives and we can shower them with love. Heather told our story to a friend of hers who said, “Ya know, I don’t believe in God but to hear about your friend getting married, having cancer, beating cancer, then getting pregnant with boy and girl twins, something bigger is at play here.” Throughout hearing the news of my cancer diagnosis, and then the ensuing treatment options and recovery, I always wondered what exactly our journey was supposed to be. Why would I finally meet the man of my dreams to then have my image of our perfect lives ripped away from me? Maybe our story is meant to inspire hope to people who have lost it. When we thought that life was throwing us an obstacle that we weren’t prepared to face, an angel named Heather swooped in and gave us options. I will always love her for that.
A Journey to PR
When me and my husband got married on March 2009, it never slipped our minds that one day, we would separate ways because either of us had to work abroad. But we really never know what God has in store for us, so when my husband was given the chance to work here in Canada, at first we were both excited but as the day for his departure drew nearer and nearer, it was also getting harder and harder for me, for him and for our son, to accept that we will be an “incomplete” family, well physically speaking, for a time. When he left for Canada last July 2015, our son was only 3yrs.old then. But at a young age, he already showed signs of depression and anxiety of being away from his Daddy and that was the hardest consequence I think, that we all had to bear… living in what the three of us call a “Long Distance Family Relationship”.
Everything seemed incomplete. Celebrating my husband’s first birthday in Canada, our first Christmas, New Year, Mine and my son’s birthday, Valentine’s Day, our wedding anniversary and all other occasions that we used to celebrate together seemed so incomplete because we were apart.
In 2016, I would say this was the hardest time of all. We were facing so many problems and struggles. Me and my spouse had marital problems which almost lead us to separation. My in laws were facing such challenges too and because we are family, emotional, physical and mental stress added more to what I was feeling then and what my condition was at that time. I almost wanted to break down and was really at my lowest point. But, God truly loves me, for at that time when everything else was failing, HE embraced me with so much love and comfort. HE never failed me. Slowly I began to heal. I was able to move forward and appreciate more the things and the people who are around me. I have learned how to become a more loving mother to our son and a forgiving and understanding wife to my husband.
Fast forward to 2017.
There were still times when I felt sad seeing most of our friends leaving for Canada to be with their families. It wasn’t really a feeling of envy, I guess it was more of a question, when will it be the time for us to be complete again?
January 27 – on our son’s birthday, my husband took the CELPIP exam for the 4th time and at that moment I felt, he was going to pass it and he did. A week after my birthday, the result came out and it was one of the best birthday gifts that me and my son have received.
But another struggle that we had to face in relation to his Permanent Resident (PR) application was the change in the process and score that he must reach to be eligible in the Express Entry. There was a dramatic change on the score and we had to meet more requirements which entailed more financial expenses.
On Feb 10 – My husband applied for his educational credential assessment. On April 4 he was able to receive the report. THANK GOD that he was able to receive it in a timely manner.
On Mar 4 – I took an IELTS exam. This was one of the things that I can consider as an accomplishment since I had no time to review for this but still managed to get a high score thus, 16 points out of the 20 points, were contributed to Harold’s application. PRAISE GOD!
On Mar 24 – My husband applied for a renewal of his passport. This was also something that I can attest that God is truly guiding us. It was only by accident that I was able to read about the rule on work permit extension, thus the need for the immediate renewal of his passport. He was able to get his new passport on May 22, just in time for his Work Permit Extension application. GOD IS TRULY GOOD.
After all the processes that we went through, still the points didn’t meet the required score to receive an Invitation to Apply (ITA) for PR. But, we weren’t feeling down at all because we were supposed to apply for a spousal sponsorship by the time he gets his work permit renewed. So there was something to look forward to by July or August.
On April 24-25 – I attended an overnight silent retreat. It was my first time to undergo a silent retreat so it was really a moment with God alone. And because my heart and my mind were at peace, I was able to hear clearly God’s message and promise to me. As I was hearing His voice I was writing it in my notebook with closed eyes and this was HIS message:
“Trust in Me for I have set everything for you and your family. This year I promise you that you will be complete and everything will be provided to you. Do not worry for I have set everything and that my plans will please you. You will be happy and Kharlo will be very happy to be with his dad. Harold will continue serving me and all of you will do the same. Praise and worship me and I will provide you with everything you need and ask for. Have faith and I will never forsake you. Trust in my will and my plans for I love you and I will never forget you. Hang in there my child. You are blessed and your family is blessed. Open your heart to me and learn to forgive. Forgive everyone who has wronged you. Forgive yourself, forgive Harold, forgive everyone. Continue to praise and worship me and all shall be well.”
From then on I held on to HIS promise and just after I stepped out from that retreat, everything seemed so clear and peaceful. I started receiving all these wonderful news.
April 26 – I got accepted in another job and was earning extra aside from my regular work.
April 27 – I found out that my promotion at work has been approved and will receive a retroactive payment of 1 year
May 25 – My husband was able to apply for an extension of his work permit
May 26 – The most unexpected thing happened. We finally got our ITA. It was really a blessing from God and I remembered God’s promise to me. It was for some miraculous reason that the supposed 413 points that we had to meet to be able to receive an ITA went down to 199, just for the stream that my husband was in to. I really can’t explain why it had happened but it is with so much joy that we claim that it is God’s plan for us and that HE is keeping His promise.
It was also on May 26 that I received the retroactive pay for my promotion and for some reason, the amount that I got, covered the amount that me and my son needed to have our medical done. God truly laid everything on our paths.
July 11- My husband had his medical done.
July 24 – We finally submitted our PR application and so the waiting game was on.
July 28 – We passed our medicals and background check was in progress.
September 1– At a very short time, we finally got our PR approved and our passports were requested for visa stamping. PRAISE GOD!
After everything we’ve been through, I can’t help but to remember and look back at God’s promise and He truly was faithful to it. Now we can say that we are home and that we are COMPLETE, in this perfect time that HE had planned for us.
Note: I made this testimony on July 28, 2017 so I had no idea when our application will be approved but God kept on telling me that it will be on September so I wrote that month in this draft and true enough, we got approved on September 1. God is truly AMAZING! Now, we are here in Canada as a complete family, starting a new life full of God’s provision and blessings.
Do Not Worry
Matthew 6:25-33
New International Version (NIV)
25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 BUT SEEK FIRST HIS KINGDOM AND HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS, AND ALL THESE THINGS WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU AS WELL.
Thank you and to God be the Glory!!!
Mistakes Don’t Define You, Redemption Does
As each and every woman out there, I am good enough. I am a dedicated wife who admires my husband. I am a mom of three precious boys. I am a first grade teacher who adores my students. I am a woman who hit rock bottom, partied hard, and had an affair. With the grace of God, and the power of redemption and reconciliation, my life has changed. The judgement and doubt of others did not matter. My faith in Christ and strength to hold on as I stumbled and dug through my life during my recovery program is what mattered.
I grew up in a very close family. My parents were loving, caring, and responsible parents. They always showed respect to us and to each other. This is one reason I felt comfortable, yet guilty going to their house to see if my fears were valid…
Sitting on the side of the tub in my parents’ bathroom, I stared at the two lines on the pregnancy test. I felt numb. I felt scared. I felt ashamed. What was I going to tell my husband? It was not his.
The last few years had been full of tragedy and chaos for our family. During this time, there was a disconnect in my marriage that we were not able to address at the time. My husband was in an accident, and because of this he was diagnosed with a Traumatic Brain Injury and PTSD. I felt I had lost the man I married. My previous outgoing and full of life husband became a recluse alone in his room. My weekends previously filled with fun family outings became quiet nights in front of a television or trips without daddy. My previous nights laying with my husband talking for hours, became hours of loneliness and tears. The man I fell in love with was no longer with me. As time went on, I had found my own therapy for these stressors. Making sure things were set in place at home, I would tuck our two boys in for the night, and I would head out with friends for what I justified as a much deserved break. What started as once every other month became twice a week. What started as one drink led to countless. I had hit my very lowest point in life. Far too often, a friend would bring me home, and I would quietly stumble inside, collapsing wherever was closest or most convenient. One morning, as I sat on the toilet with my head against the wall, I woke up to my son’s voice in the bathroom saying, “What are you doing Mommy?” I looked down and noticed my clothes were on the floor. I felt embarrassed, but I numbly stated, “I’m just going potty.” I had convinced myself that everything was fine, but I was in great denial. While my nightly excursions gave me a reprieve from my new daily reality, it could not fill the void that was created by the changes in my husband. I yearned for his affection. I yearned for praise, for comfort, for attention. When I felt like I was not receiving this at home, I selfishly found it from another guy. He would send me flirty texts, give me compliments, and I felt appreciated. After making this connection, we had an emotional affair for a little over a month. What started as an emotional affair became physical. I broke the covenant I thought I never would. Although I felt some guilt, I continued to justify living two different lives.
One day after work, I walked into the bathroom feeling exhausted, and I looked in the mirror. I can remember the circles under my eyes, the pure exhaustion showing itself on my face, and I knew that my immoral actions would now be affecting my family. I kept putting it off, but finally made myself buy a pregnancy test. After the results truly sank in, I had no clue how I was going to handle this.
When I could no longer contain the guilt, I told my husband that I had some important things to tell him. I had a false sense that it was going to be simple. We ate breakfast at a pancake shop that morning. Each sweet, sticky bite I chewed seemed to allow me to delay telling the truth. When we finished eating, we sat in a parking lot, and I told him about the affair, “I’ve been having a relationship with someone else.” His eyes turned towards me, and he, “What kind of relationship? Who is he? Have you had sex?” I responded quietly, “Just a guy I met, yes, I’m so…,” I started to apologize, and he interrupted with gruff words, “Don’t say another word. Don’t speak to me right now.” As the door to car slammed, I was shaking and my eyes were filled with tears. He stiffly walked to the end of the parking lot, and rammed his fist into a street sign causing it to swing back and forth. As the door opened again, he stated with barely veiled anger, “Take me home.” He packed a bag for the night, and he left. There was so much tension and draining emotions between us, I was not upset to see him go, I was relieved. The next day, he came back, I was not only in shock, but selfishly disappointed.
The next couple months we went through the normal steps of trying to save a relationship. We saw therapists, we talked to friends, and went to church. During this process we told my family about the pregnancy. My dad made a statement I will always remember, “You can both give 100%, but that does not mean this will work out.” At the time, I took this as a pessimistic idea. As we moved forward with broken hearts, we both focused on our own hurts, our own needs, and our own happiness. I had come to a point of giving up, and I did. I told him I could no longer fight this fight. I continued to grow a child inside of me, and build walls around me. We both hired attorneys, and the tension between us grew. Our divorce date was set. I could not stand to be around him or hear his voice. Every time I spoke with him, I was raging with anger. The majority of time we spoke, he would speak to me so calm, and it would make me question him more. The constant question was, how could he even be treating me with respect right now? There was no way he was sincere.
When I was about 8 months pregnant, I called him in anger, but when I hung up, I had this constant feeling of “what if?” Could it be possible for us to be a family again? After I texted him my feelings, he brought me a recording of a message from church on forgiveness. “Please listen to this,” he pleaded. Connecting to this message, I cried tears that I had not shed in three years. Due to the intense emotions and big decisions at stake, we decided we would wait until the baby was here to discuss anything regarding our relationship. Staying guarded with our feelings, we continued to live our separated, yet parallel lives including our boys.
The day I was scheduled to have Garrett via c-section, Josh brought me breakfast. It was kind of surreal. As he stood there, with no words spoken, I could feel the connection between us. My heart felt content.
When Garrett was born, I sat in the hospital room by myself for many hours. I cried and reviewed events from the past year in my head. “Why, Sarah? What were you thinking? Who will help you take care of your new son? What are people going to be saying? What’s going to happen to your marriage? Is this even possible to save?“ My heart now yearned for grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.
Although my heart was now open to reconciliation, the next two months were still difficult. Josh doubted my intentions and his ability to trust me again after what I had done. I knew that I had to show him that my change of heart was sincere and that I was recommitted to our marriage.
After several sessions with our therapist, Josh and I made a commitment to each other to save our marriage. Although we knew this would not be an easy process, we were resolved to be steadfastly dedicated to one another. The following months proved to be an emotional roller coaster. We had to both be giving 100%, sometimes more. At times life would just about seem normal, and one of us would have a wound that would appear from the past. We had to focus on each others’ needs, not just our own. We had to be able to allow each other to heal at the speed best for them. We had to remember we were a team. We surrounded ourselves with people that supported us, showed us love, and held us accountable. We had to put our lives back together as one after we had already started building lives without each other. Our hearts were humble, our hearts were open, and our hearts were redeemed.
Perhaps the biggest blessing to come out of this difficult time is that our three boys were able to watch the true definition of forgiveness and redemption played out in front of them. From the moment they met, Garrett and Josh looked at each other with absolute adoration. Garrett was automatically a daddy’s boy in heart, and when he was two, Josh officially adopted him. He constantly asks, “Where’s Daddy?” He would be happy attached to his side. I watch in humble amazement as our youngest has such a precious place in so many people’s hearts. After five years, there are times where it seems surreal, like the whole thing was a dream. There are other times where we have to rewind and address wounds we did not know existed. Then there are my favorite times, the times we lay together in the dark, snuggled up tight, as Josh rubs my head, talking out the past and being so very grateful for being willing to stick through the hurts and mistakes, so that we are able to have the marriage and family we have now.
As human flesh, I have made mistakes. We all make mistakes. However, the past is the past. I have moved on. When people see that I have faced my demons of the past, and I am able to move forward without them holding me back, those people are not able to hold my own actions against me. The experience I had in my life has allowed me to minister to other women when it comes to marriage, confidence, forgiveness for themselves, and pregnancy crisis.
A Journey that Changed my Life
There is not a more devastating moment in life than the day you are told you are HIV Positive or the day you are told you have cancer. The day you are told by your doctor that you only have few weeks, months or a year to live. It’s not until a moment like this when you start spending your everyday questioning what it is you have done with your life. It’s not until a moment like this when all the things you’ve done start coming back to you. It’s not until a moment like this when you truly get to know and see who your true family or friends are. It’s not until a moment like this when you truly appreciate the meaning and beauty of life. It’s not until a moment like this when you truly start living your life to the fullest, for to you, every ticking second counts. These were some of the moments my mother Angelic came to experience and feel before her dying day. Here is her story:
It was the year of 2003 when my mother went to hospital and found out the most devastating news. That Tuesday afternoon of April 20th, was the day she was diagnosed with HIV positive. From that day, her body, mind and souls were like placed in another planet. She was confused and couldn’t understand how it happened as she had never once slept around with any man apart from my stepdad. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t find a way and courage to tell her children, so she kept it to herself for 3 months. One Friday, I got out of school and found my mother crying. Her eyes looked as she had been crying for hours. Never in my life had I ever seen her cry. As 11-year-old, I didn’t know what to do or say. I just did the only thing that came to mind. Crying with her as I tried to get her up from the floor. When she saw how terrified I was, she stopped crying, then tried to calm me down. Few hours later, I asked my mom why she had been crying, still, she couldn’t tell me. That Friday night and weekend passed, then she was back to her normal self. To her joy and smile that shined through everyone. On Monday morning, my mom got up, prepared breakfast and helped me pick up a nice outfit for the school, as usually. I went to school happy because my mom was happy as well. When it was time for lunch, I walked home to eat as school did not provide meals for the students. A distance that would usually took me 40 minutes of walk, it took me 20 minutes that day. I ran fast to reach to my mom and give her a hug, to find out she had been crying again. By that time, I knew that me crying made my mom very upset, so I stayed strong, and did not even ask questions. As she tried to get up and prepare lunch for me and my younger step-siblings, I encouraged her to lay down and let me take over the cooking. Even though she had taught me to cook some simple meals, I wasn’t good at yet. But all I wanted was for my beautiful mom to rest and be happy. So, I was willing to do anything for that to happen. After all, she had done and sacrificed so much for us. I did the best I could with the cooking. After I was done cooking, I dished a plate for my siblings to share, then took the other one to my mom in her bedroom, where she had been resting. As I tried to get her to eat, I saw that smile of hers, again. The one I had been longing to see that afternoon. I kissed her on cheek, then walked back to school for my afternoon class. Even though my mom felt it was best to keep what she was going through to herself at that moment, she knew I was smart little girl, and one way the other, I was going to make her tell me what was going on. So that same Monday as I walked back into the house from class, she had prepared one of the most delicious meal I had never eaten. After we were done eating, she told me not to worry about my homework, but to take my backpack in my room then walk with her to the grocery store. In our way there, she was very quiet and scared for reasons I didn’t know at the time. As for me, the last thing I wanted was to make her feel as she had to do anything, especially with everything she had gone through. So, I stayed quiet as well. As we were walking to the store that took us 30 minutes to get to, we ran through many people in the village, doing different things. When we reached to the store, my mom said to me “my daughter. Get anything you want whether clothes or food. Anything at all.” That was her first time giving me the freedom to pick out anything I wanted, so I was very terrified and wondered why she would say that. Before we left home for the store, she had mentioned she had something important to say to me, so I reminded her. After that, she had me go with her to her favorite thinking spot. A place where she loved to go and think. By that time, my stomach was full of all the delicious food I ate, especially the candies. So, I felt as I was ready for anything. Maybe it was the sugar in me thinking like that! As we sent on the bench under the tree, she kept on repeating the word “I am sorry” over and over. She was not saying anything else. I could see whatever she wanted to tell me was becoming hard for her to say than she had imagined. So, instead of placing it on, I just held her hand and waited until she was ready. A half an hour, an hour or two went by with her just repeating that exact same work. Except the last time, she added “I am sorry my beautiful daughter.” Then she said, “I feel horrible for what I am about to say to you, but I must do so for your safety and because I love you more than anything.” I responded saying, mom, you can tell me anything. I am strong little girl, you said it yourself. And then she finally found courage to say the words she had fighting hard to tell me. She said ” three months ago. I went to see doctor Bennett…. He told me that I was HIV positive.” To be honest for a kid growing up in Africa, I had not cruel what she was talking about. So, I asked, what is HIV mom? And why do you cry or feel bad when you talk about it? Should I be worried? My mom wasn’t surprised to find out I didn’t know what she was talking about. So, she decided to explain it to me word by word. She said many words, in which many of them I don’t remember. But all I could think of as she explained was how I was going to survive without her. She was my whole world. My everything. For about 10 minutes, I couldn’t contain myself, so I started crying with anger. Mostly I was angry to myself for letting my mother fight the battle alone those past last 3 months I didn’t know. I hated myself and felt as I should have known or placed her to tell me. Both my mom and I continuously kept on crying. However, she contained herself first, then tried her best to calm me down. She said to me “it’s not your fault you didn’t know sooner, and you’ve been my strongest hold through it all. Look, you’ve been taking care of me and your siblings, even though you didn’t know what was going on with me. I love you my daughter.” That alone helped me calm down and stopped crying. Even though she told me, she had me promise to not tell anyone, not even my siblings or aunts and uncles. She wanted to do it herself on her own term. As we walked back home, I could see a relief in her. She was much happier than before. As the days went by, she started teaching me all safety procedures to help her prevent me, my siblings and others from being affected by HIV. She had me start taking notes to everything she was saying, and will make me review them every day after school. Few weeks later, we divided the housing stuffs in two categories. One for me and my siblings and the other for my mom. So, I gathered all my siblings. I showed them which items of the house they should use and the ones they shouldn’t use. They were too young to understand what was happening, but I tried to explain it to them without telling them the reasons for all the changes. They were so unlike me, and made it easy for me by not asking too much questions. I just don’t know if I would had been able to hide it from them if they had asked. My mother continuously followed through with all her treatments with her doctor, but instead of getting better, she was getting worse day by day. That time she knew it was time to tell the rest of her family. When everyone heard of the news, there was a lot of tears and confusions in the hospital room. My mom was amazing, very respected women, they all couldn’t understand how that was possible. But then they forgot that my stepdad was womanizer. On November 22nd of 2002, my stepdad got offered a job in another town. Two months later, he left home for his new job, where he was gone for 6 months. The business trip he was sent to was getting paid to sleep with hookers in the big city of Dar Salam. But he lied to both mom, me and his own children that he got offered a job as a police officer. Two weeks before returning home, he had found out he was HIV positive. But due to his selfishness and wickedness, he did not stop once to think before sleeping with my mom. So, he was the person whom my mom got it from. Her own so called alcoholic and prostitute husband. The hurtful thing of it all was when he found out mom was sick, he took off and never returned home. We tried contacting him, but he was not where to be found. To make matters worse, all his family blamed my mother and did not want anything to do with us anymore. They stopped contacting and visiting us. A year later, my mother had gotten even worse. She had become so skinny to the point when we looked at her, all we saw was bones, not a single muscle left on her body. From time to time, looking at her alone for someone my age was scary enough, but I stood by herself through it all. My mom side’s family tried to help the best way they could as well. On June 9, 2003, I paid a visit to see my sibling’s grandparents seeking for help, but they threw me out like a garbage bag. I had never been so angry in my entire life. However, there was one of my stepdad sister who was always so nice and would visit us from time to time. I went to her for a help. She came with me to my place and helped me get my mother to hospital with the help of my mother’s brother. When we got to the hospital, doctor told us it was best she stayed in the hospital. My mother stayed in hospital for another year and half before she died. And that whole year and half, I stayed with her. I never once left her side. As I watched the HIV seeking in her and eating her alive, I felt powerless and unworthy because everything I did was helpless. It was not helping her feel better. But during the time she was in hospital, she made sure I knew and understood how to take care of myself. She taught me everything she believed I would need to survivor once she was gone. I made many promises to every lesson she taught me, to always follow them no matter the consequences.
You see, you might wonder why I am sharing this store of my beloved mom, whom I highly believe is in heaven right now watching over me every day of my life. See, my life changed the day my mom found out she had aids, even though I didn’t know until 3 months later. My mom suffered a whole lot more because people or family who was supposed to be there for her weren’t there as needed. She was strong and a fighter. She fought hard to live a little longer for her children even though she was in a lot of pain. That’s the kind of mother she was. If she had all the support she needed from everyone, there’s not a single hesitation in seeing her living another 5 or 10 years. Again, because she was a fighter who never quit and gave up. If the man who brought the sickness and his family would have stayed by her side, maybe she would not have died carrying a lot of burdens. My mom died with lots of pain, not from her sickness alone, but mostly from others. The night before mother died, I slept by her side. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone. I started crying, screaming out loud saying why me! I was left with a broken heart, feeling lonely and scared than ever before. I became an orphan without a mother, father or a home that very moment.
You see, my mother was kind, caring, loving women toward everyone. She did not deserve what she went through. After my mom died, I dedicated my entire life to never allow anyone else to be treated like she was. I promised myself to always be loving and giving. I promised myself to be there, especially when people needed me most. I promised myself to be better and a good different. I promised myself to never allow people like my stepdad take control of others. And I am determined to keep on with the promises I made to myself in tears, at my mother’s funeral until the day I die.
Making Learning Free for a Better World
I wish we had control over time, so that we could plan out all the happy moments of our life with those closest to us, before they are claimed by death. My father was always my best friend, as far as my memory takes me back. He was always there for me and with me, guiding me through all the tough stages of growing up. Parents are not always empathic to your needs, but he was. I didn’t realize this until I reached my 20s when he was already old and frail. I would have been a better daughter to him had I been a wiser person sooner. Gardening was what we did as a collective activity apart from him storytelling over a cup of tea. He is no more, but what he has left behind are memories of him inspiring me to be the best that I can. By introducing me to great books and emphasizing on the need to communicate well, he prepared me for life in a way I would never have envisioned had I been in his shoes. He told me that considering our poor background and the place we come from where there are no privileges of any kind, the only thing I should focus on is the ability to communicate and express, and that this is something that will take me far. He was absolutely right about the power of communication despite his rural background. Words have the power to move mountains, if used to that effect.
I was born in Shillong, a beautiful part of Meghalaya, popular for its scenic landscape and uncountable waterfalls, a land dotted by pine trees and cherry blossoms. After school I always landed at my dad’s office where I had a good time with him ordering evening snacks for me and my favourite orange drink (Goldspot). Then he took me out for a walk, and we came back home thoroughly entertained and happy. Life became slightly tougher when we moved to Ri-Bhoi, a village with unruly people and the strangeness of that life got to my father’s mental health. He developed paranoia and was always affected by panic attacks. Sometimes in a fit of rage, he would say nasty things which affected our once great bond. Hate developed and we drifted apart. I swore I would not see my parents once I was adult enough to leave home and that’s exactly what I did when I turned 18 and left home. Went back to see them again at 22 but much had changed. He had aged considerably and was much thinner and weaker now. Mental illness was an issue we were not aware of in those days and we thought he was senile. Instead of treating him, we would force him to act nice to people and didn’t understand his anxiety. I was 28 when he passed away all of a sudden and the night before he had tried to call me but I was too pissed with him over something he had said, and refused to talk to him. I don’t know if I should be feeling guilty or sad over what happened. Life never gives you a second chance and that’s something that I learnt the hard way. Dr.Seuss was right when he said, “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.”
In loving memory of my dad, I have now launched two projects both focused on improving the lives of people who are deprived in some way or the other because of an unfair world. Untwine is a platform for artists and writers to reach out to a wider audience and also to connect with fellow Untwiners. ‘Centres For Free Learning’ is an initiative that aims to enable access to Free Learning for people of all age groups. We will be targeting various neighbourhoods and bring the community together to make learning possible for all. Reading, writing, playing music, learning dance forms, sports, etc. are the key areas targeted by us. The majority of the world is not on social media. The majority suffers from hunger and are still affected by crippling poverty. We understand the value of free learning and will be doing everything we can for a better world for some of these unfortunate people that are ignored by the affluent minority. My dad’s suffering made me understand why it’s important to do something to bring about this change that we desperately seek.
If You Think You Can’t, Think Again
I would love to share my story of how I came to playing musical instruments at 60 years of age!!! I would love to hear your stories of things you went after and achieved against all odds and never thought you could achieve because people told you that it wasn’t possible. Send me an email or write me on Facebook. LinkedIn, Instagram or wherever @Righteously Raw Chocolate or . I spent 57 years of my life thinking I was tone deaf!!! I was told over and over that I was not “musically inclined”, could not carry a tune, etc. etc. I became exactly that story of who I thought I was defined by those that didn’t believe in me. I became the biggest non- believer of me. Until one day I broke away from a long relationship and felt so free that I went out and bought a guitar just to see if I could play it. That was three years ago this month. I not only play acoustic and electric guitar now but also drums, a little bass, a little ukelele and I am learning Music Theory too. I play with jam bands and call myself a musician now!!! Moral of this writing is never take on someone else’s story about who they think you are!!!! Never believe you can’t do something because someone else said you can’t. I have no business degree and was told ten years ago I didn’t have what it takes to start a business. Well you know the outcome of that story( ). I started my company with a huge vision that I would build a food empire and I was told it was not possible because I lacked business education. For so many years I stifled myself in business because I became what others told me was not possible. I am back to believing that I will build my food empire even bigger than where it is today. I am a Visionary who has a dream for the future of food. Never again will I ever allow the words “I can’t” enter into my daily thoughts. Today I want to start a self-love movement to show the world IF YOU THINK YOU CAN’T, THINK AGAIN! I don’t want any of you to spend another day of your life believing that you can’t do something because someone else didn’t believe in you and told you it was not possible. My favorite song is sung by Nina Simone called Feeling Good. I play it every morning. Every day that I wake up is so exciting because I wonder what else can I achieve in this lifetime that I thought I couldn’t???? Make today and tomorrow a YES I CAN awesome day! Thanks for reading. Blessings, Audrey Darrow
The burden of Guilt lies on whom due to sexual harassment
So much has been said and written about sexual harassment of late. Much of it attributed to sexual harassment on campuses of colleges and universities, particularly in North America, and left the voice of abused in silence. In all these writing less has been said about the hyper sexualised society where we often overlook the importance of consent attributed with sexual behaviour. Thoughts get strangled up in trying to analyse blame of such abuses lies on whom, however, every single story of any kind of abuse can not be fitted in the cluster of our previous research.
The shame, stigma, fear of retribution and judgment by friends and strangers alike, all contribute to the fog that inhibits a victim’s ability to process the abuse. I know this because it is precisely this fog, which has led me to sharing and trying to articulate my own experience of sexual harassment.
My own, recent experience of being sexually harassed at a University is not unlike that of many others. Indeed, I suspect my reaction, my inability to process, focus and articulate my thoughts on the subject are shared by hundreds perhaps thousands of other students across campuses across the world every year. I also suspect there are but very few women who have not been the subject of sexual harassment whilst at colleges and universities.
Perhaps the most difficult aspect of my experience is to process, is the culture of victim blaming that followed my sexual harassment. Victim blaming is both intentional and unintentionally embedded in our society, especially where the victim is a female. As a foreign student, I recently graduated from a University in a country where the culture and environment were supposed to nurture peace and compassion, however, the perfect utopia turned out to be my worst nightmare.
Shortly after starting the new academic term, a friend and I accepted an invitation to lunch, where we were sexually harassed by a fellow classmate.
My experience of victim blaming came in many forms. In the form of other students insensitively asking questions like “why?” It came in the form of people sending well-intentioned messages of support, but wrongly assuming incorrect facts about the incident. Assumptions drawn largely from over active imaginations and misguided ideas about what represent acts of sexual harassment. It came in the form of curiosity; “what dress we were wearing that day?”
Continued victim blaming came in the form of having to endure forensic psychiatric assessment tests, conducted apparently to prove we were mentally stable and not lying about the incident. The test required us to answer more than 500 questions, mostly personal in nature; relationships, sexual orientation, alcohol consumption etc., all in an effort to prove our credibility and mental sanity.
Victim blaming did not end with such intrusive tests. Rather, it continued to follow a trail where lawyers wanted us to prove, six months after the incident that it did indeed happen and our stories corroborated. I assumed, albeit wrongly, that all this would lead down a path where I would find empathy and due compassion for my traumatic experience. Instead, I was repeatedly forced to relive the shock and trauma of the incident, to prove my innocence.
It almost took me a year to say out loud that, yes, I was afraid; I was ashamed of the feeling that someone touched me without my consent. It took me a year to say, the feeling of being touched by another person without my consent disguised me for a while to even touch myself. I was scared to go out of my house every single day to face people and being judged by others for an incident I did not had control over. It took me a year to realise it was not my fault that I had undergone such experience, if it was not me or my friend it could have been someone else. A year of mistrusting your own feelings and thoughts almost made me feel like being alive without a soul to embrace yourself.
All these feelings were attributed because as a victim you are doubted, mistrusted and subjected to having your integrity questioned. Perhaps I should have put more thought into the idea of going for lunch with a fellow student, or perhaps I should have found my own path for dealing with the incident instead of seeking help. Rather than the perpetrator, it is I who feels the guilt; I shoulder the burden of going through such an experience.
The burden of guilt is mine, and mine alone. Society neither bares, nor shares responsibility for such guilt. My voice has got lost somewhere amongst the noise of people discussing my personal life, appropriating blame, trying to make sense of an incident they know little about.
Schedules are prepared, appointments made and scripts distributed detailing how we are to behave after we are have been sexually harassed. They will tell us how much we are allowed to cry; how much we can, and possibly should react. We’re told how much you are allowed to be scared, or how much we can speak for ourselves. Anything performance outside the script would make you outcast of the social circle, and you would be ridiculed for.
The truth, my truth, much like my voice is also getting lost. My truth is questioned, endlessly. My feelings are no longer my own, rather the feelings of others telling, better placed to tell me how I should feel.
The perpetrator of course avoids such intrusions. He can flee or choose not to participate in the legal process by other means. Is it any wonder why so many victims remain silent after such experiences?
Our University preached about its zero tolerance approach to incidents of sexual harassment, yet proved to be unprepared to handle such cases. Does the ‘process’ of victim blaming contribute to a system where the perpetrators are give the benefit of the doubt or escape punishment? Where victims have to prove their innocence?
We failed over and over again to affirm that consent is the key in engaging in sexual acts of any sort. Every individual has right over his or her own body. Every individual has the right to say ‘no’.
Doesn’t every victim have the right to believed? To be heard, to be treated with dignity, and to seek justice? It does not matter what you wear, what your level of alcohol consumption, how many friends you have, what your sexual orientation is, or how frequently you engage in sexual relationships; these are personal choices. They don’t excuse unwanted attention or sexual harassment.
We need to focus on the victim; on the process of validation and on the process of healing. There needs to be a focus on improved support structures, safety, and on safe, confidential spaces where there is no judgement and no guilt. Victims should get to decide the time, place and space to be heard, to communicate. My healing process started from having support of a small group who did not ask, neither pressured to share but supported me throughout the time by being there in silence, and bestowing love, support and care; by finding small moments to assure that with them I have a safe place to live, breathe and shine.
Soldier of Hope
I was born with cleft lip and pallet. Apparently the doctors didn’t know that kids with cleft can’t suck so they accused my mom of not nursing me right. How could she know. She had never had a baby with cleft. I was starving before she found a doctor that told her that I needed bottles that she could squeeze. I don’t know what its called, but I was sick. Mom says I stopped breathing 21 times. When I was 5 years old I had my first asthma attack, spending 3 days in the hospital before I could breathe normally.
When I was 5 years old was my earliest memory of depression. As I grew older, it worsened. When I was 15, I nearly ended my life. I was in the bathroom ready to plunge a knife in my gut when for whatever reason I stopped to read a little note card my mom had hung on the wall with a Bible passage on it. It said crazy insane things like God knew everything about me and he made me complex and beautiful and that his precious thoughts about me outnumbered all the grains of sand. It was the first time I really remember feeling loved. And I live to tell the tale.
But the depression and hopelessness continued. I had good days. I had good weeks and even months but it seemed like dark nights and stormy over-heads were always around the corner to devour my childhood.
Months later I gave my life to Jesus. It wasn’t a pretty prayer of I’m sorry for the bad things I do and I believe in you, wrapped with the fragile bow of “come into my heart” like you may have heard church people say. It was raw. It was full of rage and misconception. I cried, “I’m sick and tired of life. If I just get up in the morning and try to make it through the day only to face the night and do it all again, day after day of so much pain and heartache then life is not worth the living. I’m not worth living for but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m suppose to be living for someone beyond my self and I wonder if Jesus is the one who will give meaning to my life.” I screamed “I don’t know what you want God but take my everything.” I felt his love and a sense of hope was born within me that day.
Its not that depression wasn’t a thing. It is very much. I struggle with cutting and a week and a half ago I laid on railroad track waiting for a train to come. It didn’t come that night. As I laid there, just wanting to die and escape the pain of life and depression, I encountered this hope again that is more real than depression and the lies I so often fall for in it. It’s like looking up at dark clouds. All you can see is the darkness but as you focus you can see a glimpse of sunlight. Now all you see is dark. Your eyes desperately search for that little light. Again you spot it. Its easy to loose focus and get caught up in the darkness and you loose sight of the light but its still there. That’s how hope is. Its easy to get caught up in depression and heartache and loose sight of hope but its still there in Jesus. I choose to focus in on that light.
Joyful but sad. Light-filled yet darkness hovers. A smile of a hopeful future breaks through the tears. Raging storms yet peaceful sanctuary. This is what its like to have Jesus and depression. I couldn’t make it without him. He is my survival. He is my strength. He is my one constant in all life’s drama and raging emotions.
I’m not one to go down without a fight and when life knocks me out still I’ll stand because my hope is in God.v
Weird
Weird. That mostly sums up my social life struggles growing up as a girl. Weird. My family is “weird”, my laugh is “weird”, my sense of humor is “weird” and my personality is “weird”. When I was in middle school, I thought that was a bad thing. I was embarrassed of myself for not being able to fit in and had so little confidence that the idea of trying to make friends terrified me. In high school, I embraced my weirdness a little more. I liked it, but it didn’t seem that any of the boys I had crushes on did, so I tried to suppress it and be normal to get guys to like me. But no matter how hard I tried, my “weird” personality would come bubbling to the surface and ruin everything. Or so it seemed.
I chose to go into college full force with all my weirdness and personality, and I decided to do it confidently. I introduced myself to anyone next to me and tried new experiences even when I didn’t know anyone there. I would sit down, turn to my left and my right, and make two new friends at a time. And here’s the crazy part: It worked. Apparently, having a fun and “weird” personality was actually awesome. Accepting myself and showing my personality gave me the best years of my life (so far). I got to know people so different from me and built my closest friendships. And know what else? I met the love of my life and my now husband while I was being exactly who I am on the inside, not someone trying to “fit in”.
I’m not saying that all troubles magically disappear in college, or at any specific point. But I so wish I had realized sooner in my life that my weirdness = my beauty. It wasn’t how I laughed (which some have compared to a sheep) the way I dressed or the group of people I hung out with. I love my personality! It’s what makes me who I am, and I am amazing!
So to anyone who thinks that being “weird” or “different” is a bad thing, it’s not. It’s amazing! Life is too short to try to be “normal”. And what’s weird to one person may be normal to someone else! I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought of me when I should have been enjoying my life with the people I love and doing the things I’m passionate about. Embracing who we are doesn’t have to be some huge or sudden event, it begins with accepting ourselves and loving the qualities that make each of us unique. We are each amazing in our own way!v
Success in Every Step
Running has been part of my life since I was a teenager. I really could not imagine my life without it. It has brought me peace of mind, kept me in shape, and helped me build positive relationships with amazing people. I run because I love it! I feel amazing when I run, especially when I meet a new goal.
My best running buddy, Jen, has been with me through thick and thin, literally! She has helped me reach new goals and pushes me when I am stuck. We have a motto, ‘we start together, we finish together!’
I have been part of running groups and forums. Some of the people I have met will be lifetime friends, even the ones I may never meet in person. Kristi, Kasie, Yvi, Miles, Scott, and so many more that have contributed to me conquering my goals.
One program has melted my heart and I can’t wait to share it with as many people as I can. Girls on the Run has lit a fire in my heart and I love spreading the inspiration of this program to others! I love running! I want girls and women to feel empowered by their abilities to accomplish their running goals too. 2016-2017 marked the first year of coaching GOTR and Heart & Sole for me and it certainly won’t be the last! I made great friends, met amazing coaches, and have incredible mentors. I have enjoyed sharing my knowledge and love of running with them and with the girls on our teams and their families. Coaches Jen, Shana, Heather, Mary, and Sandra can attest to the awesomeness of the program. They share in my love for running and helping others. They rock!
My first season as a coach, I was so fortunate to have my 11-year-old daughter on our GOTR team. It was great to see her build her confidence in her abilities, make connections with new people, and show compassion and caring for her teammates and coaches. She has developed her character and is using skills learned in training to build positive and lasting relationships and develop her competence to reach new goals. The program is nothing short of amazing! These girls have taught me so much about myself and my capabilities that even I was shocked. I know I have it in me to keep going and pushing myself so I can pursue all my goals; and when I crush those goals, I am going to make new ones.
I just successfully finished my second 10K and am now training for my second half-marathon. The skills I have learned and the relationships I have made are the driving factors that will help me keep one foot in front of the other so I can cross every finish line I set in front of me!
More than Just Girls Running
In the third grade, I was introduced to an after school program that was coming to my school. For girls in third, fourth, and fifth grade Girls On The Run was now available. When I first heard about it I thought it was just a club for running, but I was soon proven wrong. It was a safe environment that taught us about being the best girls we could be and gave us many ways to deal with things in our lives in and out of school. Girls On The Run led me to new people that I soon became really good friends with. When drama and friendship problems started to build among some of my friends I went to Girls On The Run and they usually gave me tips on how to solve my problems, even though they didn’t know what was going on in my life! They helped me feel good about myself and have much more self-confidence. Girls On The Run has really helped me over the years!
Mantras About Me
I am me. With all my quirks, inadequacies, faults, and mistakes. You don’t know the half of them.
But I was timid, and intimidated. For a number of years. But I’m breaking free, and by example, I’m teaching others how to as well.
Even today I am forgetful. My car keys, at least two days out of the week.
But I remember a lot. Friends’ birthdays, parents’ anniversaries, feelings, emotions.
Throughout life, I recognize that I am strong. From physical strength to mental acuity, I persevere despite challenges and setbacks.
I have an influence. For better or for worse – my students, my friends, my neighbors.
One way I influence others is by being generous. With my time, my finances, and my outlook on life. And learning more about it every day.
I am inquisitive. I drink knowledge in – about the world, about others around me, about new places and experiences.
I am genuine. Or try my best to be. I value this quality in others and therefore strive to embody it myself.
I am a leader. Leaders are not born; leaders are made. Leaders are influencers who have recognized the consequences of their influence and take responsibility for it.
As a leader, I build up, I don’t tear down. A mantra I try to live by every day.
As I build others up, I see the future. I want to leave this world better than when I came in it. I want to always leave people better than I found them, which comes from a deep truth:
I am loved. By God, by friends, by family. Every day, this truth awakens in me a desire to go forth and pursue my life’s purpose day by day.
All of this said, I am me. Without guilt, without regret, without parameters. Even with my quirks, inadequacies, faults, and mistakes; I will be made better by them.
Power of the Scar
I am amazing because I’m a survivor! My story begins at a time when I was a young girl. I was raised by a single mother, and had a drug and alcohol addicted father that was in and out of my life. I never truly felt unconditional love from either parent. Even though my mother tried to show me her love there was always something missing. My entire childhood I struggled with finding my place. I was very shy, withdrawn, and never had any self confidence. I struggled to fit in with the groups at school and in my neighborhood. I was often bullied and the easy target to many of other girls jokes. I never told anyone about how I felt, or was being treated because I felt I would become a burden to them. All I wanted was to just fit in and have friends. At the age of 11 I was attacked by a random stranger at a park I went to frequently. My attacker ended up cutting my right cheek, and I spent an entire afternoon laying in the emergency room for 4 plus hours as a surgeon placed 152 stitches to close the wound. I remember thinking to myself why me? How am I going to deal with this? How bad will it look? After the surgeon was done I was allowed to use the bathroom. As I walked into the bathroom I remember entering the room with my back turned away from the mirror. I took a deep breath and found the courage to turn around. As I turned around I found myself looking straight at my cheek. I leaned in closer to look at myself and broke into tears. As the days, weeks, and months went by I dealt with many people staring, whispering, and asking me about what happened. It got so bad that I didn’t want to go out in public anymore. Until one day a girl at school came up to me and said that she felt bad for what happened to me and that she thought I was very brave. Brave? Me? Really?
As the years passed my personal and home life never got any easier. In fact things got so bad that I ended up having to move to another state, and live with my Aunt due to my mother’s alcohol problem. I once again felt all alone and struggled to fit in with the kids at my church and school. I once again had to deal with many people staring, whispering, and asking me about what happened to my face. Only this time I received compassion not bullying. A few girls from my high school came up to me and asked if I wanted to hangout with them. It was nice to have friends who were compassionate and liked me for who I was on the inside. They eventually asked about the scar on my face, and I told them my story. This is when I really learned how strong and self accepting I had been all this time. It was the reaction, and the comments of my fellow peers that helped me realize that I had learned how to love myself after all the struggles I had faced over the years. My confidence began to grow, and I was finally able to stand with my head held high, and be proud of what I was able to overcome. As my high school years passed and I moved into adulthood I still was faced with people asking me what happened. As usual I would tell them my story and also the challenges I faced with my childhood. I had a lot more courage to talk about the personal inner struggles I faced as a child as well. Over the years I have learned that I could use my story and childhood to help others either know they are not alone, or help them find compassion and understanding for other people’s situations. I have been offered many opportunities to have plastic surgery to remove the scar, and have what people would call “a normal life”. I seriously
contemplated having the surgery to relieve myself of the
burden of always having to explain my life. After many months, and years of contemplating the surgery I decided that I wanted to keep my scar. After all it is apart of me, and truly helped me with who I have become today. I thought about my future, and what would I say to my future children one day. How could I ask them to love themselves, and to be confident in who they are if I wiped away the evidence of my own? I went on to marry my high school sweetheart and give birth to two beautiful children. First a son, and two years later a daughter.
As the years passed and my daughter was now around the age of when I was faced with all my struggles an opportunity presented itself. My daughter came home with a signup sheet to join girls on the run. I signed her up thinking okay she wants to learn how to run. It wasn’t until the program began that I learned that this was much more than a running program. We went through the guide book after every practice, and that is when I realized that many of the topics we were talking about were the exact struggles I faced as a young girl. The program provided me with the opportunity to share my story, and experiences with my daughter. I saw the growth and self confidence she gained in just one season. We both were hooked, and she has enjoyed many seasons of girls on the run.
I decided a few years later that I wanted to take my involvement with girls on the run one step further and become a coach. I wanted to make an impact, and help the girls of the next generation. As a coach of 3rd-5th graders I have had the privilege to watch the transformation of the girls from the beginning to the end of each season.
In the beginning of the 2016-17 season’s I moved on to coaching the 6th-8th grade Heart and Sole program. As the spring 2017 season began I learned about the struggles the girls were facing at school. I had the challenge of coaching a group of girls that truly didn’t get along. In fact a few of the girls were the actual bullies to others girls in our group. I knew in that very moment I was not going to allow these girls to continue down this path. I took each lesson and applied it to the situations they were facing at school. I shared my experiences every chance that I had. Some practices were easier than others, but as the season went on I began to see a change. The girls were finally getting along! I checked in with the school to see how my GOTR girls were doing in their school environment. I was happy to find out that many of the girls were hanging out together. They were sitting together during lunch time. They were forming a bond, and working together to change the environment around them. I was instantly filled with tears, and goosebumps! It was not easy for me to share my childhood experiences with them, but this season I realized the true value I had as a coach. I got to see the impact this program brings to these girls lives right before my very eyes! I got to witness the tremendous growth in each girl! As the season ended with our final 5K I could not be more proud to be their coach! As each girl crossed the finish line with smiles on their faces you could see the self confidence they have achieved! My mission continues as I will do everything I can to make sure the girls of this generation never go through another day without knowing their self worth, self confidence, and the footprint they can truly make in this world! Yes, I am a woman, a mother, a wife, a survivor, but most importantly I am a GIRL ON THE RUN!
The Power of Your Voice
The narrative of a woman’s value being in her vagina, ability to do homely chores and care to the family is one that has lingered for a long time. As a girl-child, I believed this and was groomed to be womanly, to keep my modesty, to view marriage and family as the hallmark. My view about intrapersonal relationship was narrow and this impacted my self-esteem and how I comported myself with the opposite sex. It was difficult to see myself outside the light of what society expected me to be.
For someone who needed to keep her pride and worth, it was a devastating experience to be raped. It was more than rape. I questioned my womanhood and purpose, believing society that I am a damaged good with no value. Living in a society where victims of rape were shamed to silence for the fear of being stigamtized and most unfortunately, the belief that “no man would want to marry a damaged good.” I began to see how I failed to keep my value and absorb the rapist of the responsibility of shame.
Everything changed the moment I gained courage to inform my mother. I got a re-orientation that my value as a woman is in my voice – in my ability to inspire, impact and innovate. To inspire other young women to see their strength and capacity, use their stories and voices, and not be limited by gender-roles. To accept our stories and journey in life and be unapologetic about it.
She made me realise it is okay not to be conformed to society’s standards. It is okay to be a rape survivor and not bear the shame – afterall, someone committed the crime, not me. Gradually, I began to see that my mother was inspiring me to live and impact through my story.
Today, I am not only owning my story, I am helping other young girls with the process of self-realisation, breaking the silence and understanding the power of their story and setting their own standards and achievements. Through my organization – Stand to End Rape Initiative, I am orientating girls on their sexual reproductive health and rights and working to end gender-based violence.
Who am I? – Overcoming Low Self Esteem and Self Pity
My story is a long one, but I hope you can read to the end and be inspired as you read. :-)
Nine out of ten people that I tell I am from Manafwa District (located in the remote parts of Eastern Uganda) do not get it. They look at me with a quizzical expression, probably wondering where on earth Manafwa is. I let them rack their brains for a while in an attempt to remember where they have heard or seen the word Manafwa before I give them a more elaborate answer.
“Manafwa is the new district just before Bududa.”
“Oooooh, Bududa!” they exclaim. “That’s the place with landslides, right?”
“That’s right!” I always respond.
I have been told by my parents and siblings that I spent the first three or so years of my life in Kampala, but the earliest memories of my life all begin at Manafwa. It is where I have grown up, and where I call home. Growing up, I can hardly say I had dreams or even ever thought of what my life would become in future. To me, life was all about doing what was supposed to be done i.e. go to school, get good grades, be obedient, respectful and everything else; all of which I did. However, when it came to personal goals and ambitions in life, I was headed in no particular direction.
Right from a tender age, I was always assaulted with the million dollar question: What do you want to be in the future? Most times, I would smile shyly, look down or sideways, open my big eyes and put on the most innocent face I could until whoever asked forgot their question and concentrated on how sweet and small I looked. Of course there were a few who wouldn’t be easily swayed. So, when it came to such people, I always had three responses to choose from: Teacher, Doctor or Engineer – in that order.
It goes without saying that the prejudiced setting grew up in always looked down on the teaching profession. So why in the world would I want to be a teacher? Well, the answer is pretty simple: Because my father was a teacher, a Deputy Head Teacher in fact. I was always fascinated by the amount of power he seemed to wield over hundreds of students and several other older people simply by virtue of the title he held. My siblings and I were constantly referred to as “Abaana b’Omusomesa” (loosely translated to mean “the teacher’s children”), and that to me was a ‘title’ to revel in.
Then, why doctor? You may ask. Well, because the only other “successful” person in my father’s family was an uncle who is a medical doctor. I didn’t know so much about doctoring and medicine but being a doctor sure sounded like a cool thing to me.
How about engineering? At that age, I didn’t know anyone who was an engineer, and had no idea what engineers did or how one became an engineer. However, I always bested my peers in mathematics and everyone would be like, “You will make a good engineer one day!” I soon noticed that they seemed to hold engineering in such a high regard. So, I added it to the list of those things I wanted to be/become.
When I joined secondary school at Mt. St. Mary’s Namagunga – one of the country’s best – I still hadn’t made up my mind about my dream career. None of the three choices on my list elicited any passion in me. Interestingly, all my classmates (girls my own age) seemed to have everything figured out. I met girls who talked passionately about being aeronautical engineers or architects or lawyers and how that had been their dream since they started primary one. I would stare at them in absolute awe because in my primary one, all I thought about was P.E (physical education), break time and lunch time. In addition to my uncertainties about the future, I had to deal with a myriad of insecurities about myself. Here I was, a tiny short girl coming from a remote village miles away from modern civilization in a school full of girls that had it all! Because I had attended a rural school (that had numerous challenges arising from the poor facilitation that has come to typify most government-aided schools under the pitiable Universal Primary Education program) for the greater part of my primary school, this felt like some kind of blot on my profile.
In my new surroundings, it was strange for one to report late to school on account of “no money”. In my second term of Form One, I reported to school two weeks late, and I had to lie to everyone that I was sick because no one would have believed that I stayed home because my parents couldn’t raise the school fees. Then there was the issue of ‘eats’: whereas my classmates’ trunks were loaded with cartons of milk and splash, boxes of water and cereal, tins of biscuits and the like; all I had were a few home cooked ‘eats’ that couldn’t even occupy half of my trunk. I cannot begin to tell of the clothes I painfully wore term after term, all the while wishing I had been born into a richer family so I could also afford new clothes as and when I wished.
By Form Three, my self esteem had taken a major hit. I wallowed in self pity day after day and cried night after night about the things I didn’t have. I had a hard time making friends because I was ashamed of myself. I could have chosen to look at the positives, but instead focused on what others had that I was in lack of. I sank deeper and deeper into this dismal abyss of low self esteem and self pity.
However, a chance encounter with Ben Carson’s best-seller Think Big in my Form Four vacation changed my life. I learnt how to look at myself in a more positive way, to ditch the self pity and instead focus on becoming a better person. The first real step towards improving my self esteem occurred when I received my UCE (Uganda Certificate of Education) results. I couldn’t believe my eyes: I got 9 aggregates in 8 best done subjects. I hadn’t expected it at all. I had always topped the class through primary school but that all changed when I joined secondary school where my classmates were way brighter. I had convinced myself that maybe I wasn’t as bright as I had always thought. So, for the first time in a very long time, I felt good about myself. Words cannot satisfactorily explain the feeling I got, but it was immense.
In high school, I kept a note book in which I wrote all my goals (by now I was certain I wanted to be an engineer) and made resolutions that would help me out of low self esteem and self pity. I stopped concentrating on what I didn’t have, and spent more time thanking God for all He had given me. It wasn’t easy but I persisted.
Overtime, I have come to appreciate the uniqueness of each individual; and the sooner we appreciate this, the more enjoyable it is to negotiate the walk of life. Our value does not contain in the money we have to our names, the clothes we wear, the cars we own or any other material thing. We are all invaluable because each individual is unique, and made for a unique purpose. There is no denying that sometimes I have to fight the urge to compare myself to other people, but every one of those times I remind myself that life is not a competition. Am reminded of how far God has brought me and His promises upon my life. No matter how hard it seems, I will always be true to God and to myself, and live the life He has given me confident and sure of who I am. I am the child of the King of Kings. I am immensely blessed and favored. I am a winner and a conqueror, and so are you. All you need to do is summon up the courage to step out of these fears and let us be the great women that God created us to be.
MY WORTH
My name is Nancy but I go by many names depending on who is addressing me. Some, actually one person, calls me kitten. Others refer to me as “bade” which is slang for pal or very good friend; while for many others, I will not labor to mention because the list is endless. Important to note is that these names signify something positive. I have not heard either directly or through grapevine any negative reference made in relation to me and I feel proud of myself and I thank God Almighty.
My life, I would say, began when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. For many years, I waded through life not knowing my worth and not understanding what direction I was taking. It was all routine. Get up in the morning, go through the personal hygiene process then move through the day like a programmed robot. I had grown believing that this was the natural order of things. We are born; we grow up, go to school, finish, get a job, get married, have children, grow old and eventually die. A sequence that, on the surface, had meaning and made sense but deep down there were questions.
As I grew older I began to question the purpose of my life and slowly I began to realize a satisfaction from making others’ lives much more fun and meaningful. The question “What am I living for?” began to resound more and more in me and I needed answers. That is when I heard sermons from the Bible and that caught my attention. The experience of my first and real encounter with my spiritual side is one that I shall never forget.
For many years I inwardly felt inferior about myself, thinking that I was not good enough and sometimes keeping to myself in solitude. I lacked the confidence and agility to assert myself and I settled for being called shy or timid. During my High School years I met many students from different walks of life and also with different mannerisms, some of which I could relate and others which I could not even comprehend. Every one of us had an agenda and mine was to pass my high school and get to the University. Success was my goal, my destiny, my calling and I was determined to do what it took to achieve it. My High School years though a few (two years) were full of fun and new experiences, none of which I regret.
The thing I am most proud of is that I was able to resist the highly inviting temptations that adolescence kept throwing my way. I was strong enough not to drink or indulge in any perverted exercises that were common among my peers. That I believe was one of the greatest victories of my life. I have kept the faith I have in my good Lord and I have fought tooth and nail to stay true. Although I am a little lady I have been trusted with huge tasks which I have accomplished with ease and an equal amount of relief. Just like the David and Goliath story. I have met my fair share of giants and I am still standing tall.
Today I look at myself in the mirror and I do not see the timid little girl from a few years ago. I see a woman ready and fully equipped (with all Heavenly protection) to conquer any hurdle that comes her way. I realize that I am a woman who will not be pushed to the curb by anyone who seeks to put me down. I do not fight with my fists but with prayer. I was told that keeping the faith is a task for the strong and I can say without flinching that I AM INDEED A STRONG AND AGILE WOMAN. All this I owe thanks to that one moment when I realized MY WORTH.
GLORY BE TO GOD
I am not one of them
Going through school was quite hard, I can’t say I suffered for sure because my mother tried to avail the best money could offer for my siblings and I. Being a single mom with three children to support, a family back in her home town and no stable source of income; it wasn’t easy. Still, she toiled every day and it’s her strength that made me realise I was destined for something bigger. Like the saying goes that a cow won’t give birth to a puppy, I was my mother’s daughter after all. At a subconscious level, many thought she’d fail and it was only a matter of time before she’d give up and return to her parents, but luckily, she did not feed into that narrative at all. These people’s attitudes also fed into how I perceived the world, I could not let them win, and it was not a luxury I could afford. At least not while I had the chance! I think I worked twice as hard because I understood our predicament well.
One of the biggest turning points was when I was bound to join S.1 in 2005. An uncle, who at the time worked in a prestigious office in one of Public Universities in Kampala promised to secure for me a place in a good school since my first choice, Mt. St. Mary’s Namagunga, could not take me. I had scored 8 aggregates; not good enough for a little girl who aspired to be a lawyer when she grew up. He also had daughters joining in the same class, the reason my mother was compelled to accept the offer. Unfortunately, while the others joined, I stayed home for close to a month with no further attempt to find me a placement. Frustrated, my mother travelled from Mbale (Eastern Uganda, boarding Kenya) to figure out what the problem was only to find me at home. I’d never seen such agony in her eyes. Feeling betrayed, she settled for the next best school that would take me. I ended up in a private school with a rather interesting academic record. It’s at that point that I resolved that my mother would not go through the same situation; that I’d work hard to make something of myself.
I guess the rest is history now. Despite the problems being faced now, at least I know am not one of them
MY JOURNEY FROM THE PARTY HOUSE TO THE PULPIT
I was always that party girl, not just attending them, but throwing them too. Honestly my insecurities had caught up with me, so many doors in my life were shut out. For example, I always asked God for a perfect husband, but never gave him the chance to perfect me first. I always wanted to be rich, but couldn’t keep my salary for more than a week, I always wanted to be a leader, but had too many hangovers to deal with. My world was a cold dark one, one that I convinced myself only a bottle could understand. But Gods love will forever amaze me. He pulled me out of that dark hole, showing me that it was not over with me.
See ladies, the thing I have learnt about God is he is the author of our lives. He knows it even before we do, so no matter how far we run, he isn’t surprised, he will keep changing the script till you get back to where he calls you. For me, that happened one ‘hangover Thursday’ when I decided to enroll for a class called ‘MIZIZI.’ It’s a ten week experience where we get to establish a relationship with God, understand our purpose, and plug in to community. To be honest, I reached out because I was bored with my life. The first couple of sessions, I could have given up, but something in me kept me going. I met people just like me, alone and confused, looking for a place to be real with God. It turned my life around. Even though I had not quit partying for a while, I was beginning to seek and trust God again. I began to understand my self, the things iam passionate about, my personality, and slowly dealing with my insecurities. I began to serve in church, and realized I had skills I had shun for so long. I was entrusted to lead ministries and missions, I grew from a girl to a woman.
Now more than ever I am passionate about God, when you understand his mind and his ways, gosh, its mind blowing. I have understood his will for me, and my purpose has directed my heart to a group of young single mothers and women living in Nsangi town in Uganda. My desire is to show them what hope looks like, and what God’s Grace can do for them. That they may understand that their story is not yet over. If Christ went through a transformation story, so will they. And most importantly, that their children may see them as hardworking women and desire to walk right in their footsteps. I have just completed my MA in Organizational Development from United States International University in Nairobi. That was close to two years away from home. I call it my ‘wilderness experience’ God taking me to a land where I knew close to no one in the beginning, so he could work on me and groom me to the woman iam now. It’s amazing that in a place where I had so much freedom to be that crazy party girl again, I found myself in places of leadership, service, and prayer.
So let me encourage you for a minute, I don’t know what you’re going through, but God is bigger than it, approach him who is ever merciful, forgiving and loving, and let him re write your story. I was honestly nothing before understanding who God is, and now, I’m moving from glory to glory. I serve a mighty king. He is using my past experiences to turn around the lives of girls and women who have lost hope. I have gone ahead to start a SACCO (Beauty in Grace Savings and Credit Cooperation) with over thirty women in Nsangi, this is not just an opportunity for savings and financial development for these women, but also a place where they can come together to be encouraged, spend time in prayer and empower one another, that God is the author and Finisher of our faith, and he says ‘It’s not over!’ we sit together, eat and laugh, share past experiences, testimonies and lessons, we host mature women in different fields to counsel us on family, relationships and career and business among others, we give hope for our children, I mean if the Bible tells us the power of life and death is In our tongue, then we speak life into our children, we believe, and they become. As I write, I’m happily getting married into ministry, so more opportunity for God to use me to change lives, and be an encouragement to women in diverse situations as I learn him even more!
This can be your story too, your weakness is your greatest strength, believe you are what God sees you as, surround yourself with positive people who will stand by you no matter what, and don’t be too hard on yourself, God doesn’t expect you to be perfect first, he wants to do it for you. I believe that today, you are inspired to believe in yourself, go out there and impact your community, for in your community, you will find yourself! And God above all Things!!
TO LOVE OTHERS, I LEARNT TO LOVE SELF FIRST
A few months ago (at the beginning of the year 2017), I attended a training in leadership which was a big eye-opener for me. From that training, I discovered who my inner self was. During that training, we went through a course on 7 habits of highly effective people and I realized that I had been putting myself last. With the job, wifely duties and children, I always have no time left to myself as I have to make sure everything in the house is in order. This unpaid care work combined with professional work was beginning to eat me up and I had no time left for myself. This was not only affecting me but also the people around me because I was then becoming rude even to my children who are just toddlers. My friends had started excluding me from their circles because I was never there every time they called me for events.
From ‘The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People’ which were covered during the aforementioned training, I took note of habit 6 which talked about synergizing that is getting time for fun even when working. Additionally, habit 7 emphasizes sharpening the saw which also talked about looking in our mind, body, soul and spirit and be able to satisfy all the above to have a fulfilling life. Because of this, I decided to have time for me with some of the colleagues I met there.
Over the Easter holiday, we decided to take a trip to Zanzibar just with my friends as a way of letting off steam and for me to get back into the social network. This trip actually paid off because I got to associate with other people in the world and see the different ways in which people live. One thing that interested me the most during the trip was how people in Zanzibar were very hospitable – something you do not see in most East African countries – and I got to learn to be humble in every situation.
I have decided to always work for like a period of 4 months and then get an holiday with my family and I advise all working parents to embrace this because it gets them closer to your families and makes you enjoy work.
After this training, I focused to have time for me. I decided to always have time for myself. I have learnt to love myself first because this has also helped to love other people around me too. I have managed to create time for myself as well as my family and now the conditions around me are conducive. I encourage all mothers to always create time for themselves because it is food to the soul.
Running for Post Traumatic Growth
My name is Bunny, like a rabbit, but I am more commonly known as “Ally’s Mom.” Being Ally’s Mom is both an honor and a challenge, as she is exceptionally bright…and equally headstrong.
At the end of school last year Ally announced that she wanted to join Girls on the Run in the fall since she would “FINALLY” be old enough to participate. Her cousin Jade had been telling her about the program for two seasons, and Ally was eager to join in the experience. She was so excited; she made me set a reminder on my phone for 6:00 PM the moment registration opened for the 2016 Fall Season. The night the reminder sounded we sat together with her younger brother at the top of the stairs to fill out her registration on my phone and she jumped up to do a happy dance once we were done. I was brimming with pride that she had taken initiative and followed through. I had heard so many great things about Girls on the Run, and I was curious to see how Ally would respond to this program and the challenge of running a 5K.
When Ally was 4 years old I made a decision that would have a huge impact on our lives: I decided to strike out as a single mother and leave behind the abusive relationship that dominated our existence up to that pivotal moment. Having witnessed most of the abusive behaviors of her father, Ally had difficulty self-regulating and was prone to emotional outbursts and uncontrollable fits of anger. For almost a year after we left she experienced night-terrors, and I would spend hours trying to console her.
Once the season started I noticed a dramatic change in her attitude. She began parroting phrases from practice. If she felt angry she would stop herself and breathe in and out slowly, several times, until she regained her composure. She started saying nice things about herself and her younger brother, AJ, to increase their “positive self-talk.” Ally would be gushing excitedly on practice days about the Lesson and she developed a healthy glow…not to mention a healthy appetite! When the “No Fizz Challenge” started Ally took it VERY seriously and encouraged the rest of our family to participate in order to show our support. During this time she exercised self-control and learned the importance of accountability. Girls on the Run got us ALL up and moving as she trained and we were determined to keep up with her!
As the Season progressed she began building others up in deed and action. From the first 5K to the final 5K I witnessed a strengthening in her resolve to improve her performance. She finished 15 minutes faster her second race!!!!! I believe this program gives her an outlet and provides her with the language of self-expression and an environment of acceptance to push herself outside of her comfort zone. It is truly remarkable what Girls on the Run achieves and the far-reaching impact it has on our girls and the community as a result. Words alone fail to express the depth of gratitude I feel for this program and our incredible Coaches! I hope we are able to run many more seasons together and the reminder has already been set for this coming season! See you at the Finish Line!!!!!!!
I Am Free
I struggled for years in my marriage. There was no physical abuse. There were no fights, no yelling or screaming. There was apathy, and my attempts to discuss the state of our marriage were always shut down as soon as I initiated the conversations.
Then there was our last trip together, and I wondered how I would deal with a week of being invisible except at meals, when we actually did talk. But not about anything that mattered. Not about his lack of interest in anything that was important to me. Not about his deep-seated anger at his controlling parents. Not about therapy. Not about the fact that I could not continue living this way.
I went to a therapist and she asked, “Do you believe it will ever change? Do you believe that he will ever hear you?” No. Not ever. So I decided that I would insist that we see a therapist together. My fears and beliefs were confirmed. He did not want a divorce, but he did not want to change either. So I concluded that the turmoil of divorce could not be worse than the state of sadness that filled my every day and every night. It was not.
Now, I am free. My life is what I make of it. Rather than ask myself why I waited so long to end that bad marriage, I celebrate the fact that eventually I did. And I am grateful each day that I made the choice to LIVE my life instead of minimizing it, instead of sacrificing the woman I am and want to be.
Turbo
In my third season as a coach with Girls on the Run (GOTR), I met McKenna. She marched to the beat of her own drum, unleashing her unique, creative and occasionally – but unintentionally – inappropriate sense of humor at every turn. She always had the team in stitches with her punch lines and was always the first to plug in her positive cord at practice.
McKenna wasn’t the fastest girl on the team. It doesn’t matter how many times you stress the importance of moving forward over being first place to a nine-year-old; they see that they’re the last – and they feel it. One day, when her spirits seemed a bit low, I challenged her to find her Turbo Button within and hit it for the last few yards of a lap.
This girl could sprint.
Quickly nicknamed ‘Turbo,’ she kept her pace in the back of the pack, turning on that infamous Turbo button as she finished her workout at each practice. Her dad, Gerald, was going to join her as a Running Buddy but expressed his own anxiety about his ability to run a 5K and asked a close family friend to run with McKenna instead. They were last during our team 5K, but they finished together.
The last day of practice before McKenna’s first 5K was unusually cold and rainy. As the girls finished their final workout, McKenna was bringing up the rear. Be it the weather, anxiety about the race or just a bad day, Turbo’s positive cord was punctured. There would be no Turbo today; her negative cord had taken over and she was done. No one could bring her back out of her funk like she had done for everyone else for the previous ten weeks.
Two days later, McKenna showed up in her normal positive mood on an absolutely freezing morning for her first race. She was in a good mood, if not cautiously optimistic. The team split up as the race started. About a mile in, I saw McKenna out on the course – I ran up alongside her and she flashed her huge grin at me. I said, “Turbo! You just ran a full mile without stopping, which you have never done! You’re killing it! How do you feel?!”
“Coach Jess, I feel like I can do anything right now!”
Turbo finished her race. She came back the next spring. A year after that first season, Gerald joined her as her Running Buddy – they finished the team 5K in first place!
Today, Turbo is a couple of years aged out of the program. She is an active GOTR Alumni for her local chapter. She cheers and roots for the new generation of GOTR runners when she has the opportunity, positive cord in full effect.
I’m lucky to run with her a few times a month. She still has that unmatched sense of humor and it’s been an honor to watch her grow up. Now and then, we run community 5Ks with her fellow GOTR alumni. She still occasionally expresses some uneasiness about completing these races. I remind her that yes, it might be hard, but I’ll always have her back. She can overcome the new challenge, just like that first time.
She always does.
The story of GOTR WORCESTER and ME
I’d like to start my story by sharing a little bit about myself and my reasons for wanting to share this great program of Girls on the Run with every person I have ever met. It is all I talk about! I’ve been married to the most amazing man for 18 years now, we’ve actually been together 29 years believe it or not. More than half my life. We have 3 awesome children, a quietly confident 16 year old daughter named Caitlin and 2 sons that are full of energy, a 12 year old Troy and a 10 year old Colin. My husband actually cringed a little bit when I first proposed this idea of starting a GOTR council. He actually said “of course my wife wants to essentially work for free” but after a long walk one afternoon and several hours worth of conversations I sold him on the idea. You see I have been talking about this program since 2004… Just ask my closest friends I’m sure they got sick of hearing about it.
It was 2004 when I first heard about GOTR when a friend gave me the book “Girls on track.” Written by GOTR founder Molly Barker. My friend’s daughter was struggling a little bit socially in the 4th grade. Some of her friends were telling her she couldn’t do a cartwheel so she couldn’t play with them at recess. I said to my friend’s daughter, “You know what I would do? I’d stand there and do my horrible cartwheels at recess right next to those girls.” She just looked at me and said, “I could never do that”. About a month after that conversation my friend slid me the book across the table while we were sharing a cup of coffee. Her sister had sent her the book from California. My friend said “YOU need to do this program with our girls, YOU could do this, YOU were made to teach this program!”
Well after a few more babies and some family challenges along the way, Girls on the Run kept coming up in my life. Every time I would put it on the back burner it would somehow bubble up to the surface and give me a little nudge.
In 2014 I finally got the courage to take the plunge. During the process of the monstrous GOTR application – which totaled 297 pages. As proposed council director I was asked to answer the question “Why are you interested in starting a council of Girls on the Run?” WOW! Why did I want to REALLY start a council so badly?
I’ve reflected back on my life and all the reasons for wanting to start this council. I have had several friends over the years say to me “you are the most confident person I have ever met” and when I think back on my life and try to find the reasons why that may be true I always come back to what I learned about myself through sports.
When I was a freshman in high school I tried out for the field hockey team and I remember seeing this older girl, a fiery read head named Susan, she was so amazing and she had this confidence on and off the field that I had never seen before. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that I became close friends with Sue. Through that friendship Susan taught me how to celebrate my strengths and abilities instead of downplaying my talents. I learned from Susan how to embrace my competitive edge and never be afraid to be strong and true to myself.
When I starting dating my now husband Don the Summer going in to our Junior year of high school, we challenged each other in every sport imaginable. Do you know how hard it is to play field hockey one on one? If I had to play another game of RISK one more time I might have strangled myself. Don never let me off the hook, he still doesn’t, he challenges me and never lets me win. Don inspires me to be my best and give my best 100% of the time. If only I could get that laundry thing down.
When I looked back, turns out I had a really hard year in 2002 – my sister passed away in February from years of substance abuse and my friend Susan (that fiery red head) passed away of ovarian cancer in August that same year. I really struggled with these two deaths. I struggled with the two very different extremes of self worth. I remember thinking what are you going to do to make a difference? Did I want to do work with substance abuse? One of my professors in college said try to be “proactive” in business… I thought to myself.. Why not be proactive in LIFE? I may not be able to change what happened to my sister but how could I be “proactive” enough to try to prevent substance abuse in young girls before it even starts? How do you “teach” someone how to love herself? How do you “teach” them confidence? How do you teach them they are WORTHY? How do you reach girls BEFORE they develop a self-esteem issue?
GIRLS ON THE RUN is how you REACH those girls…
I’ll close with a little story, our daughter is a competitive swimmer, she has been since the age of 7 1/2. When she started competing she would get these belly aches right before her heat, like clock work we would head to the bathroom… one particular swim meet the conversation went something like “do you get a little nervous before you are getting ready to race?” and she said – I remember it like it was yesterday “yes mom, but once I get up on those starting blocks, it all goes away mom and I feel great” 7 ½ – can you believe it? I knew then, that we were doing something right.
Tales from the Back
I am not a runner. In fact, running is very far outside my wheelhouse and something I tend to emphasize when people say they can’t coach or join GOTR because they don’t run. I remind them it’s not about the running, it’s about the lessons learned both in the curriculum and outside of it. And really, finding inspiration and lessons in the smallest of things is probably, to me, the hallmark of the program.
I often joke I’d be less of a jerk if I had a program like GOTR when I was a kid, but like many coaches and volunteers, my life has been impacted by the people I’ve met over the years, none more so than my time as a Sweeper. For those that don’t know, the sweepers are the very last people to finish in our celebratory 5Ks – we ohana by making sure no one gets left behind or forgotten on the course. I’ve been a sweeper for several races now and each time I find the stories from the back of the pack are just as important as those from the front.
Last spring, while sweeping with my fellow board member, Donna, we had the chance to meet a GOTR girl and her mom who were competing. It was her first year in the program and she talked about how much she loved everything, even the laps, during lessons. After the first mile marker, she started to pick up her pace as the spirit of the 5K infected her and we were left with her mother. Donna noted that the mother had a heart beat style tattoo that has become popular in recent years and commented that she thought it was lovely.
The mother revealed that her daughter had a heart defect that will eventually require a transplant. The doctors told this mother that her daughter’s life would most likely be limited because of this defect, which she didn’t entirely accept. When the chance for the daughter to join GOTR came up, she was hesitant but believed in the power of the lessons of the program enough to let the little girl join. During the race the mother said she was so proud of her daughter for not just completing the program, but completing a 5K – something no one thought possible of her. She even said she couldn’t wait to call the cardiologist the following Monday to share the exciting news.
For most of that 5K, her daughter remained within sight of us as she alternated between walking and jogging with other GOTR girls around her, but as we turned onto the track for the last section of the race, she took off and ran towards the finish line with the energy so natural to elementary school girls. I watched as a little girl who was told she ‘couldn’t’ accept a 5K medal with a beaming smile and a mother who was bursting with pride. The GOTR ripple effect at work.
Two years ago, I had experienced my first Sweeper Moment that really began my love affair with being in the back of the pack. I had never swept before, but I can say after that season, I was hooked. I got to complete a 5K and enjoy it at a pace more fitting for me than for, say, Wilma Rudolph. That year as Donna, who has become my Sweeper Pal, and I walked the course, we realized that we were out pacing our very last participant. Even when we slowed our own paces it still wasn’t enough.
The woman, a mother of a girl running that race, was walking incredibly slow, mostly due to her weight and what looked like a limp. I would later find out that she had surgery on her leg half a year prior. But her pace, as slow as it was, was consistent and she walked the path with her ear buds in and a bag with water bottles hanging from her wrist. As Donna and I passed cheer squads and water stations, we told them they absolutely could NOT leave until she passed them. She was a walker in our race and she was going to experience everything everyone else did before her.
Eventually people who were part of the cheer squads and the stops would pass by us on their way back to the race headquarters, while our Super Mom was still walking the course behind us. About half a mile from the finish line, a young girl came running up to me and Donna. When I asked her where she was going, it was revealed that this GOTR girl was going back to finish the course with her running buddy – Super Mom. I told Donna to go ahead and I would walk back with our GOTR girl so she can catch up to her mom.
During the short walk, this girl talked ninety to nothing about how she was so happy her mom was her running buddy and that even with all her health problems, Mom wanted to be there. She spoke of her mother with such pride and love that when we caught up with Mom, she ran over and gave her mother the biggest hug I’ve ever seen. As we walked back, members of the last cheer squad joined us. Super Mom talked to the adults about how she felt it was important to be her daughter’s running buddy and to show her daughter that there is no such thing as limitations. While she herself had a lot to work through mentally and physically to achieve her goals of being a mom that can play with her daughter, she knew that the first positive step to take was to just do it because she had to prove that anything was possible.
One of the things I told my girls this season was how we see ourselves is much different than how others see us and this is a perfect case. The mom felt she need to be a better role model for her daughter and all the while the daughter spoke of her mother with such admiration for always being there for her. Together they finished the race – so far behind everyone else that the finish line was already packed away – but they finished to cheering staff and volunteers. And while we only give girls in the program medals for completing the season, our director was on hand with a medal and tears in her eyes for the mom that embodied GOTR spirit on that chilly November evening.
This year, our council had 1,465 girls in the spring and another 750 in the fall of 2016, making this the biggest year yet for us and nearly 2300 girls whose lives are forever changed by a ten-week program. That means over 2200 families lives touched by girls who are stronger and better than they were. We just finished our spring season 5Ks and I saw girls who ran like gazelles and girls who walked the whole way holding hands with their newfound friends. I saw moms cheer their daughters and dads wear tutus, grandparents holding up signs, and coaches who nearly cried watching the girls they’ve mentored this season do something they never thought possible. I watched as a
young girl with developmental disabilities walk/jog a mile with her family cheering with pride. While she never made it past that mile marker sign, she stood beaming with pride next to it while family took pictures.
I may be sweeping from the back, but I can see clearly what leads these girls, our coaches, our staff, our volunteers, and our communities. It’s found in the compact body of a young girl who knows that she is the future and is ready to break down anything that gets in her way.
Star Power
Being a Girl on the Run is so much fun
Because we learn and dream and live and run
When I am having a bad day, I look up and say,
“My star power is covered. There are clouds in the way!”
What do I do when I’m stressed or worried?
I look to my friends and think about our journey.
We have learned how to use positive self-talk about our self and others
And how to maintain balance in our lives and embrace our culture.
It’s okay to be excited or gloomy or mad.
I stop and take a BrThRR before I react.
Empathy and communication are important in friendships
Because the possibilities of success from cooperation are endless.
Our community is strong and illuminating in color
I am so filled with gratitude that I could “Holla!”
Our star power can always be activated by following our dreams
Because we are Girls on the Run and we are proud of our team.
Only Sixteen
I am only sixteen. When I was just 14 years old my life changed more than I ever thought it would. In April of 2016 I stayed the night with my best friend, who was a guy. Which already would have been a problem so I made the wrong decision to lie to my parents about who I was staying with. This night was crazy, but it had been the best night ever. I spent so much time riding around with my best friend and smoking weed, which for me was a big deal at the time. The people he hung around with were bad influences on a 14 year old. They sold and did drugs. And were not good people to be around. Well on this night me and my best friend, and two of our other friends were hanging out in one of their rooms and two of the people in the room decided to do Acid, my best friend included. And my best friend had a gun he carried with him, one of the friends, we’ll call him Zach, wanted to see it. So my best friend made sure the gun was unloaded and locked and Zach looked and played with it. Well after this my best friend put one bullet inside the gun and as a joke said “let’s play Russian Roulette” obviously we all were kind of like hell no. That’s not a smart thing. And he continued to spin the chamber anyways. And pointed it at every one of us in that room. Then himself. After we all yelled and screamed at him to stop he just did it to himself. Spun the chamber. Shot it. Spun again. He did this about four times and then said okay last time. And I’m sure you can fill in the blank. As a fourteen year old this was a lot for me to handle. I was supposed to go to school the next day, it was a Thursday. Not only did I lose my best friend. I saw my best friend take his own life and there was nothing I could do about it. I was pulled from school for a week. And put into immediate counseling which continued through June the following year. I couldn’t eat or drink anything for days and my body started to fail and they told me they’d have to put me in a rehabilitation center if I didn’t eat and most importantly drink water. I finally did so and after suffering and blaming myself for months on end I started to get a little better. A week at a time. And to this day I cry. And wish I had done more. And now it’s been nearly two years and I still struggle with the depression and PTSD it has brought upon me.
I am only sixteen. I was just 15 when my life took a turn down a path I never saw coming. The following summer I was still very depressed and struggling. I chose the wrong friends. And I partied throughout the whole summer. I was drunk every night. And I had started doing drugs that could really impact my body. I was at a party for nearly a week. We were drinking and smoking and doing pills each night. When a 20 year old with a girlfriend told me I was pretty and “had a nice body for a 15 year old” I slept on a couch each night that I was there and one night, the last night I stayed, he got on the couch with me and started rubbing my waist. He was just trying to make ya girlfriend mad. But took it a little too far on a drunk messed up 15 year old. I’ve never been back to the house. Or seen those people again. But after this happened I continued to do drugs, and drink. And never told anyone. Until the Summer of 2017.
I’m only sixteen. At 15 I met someone who impacted me for better and for worse. I’ve gone through a couple hard breakups, ones that were simply hard at the time that looking back on were nothing. But I’m April of 2017 I met a boy. A boy who turned a home into a person. He accepted my past and who I was. And how I was shaped mentally. He was the reason I finally got clean. I fell in love with this boy. He truly was the one. And I’ve never loved more than I loved him. We were so happy. And we swore we’d make it. And we did. For 10 months we made it. Until we didn’t. This was not the boy I lost my virginity to, but he was the boy who I had sex with that meant something at just 16 years old. We were perfect. Until we weren’t. This past February. Yes. A month ago. We fell apart and he left me. After promising no matter what he wouldn’t be like the rest. He’d stick around when things got hard. He didn’t. Things got hard and he left. He told me he needed space and when I tried to fight for us he got mean. I fell apart. He broke me. I didn’t eat for over two weeks. I lost 15 pounds in those weeks. I was not eating and over exercising. I was very depressed and cried and cried. And eventually like anything. I was picking myself up and getting better again. And then just a little over two weeks later he texted me saying how much he missed me and loved me. And of course. I fell for it. He picked me up one Sunday and cried to me and cried to me saying he missed me and loved me and how we would work this out. And then we had sex. And then I went home. And the entire following week he acted like he didn’t want to fix it. He talked to me. But hardly. And then at the end of the week he left again. And that was the most painful thing he could have ever done to me. This time I got worse. I started doing drugs again. Drinking very heavy. Mind you. This was just two weeks ago. I stopped eating again. And fell apart all over again. And then a girl from my church really helped me. I went to church. And I poured my heart out to this girl about everything. And I felt better. But it didn’t fix it. But I’m trying my hardest to rely on god.
I’m only sixteen and I’m so much better than I was. I’m still depressed. I’m still struggling. I stopped drinking. But I’m still struggling with drugs. This past week I fell to drugs again. But I’m working on picking myself up again. And coming out of this. The only thing that’s ever got me through all of this is God. I fully rely on him through everything. I struggle with why God does what he does. But I try and understand. I’ve been 5 days clean of everything and I’m really trying. I’m crying less. And I’m getting back on track in school. And working again. And improving myself. Because In the end of the day the most important thing is taking care of yourself. And even struggling with drugs I continue telling myself I can do this for me. And for God. And for all of my family and friends who would be hurt if something would happen to me. I am sixteen years old with more stories and messed up things than most 30 year olds. I had to grow up very fast. And I graduate in June and will attend Radford University at 17. I’ve made so many accomplishments. And there’s nothing more important than yourself. And you should alway put yourself first. You should never judge another person by their past. You probably don’t know all of it. Always put yourself first and rely on God or whatever you feel would best motivate you. It’s not the end. If you want to get better you have the power to make it better. You will succeed. Believe in you. Be your own number one fan. And no matter what horrible things happen along the way. That will impact your life forever. You will overcome it. I promise.
Caged
I don’t know if this can fit under the category “inspiring” this is more of a “your not alone” kind of story. My main point of sharing my feelings/life is to let other females (in some cases males) know that what their going through someone out there, in this giant earth we call “home” is going through the same thing. You are not alone. Now your getting a VIP access into my mind and soul. Somewhere not many people have visited and those who have, never came out. If the world knew the things that go through my head on a daily basis, the world would be in tears. I am 15 years old i’m turning 16 in October, today is March 10, 2018. This “depression” (not sure if i can call it that) has been going on for 5 years now. How i made it into 2018? I do not know. My entire life..well since i was 13 has been filled with nothing but confusion..depression..sadness..and just hatred. I miss the little 6 year old me who got along with her older brothers..who looked forward to everyday..who could hold both her mother and father’s hand with joy, and most importantly who had a clean page to her name. I am sitting on a bathroom floor typing all this out, i’m supposed to be washing it but just yesterday i think my life has finally hit the very last pot hole in the road. I am officially done. You ever been labeled as something by your parents like for example (a thief,lire,disgrace,shame,mistake,devil,Satan’s spawn/decedent or your gonna like this one..useless) in my case all of the above. Well i guess what i’m getting to with all that is with me..when i get torn down with words like that i always like to hold on to something. like for instance i’d tell myself. At least they don’t see me as a prostitute,a drug addict,a slut and so on. Because i’m not any of those. I’m a virgin for god sake! Now i can’t even tell myself that (i’m still a virgin/as innocent as ever.) just my Father no longer thinks that, you see he’s not your typical Dad..what is a typical dad? Let me correct myself he’s not my dad (emotionally) technically DNA wise he is. Now ill finish this story some other time..till then.
I’m strong enough to get through it
My story begins somewhere in the early 1990’s. My mother and father met each other through unknown circumstances, and started dating, living a perfectly happy relationship. In 1994, my mother gave birth to her first child – a girl named B. My older sister. And in 1996, I followed. This is where the real story begins.
Somewhere in 1997, my mother left my father for another man, a man named L. The story is conflicting. My father says she left him because she was unfaithful with L; my mother says she left because my father developed a drinking problem. I never knew who to believe, and to this day, both sides of the story rings of truth, so maybe they were both right. My mother left my father, and took my older sister and I with her.
At the start of 1998, my mother and L purchased a farm. It was once a chicken farm, but had since been repurposed as a family home with stables. And then, in 1998, my little sister V was born. And the year after that, in 1999, my mother and L got married. I was 3, so I do not remember any of this.
My earliest memory is from the following year, the year 2000. On my 4th birthday, I got a puppy as a birthday present from my grandfather on my mothers side. I called her Bebe. And in 2000, my little brother S was born.
My next memory took place in 2002. I was 6 years old at the time, and even though I was so young, I still realized that something had changed. I remember my mother being involved in a car accident. It was dark out when we were taken to the scene by my stepfather. My mothers car was crumpled in a ditch with a semi-trailer in the opposite ditch. I later on learned that the driver of the semi had turned on his high-beams and fallen asleep behind the wheel, veering into the opposite lane, narrowly missing my mother but sending her car flying into the ditch. And it was just after that that everything at home changed. I remember the first threat from my stepfather, L. I remember the first time I was pushed and shoved around. I remember becoming a household slave, taking on a responsibility no six-year-old should ever have to carry. And the threats and punishment would escalate over the following years. In 2004, at the age of 8, I was caught in a routine that I desperately wanted to break free from. I still remember it clear as day, having to get up before the sun rose to throw wood in the furnace to make sure there was hot water for when my mother and stepfather woke up and took a shower. I remember having to put out the clothes for my siblings to get dressed in and preparing their breakfast. I remember having to help my older sister with her homework and facing the pinches and shoves when I got the answer wrong. I remember having to go to school, becoming an entirely different person because I had been threatened not to tell my teachers or classmates what went on at home. And once I got home, the routine continued. I remember having to do my own homework along with my siblings. I remember having to do the laundry on my own, and the violence that ensued if I didn’t use the right settings on the machine or the right kind of laundry detergent. I remember having to hang it up on the laundry lines, and the ensuing violence if I did it wrong, often over something as trivial as not color-coding the clamps. I remember having to cook dinner for a family of six, clearing away after dinner, washing the dishes and cleaning before falling into bed, exhausted, late in the evening. And the following morning, the routine would start over again.
The same year, 2004, my mother and stepfather purchased horses and ponies that soon became my only solace in a life I despised. Life inside the house was exhausting chores and turmoil and escalating violence, and the only place I found peace was in the stable, with one of them especially; a pony named Fury. He became my best friend, and he taught me how to ride. With him, whether on the ground or on his back, I was free.. utterly and completely.
In the summer of 2005, I spent a week with my grandmother and her boyfriend. I don’t remember much of what passed during this time, other than the delicious dessert she would cook up for me and enjoying a week without threats and violence. And when I returned home, disaster had struck. I remember walking in the door, calling for Bebe like I always did upon returning home from vacation or school, only she did not come flying out to greet me like she usually would. Instead I saw my mother’s face, for once filled with compassion and pity. Bebe had been struck by a hit-and-run driver just outside our house, managing to fight her way into the house before dying in my mother’s arms. They had buried her in the backyard.. and so, the stone overlooking her grave and the collar they had attached to the makeshift cross became my new favorite place. I felt like one of my two solaces in my life was gone. The loss of her nearly broke me apart, having suffered so much and then losing one of the only good memories I had.
A couple of weeks after that, one of our horses died. A colt, not even 3 years old. He tried jumping out of the stall, being pulled back by the rope attached to his halter, landing wrong and breaking his neck. I found him lying like this on the ground, his neck stretched down his side with his head twisted. He was foaming blood at the mouth, wheezing for breath. And even though I ran for the knife in the feed room, and cut loose the rope, it was too late. The damage was done, and he died before the vet arrived.
It was during this year that my older sister and I finally saw our father again. Our mother would put us on a bus and sending us to spend every other weekend with him.. and oh, how I loved it there. There were no threats, no violence, no endless stream of chores I had to do all on my own. I was under strict orders not to tell him anything of what I had to do at home, so I didn’t tell him. I was terrified of what would happen if my mother and stepfather found out I did. So I came to love the weekends with my father, the perfect father and parent in my life. I remember early Saturday and Sunday mornings, sitting together under a blanket on the couch, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. I remember playing board games and card games to no end. I remember him buying me the new clothes I so desperately needed, and him taking me out to experience new things, such as a trip to the swimming pool, and getting a haircut at a salon.
Life continued as such into 2005 and through the following months. In the beginning of June that year, barely a month before my 10th birthday, I was home alone with my stepfather while my mother and siblings were in town. I was doing my chores, flitting from room to room in order to escape my stepfather who loomed over me, terrified about the beating I thought was coming because he was dissatisfied with how well I did my chores. But as it turned out, that was not the reason for his looming over me. Right in the middle of the living room, he forced me on the floor, tore apart my clothes and raped me. I remember the agony, and the way his hands were so rough on my skin. I remember his breath stinking of alcohol, and the way he hissed and grunted in effort. And I remember my own screams and pleading that were to no avail. And once he was done, I remember the blood and semen on the inside of my thighs, the agony I felt when I stumbled from the room, and the way he laughed as I fell to my knees twice on my way to the door. I did not know what to do with myself. I felt violated, and knew that whatever he just did to me, it was wrong. It was something to hide, to feel ashamed of. And remembering the words he said meanwhile, that maybe I did deserve it. That maybe I did want it. So I wiped myself clean, stuffed toilet paper in my underwear to staunch the bleeding, and tried not to limp or whimper in pain as I left my room to continue my chores, because if I didn’t do them, I would get beaten again. And 2 weeks later, in late June, I found a relief for my inner pain.. by causing myself pain on the outside. I discovered, what I then considered, the wonder of cutting and burning yourself. The pain I could handle, because I was used to it. And it was the relief, hurting myself on the outside to silence the thing on the inside, that made me keep doing it. I never did it where my family would see, though. And still, the hell that was my life continued to drop like a stone. I did not celebrate a birthday – we never did celebrate it. My parents, and my siblings, would be celebrated with early mornings, presents, birthday cakes, freshly baked bread and buns and chocolate milk, but never mine. Just like I was never allowed to leave my room on Christmas, Easter or New Years. Instead I would be given 3 meager meals per day and be let out to use the bathroom two times per day. Because, God forbid, I would ruin the happy holidays by my presence. So, my only solace was my self-harming, and my collection of books I’d taken from the bookshelf in the living room when no one was looking. Reading equaled escape, entering a whole new world where I would forget about my own.
In 2005, 3 of our horses were put down. I never figured out why. Fury was among the 3 that remained alive. And a month after that, I finally broke under the pressure, after one particular episode of bullying at school tearing me down. And I think my stepfather must have known. Because I found my cat with her neck broken on my bed that night. A silent warning to keep my mouth shut about what was going on, but instead it had to opposite effect of what my stepfather intended for it to have. I never told anyone, oh no, but by that time, I was a shell of the girl I should have been, and my teachers started to notice. They started a formal investigation into how life at home was, asking me and my siblings all sorts of questions. I remember the nice lady and all the questions she asked, and I remember lying to her, telling her everything was perfect. Soon after, the investigation ended with nobody being any wiser about how my life really was.
And in December, another one of our horses died. I remember being woken up, yelled at to get dressed and get outside to keep the horse on her feet by walking around with her. I remember the Christmas stockings on the wall, and the Christmas calendars. No tree yet, though, so it was early on in the month. And even as I walked around for hours that night with her, she eventually gave up, collapsing and dying in the snow.
And on Christmas Day that year, I tried to take my own life for the first time. I was 10 years old. My mother’s solution to the problem I presented when she found me with my wrists slit was to staunch the bleeding and tie me to a chair, so I could not tear off the bandages and continue bleeding. She did not seem surprised. She didn’t cry or ask me why. If anything, she seemed disappointed and angry, but not with herself or her husband, but at me. Silently asking me “How dare you do this, you ungrateful child.”
And a week after this, the day before New Years Eve, an early morning when I went to feed Fury, I found him lying on the floor. He was alive; but he refused to get up. I remember trying to pull him on his feet and shaking a bucket of feed near his face. And when he still would not get up, I realized that he was trying to tell me he was giving up, that his time had come. He had been left alone as all our other horses died or sold, leaving him behind. So I sat down on in the middle of the stall, in the middle of the muck, took his head in my lap, and sang to him while running my hand over his head. And he died in my arms. And suddenly, I was left behind, alone, just like he was.
New Years Eve came and went, and 2006 began. By this time, I had stopped hoping for a better year. And in January, one chapter of life ended, and another began. I was at home with my little brother, S, and my stepfather. I remember him drinking and getting angrier by the minute. In an effort to protect my little brother from seeing his father like that, I took him to my room and called my mother. And as my mother came home with my other two siblings, my mother and stepfather had a huge fight. They didn’t just yell at each other, they fought. They shoved each other into the furniture, throwing around their wedding rings. She had been cheating on him with a man she’d known since elementary school. And as our mother screamed at us to gather our things, put on our jackets, and wait in the kitchen, my older sister got the order to call the police. After doing so, she stepped into the living room with me right behind her and shouted over the yelling that she’d called them and that they were on their way. In a fit of rage, my stepfather went for my older sister, and in her defense, my mother grabbed him by the throat and took him down to the floor, straddling his chest, yelling at us to RUN. So we ran. Four children, aged 12 to 6, running out of our home on a cold and snowy January night. Our mother caught up with us soon after, and together we ran down the street, heading for a safe haven with a friend of my mother, with my stepfather chasing us in his car. Several times underway we hid behind snowbanks, and in the garages and behind houses of strangers along the road, never being discovered by them or my stepfather. And then we reached the safe haven, only to have him show up 15 minutes later, finally having realized where we went. But instead of letting him in, my mother’s friend and her husband told my stepfather that we had not shown up, but that if we would, they would call him immediately. He left in a hurry, his tires kicking up snow as he drove away from the house. The day after, my older sister and I were sent to our fathers’ house while my mother and my two youngest siblings, stepsister and stepbrother, went to a city four hours away with our mother, over to her new boyfriend, the man she was cheating on my stepfather with.
And my life changed.. for a time. Out of reach of my mother, in a safe environment with my father, I started trying to cope with the drastic changes that had happened in my life while still keeping all the abuse a secret. My father did not understand how I was so traumatized while my sister was perfectly sane, so perfectly.. normal. And even though my life was better, that there was no abuse, no threats, nothing of what my life had been like up until that point, I still tried to kill myself for the second and third time in a month. Perhaps it was because I finally realized what I had been missing out on, or perhaps because I was just tired of living. Looking back on it now, I can admit it was a good bit of both.
Not long after that, my mother moved back to the same city we’d all left a few months earlier, although a different house, bringing all four of her children with her. And I had hope, that for the first time, life with her would be different now that she was no longer living with my stepfather. I was wrong. The abuse continued, just by her hand instead of both of theirs. And while her boyfriend never laid a hand on me while he was there, he didn’t hold back on the yelling and the anger. And so, life went on in the same way it always did, daily beatings and daily threats. And over the next 3 years, until 2009, I tried to kill myself the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time in my life, failing every time either by being interrupted, treated or simply failing depending on the method I used, and still, I was cutting, now more than ever. I started cutting where people could see, a silent cry for help, that instead of getting people to help me, caused my teachers to stick me at the back of class, only intensifying the bullying I suffered every day at school.
And in 2010, my mother told us the news. She was pregnant with her fifth child. And in 2010, a little boy was born. R. Life continued, only now I also had the added responsibility of taking care of a newborn babe, something that terrified me beyond words because he was so fragile; and I had no idea what I was doing. And on it went, and the year passed just like all the ones before it did, with daily beatings either because I didn’t do a chore good enough, or fast enough, or simply because my mother was frustrated over something. I was reduced to nothing more than a slave and a punching bag.
In 2011, I finally snapped, something that had been coming on for a long time. I remember having just come home from school, stepping into the kitchen before being told to empty the dishwasher. It wasn’t a hard chore at all, but it was the memories behind the command, and the general feeling of anger I carried around with me at all times. I told her no, for the first time in years. And as she flew into a fit, yelling at me to do what I was told, I snapped even further. I did not care anymore, entering the stage of lethal calm, the stage past the breaking point. I told her no once again, and as she went to punch me, the roles reversed. I punched her one time, square in the face, and she fell to the floor. This was the first time I lifted a finger towards her or anyone else in my entire life, and I hate to admit it, but it felt good, turning the tables at last. I left her sitting there on the floor, crying and screaming. I packed my bag with the essentials, left the house and got on the next bus out of there. Went to my father’s house, begged him to take me in, and told him everything I had endured all those years. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Or, almost everything. I never told him about the rape, and to this day, I still haven’t. Not because I don’t think he doesn’t deserve to know, but because it won’t change anything other than how he looks at me.
He was appalled and enraged by what I told him. And his heart was breaking. I could see it in his stare, and the way he cried and hugged me to his chest. And for the first time in years, I accepted physical contact. He spent most of the following week on the phone with my mother, usually yelling and screaming into the phone, threatening her with lawsuits and criminal charges the rest of the time. And eventually, they came to an agreement – I would move in with him, effective immediately. And so I did. And then I cut all contact with my mother. Cut her right out of my life like a surgeon would cut out a tumor.
My life changed, but not as much as I wanted it to. I would receive threats via text messages and messages on social media from my mother and her boyfriend along with messages insulting me and my father. My older sister did not understand the hate between all of us because she, like my other siblings, never noticed how I was treated because they were never around when I was abused.
And I was traumatized. I might have been in a safer environment, a better one, but in my mind, I could hardly differentiate. The smallest thing would set me off into a fit of fury, or a fit of tears. My father did not know what to do with me, and eventually came to the conclusion that I had to see a doctor. There I was diagnosed with a Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, Anxiety, Social Anxiety and Bipolar Disorder I. And this resulted in going through several psychiatrists and a lot of different medication before they found the combination that could help me: a psychiatrist named C, and a bunch of pills.
In 2011, I started a new school closer to my dad than the old one I’d left behind when I moved. I started in the middle of 8th grade and managed to feel okay at school for 2 weeks before the bullying began. By this time, I was very different from my peers. I would sit quietly in class, always with earbuds and music in my ears, and my nose stuck in a book in both class and recess. Having had enough of bullying and the misery of life by that point, I started ditching classes, then skipping school entirely. And a few weeks after that, I finally figured out what my mom always meant when she said my dad was a no-good alcoholic drug-addict. His substance abuse kicked off, and I paid the price for it, becoming a punching bag when the combination of heroin, and whatever other drugs he took, and alcohol made him violent. But I was no longer going to sit idly by and take it – partly because he was much stronger than my mother and stepfather ever were, and partly because I had grown stronger while growing weaker at the same time. So when he came looking for a fight, I gave him one. I would frequently have to knock him out in order to stop him from assaulting me. And thus came my eighth, ninth, tenth and eleventh suicide attempts. By this time, I could not decide if I was just bad at taking my own life, or if there was someone looking over me, refusing to let me die. And if the latter was the case, I wanted to kill them. I just wanted peace from the hell that was my life. And I especially wanted peace from having to watch my father drink himself into a stupor every single day, waking up drunk, passing out in a pool of his own piss, and having to stop him from licking up the vomit he’d just expulsed, because according to him, he couldn’t let the alcohol in it go to waste.
In 2011, I started 9th grade at the same school, and the bullying continued as usual. I skipped classes, and frequently entire days of school, doing my homework assignments at home before turning them in on time just to go straight back home. Because of my homework receiving good grades, the school board overlooked my absence.
In September 2011, a bit of light entered my life. I met a colleague of my dad, a kind man named B, his wife A and their two children, S and P, two adorable kids aged 6 and 4. They had no idea what was going on in my father’s home, and I never told them because I didn’t want their pity. S and P, fell in love with me; started calling me “big sister”. They introduced me to a horse they owned, a beautiful gelding named Sandy, and a black pony named Jake who looked eerily like Fury. They let me ride Jake and take care of him, adding some joy back into my life in shape of the peace I had always found when in the company of horses.
And in early December 2011, I had prepared for my twelfth suicide attempt. I got a bottle of water, and a glass of strong sleeping pills. I even wrote a little letter, folded it and placed it on my desk, not that it seemed to matter, because who would even care enough to read it? I had no one that I could turn to. No family, no friends to turn to, and in my desperation for someone to care, anyone, I went online to a public chatroom I’d frequently watched but rarely participated in when spending some free time playing a game on the site. And there, a user named **** took the minute to send me a private message, asking “Are you alright?”
It changed my life. In my desperation, I told him everything about the hell that was my life, figuring that either he’d care and I’d finally have someone who did, or he wouldn’t and I wouldn’t be missed anyway.. but he cared. We spent 4 hours chatting privately to each other that night, exchanged phone numbers before logging off, and texted until 5 in the morning. His name was Z, and he saved my life.
Through the following months, him and I would e-mail, chat on social media, text via phone, talk via phone calls and voice calls on Skype. He became my online buddy, my only friend, and the person who made me stop and think that, “hey, maybe life is worth it.”
In June 2012, my 9th grade exams came up, and I skipped them all. I saw no reason to take them when I was unable to continue on another line of education the year after anyway.
And in July 2012, after knowing Z for little over a year, he confessed his love for me.. and thus began our long-distance relationship. He would text me randomly during the day, things such as “Hi beautiful, how are you?” and “Remember I love you”. He was a light shining in an otherwise dark world. And his light and love kept the shadows at bay.
In 2012, I started 10th grade, a grade meant for students who were not yet ready to move on, but who were also too far along to take another 9th grade. And, like I expected, the bullying started again, only this time it was mixed with sexual assaults of mild degrees. I was still the quiet girl who would rather read at all times than talk to her fellow classmates; which made me a target for bullying. And I had also matured into a beautiful young woman, which tempted the guys into fondling me in the hallways, something that, with my past, did not go over well. And when I’d lash out, I became known as the girl with the short fuse.. an endless circle. So in January 2013, I dropped out of 10th grade and started working as a part-time stable hand at the same riding school where I rode Jake. It was the best decision I ever made. I started working from 9 to 12, a short 3 hours, but voluntarily took more and more hours until I worked a full day from 6 to 2, or 4 to 10. And even that was not enough.. I loved it. I loved the hard physical work that took my mind off everything. I loved the smell of the horses and the leather tack. I loved exercising them whether from the ground or their backs. I loved brushing them, and I loved teaching younger people to ride. So it doubled as an escape, a way to get away from home and a job I loved. I would eventually meet at 5:30 in the morning, open up everything, work until 10pm at night when I would lock down everything, go home, eat, shower, fall asleep and then repeat. It became a sort of heaven for me.. I knew nothing better. And even with how life was still with my father, I no longer paid it special mind.. my job was my therapy.
In December 2013, I picked up a free horse, Spirit. His owner had connections to a drug dealing ring, and was going to prison. I was the best person suitable for taking Spirit in, so she sold him to me for the sum of 1 dollar so a contract could be written.
In March 2013, I quit my job. A new part time stable hand had arrived, and messed up the previously pleasant atmosphere. She would insult the paying customers, abuse the horses when she thought no one was watching, insult me and she even attacked me with a pitchfork, narrowly missing puncturing my back with it. My boss, however, overlooked it all.. either because the stable hand was sent there by the government as a part of a rehabilitation program, or because her parents supported the place financially. The last straw was after I got injured exercising a horse as part of my work; my boss threatened me to come into work the day after, despite me having be examined by doctors saying I shouldn’t be working for at least 3 more weeks. Never one for threats, I told her right then and there that I quit. I’d had enough.
Shortly after that, physical issues with my hips became more obvious, something I’d noticed over the previous couple of years but never paid much attention to because it wasn’t bad enough to care about. But now that I was without the regular exercise I had while working, I started being pained by my hips. A visit to the doctors office and resulting X-ray and MRI resulted in a diagnosis of slight Scoliosis with further tests coming at a later date to determine the cause for the issues with my hips.
And shortly after that, I started at a new school. It was a school for people from the ages of 16 and up to 25 who could, for whatever reason, not go to a normal school. It wasn’t a school for mentally challenged or physically handicapped people, but a mix in-between. Everyone there suffered from something that had made them victims at other schools, just like me. And there, I even managed to make a few friends, and because we all had something to deal with, there was no bullying. But life at home became gradually worse; and now I no longer had work to distract me with or use as therapy, and while I had Sassy and loved him, it was not quite the same. Cue my thirteenth suicide attempt. Lucky number 13. Or so I wished. For the first time, I actually regretted doing it right after I’d taken the overdose of medication. I tried to decide whether or not to call Z to tell him what I’d done, but he called me instead, at 2am where he, 2 hours previously, had said he was going to bed. And his first words were “This odd feeling woke me up. What did you do?”. Really made me believe in the divine. He said he’d felt restless, woken up with a feeling of urgency, and called me. He persuaded me to call an ambulance, and get treated for the OD, resulting in a 2 days hospitalization. And then he made me promise him not to kill myself ever again, or to cut myself ever again; and I promised him. And to this day, I haven’t broken this promise.
In January 2014, I had to sell Spirit. I was moving north, to move in with Z and his family, and could not bring Spirit with me. It broke my heart, but I had no other choice. And so, I said farewell to my best friend.
In March 2014, I moved in with Z’s family and tried to adjust to family life, something that was very difficult because I never had it before. And a couple of weeks later, the issue with my hips was finally determined. I had Hip Dysplasia with a 7º difference between the left and right side, something that doesn’t sound like much, but still resulted in me walking unevenly, one leg being slightly longer than the other, worsened by my mild degree of Scoliosis. And thus, I started physical therapy which didn’t help. I then resorted to starting riding at a local riding school in the hopes of it being a pain reliever like riding used to be. And I was right. Z’s mother and father also took me to a psychiatrist, starting a new bout of examinations and finding medication, while not understanding at all, despite them telling my psychiatrist they did. I got medication to take every night, which I did, along with another type of medication, a smaller dose, that was considered “emergency pills” for when I hit rock bottom and needed a pick me up.. problem was just that whenever I needed these, my mother in law refused to let me take them, saying I should just go for a walk instead and then I’d be OK again. She was incapable of understanding that a walk wouldn’t be a miracle cure.
Then I began studying via the internet, taking online courses so I could finally take my 9th grade exams when summer came around. It was also around this time that I began speaking with my older sister again for the first time in a couple of years; she did not believe me those years ago, when I told her how my mother was, but by now, she’d experienced a tiny bit of the same and had come to see the truth.
Then, on Christmas Eve, my first Christmas not locked up in my room, I was pretty shut in and quiet. Z understood it; but his parents did not. And when Z’s older brother and his fiancée had left, his mother verbally assaulted me, telling me to stop acting like such a freak and get a grip because what I was doing was completely abnormal. On and on she went for several minutes before I broke down, not understanding what I did wrong and not understanding why she could not understand that a walk and some meds didn’t magically make my mental diagnoses go away. Z stood up and screamed at her to get out of her room, that it had to stop, that he couldn’t see why she had to pick on me like that all the time. And to our surprise, she actually left the room. That was the beginning of an awkward relationship between his mother and me, even directly hateful from her side.
In May 2016, I started talking to my dad again. He’d cut down on his drinking and stated at a rehabilitation center to get his drug addiction under control. And I was proud of him for manning up to do it.
I graduated from the online course education with fantastic grades, the best of everyone.
Not long after, my periods started disappearing while I would experience extreme pains when I would normally have bled. Went to the doctors, was examined but they found nothing, but prescribed me strong painkillers to take if the pains became too much.
In the end of June 2016, I got my own apartment, the apartment that I live in now. I celebrated my 21st birthday in an apartment I could call my own, with my own rules, no one deciding what type of knives I was allowed to use out of fear for me cutting myself, or how and when I should take my medication out of fear I might overdose. It was heaven.
A few months later, I woke up early one morning in extreme pains. Z called an ambulance, I was taken in and examined, and there they finally gave me a diagnosis: Endometriosis.
And not long after that, I started cutting down on my psychiatric medication, no longer needing it to remain happy, or at worst, feeling “ok”.
And a few months after that, I was hospitalized once again with extreme pains coming from my uterus. After thorough examinations, the doctors discovered a tumor in my uterus that along with my Endometriosis have been the cause for my periods being absent for over a year, the frequent pains that at times become extreme.
In December 2016, I responded to my mothers’ attempt to breach the gap between us for the first time since I cut off all contact with her, again, after trying to give her a chance just to have it backfire on me the last two years. She told me she was getting married to the man she’d left my stepfather for all those years ago. I was genuinely happy for her, but also wary.
Then along came 2017, and I was still dealing with pains from my uterus along with extreme bleedings appearing randomly, having dropped out of school because I was unable to keep up with my studies while suffering from pains.
And then in April, I bought Carla, my puppy who has been my pride and joy since I first laid eyes on her. Z’s school meant he was gone for most of the day, and I never did do well with being lonely. I’d either sleep too much, or spend too much time thinking about things, worrying and stressing. So in the middle of March I decided to look online, and stumbled upon a registered breeder about an hour from here. The pictures of parents and the litter were… beautiful. I fell in love at first glance; I’d always loved big dogs, and this particular breed specifically. So Z and I went to visit the breeders and see the puppies. Upon arrival, there was 4 puppies out of the litter of 11 left. Three of puppies were tumbling around, playing, while the fourth, the smallest, was sitting quietly, and as I kneeled, she came over, sniffed my hand and planted herself on my feet. Just sat her little butt down right there on my boots. I like to think she chose me that day, in that instant. And in April, 2017, I brought her home.
In 2017, my mother got married to O, her boyfriend, and I was a bridesmaid. It was a peculiar situation, being asked to be so especially after the rocky relationship my mother and I had my entire life, but it was worth it. She seems to have changed for real this time around. She seems happier, and I’m happy for her., and for the chance that I may finally get to have a relationship with her, as good as it can get, considering the past.
I broke up with Z in early in December 2017, after being with him for 5 years. Three months earlier, he started getting distant. He wouldn’t come to see me or spend time with me. He’d lie about being too busy with homework to talk to me, and he’d stream his gameplay after having blocked my main account in an attempt to hide it from me. He’d lie about his headache bothering him too much to come and spend the night so I could enjoy his presence and company, even if it was just to go straight to bed and sleep. I would constantly get harassing messages from his mother, and one of them proved to be the last straw and the push I needed to get out of that relationship. She told me I could go hang myself from a tree and she wouldn’t give a damn. And when I told Z so, all he had to reply was “Huh.”. That’s when I realized that he no longer cared, and that I deserved better. During those three months, I spoke much and often with a close friend named E that I’d known for 6 years, and whom I even had a crush on before I ultimately ended up picking Z instead. E confirmed that I deserved better. He supported me, even came with suggestion as to how I could try saving my relationship before it fell completely apart. On the day I broke up with Z, E came to see me and support me. He was gentle and respectful of the exhausting couple of months I’d had. He talked to me when I needed to let out my emotions, he hugged me when I cried, and he made me happy. And in the start of 2018, we decided to give our relationship a shot. A little early, some might think, and I did think so too, for a while. But then I came to realize that with every lie Z told me, every time he refused to see me, we just drifted further apart – and I’d actually gotten over him during those three months. And on the day I made it final, I cried once. And I haven’t cried over him since.
At the end of January, I moved to the other end of the country, renting a room with E’s father, a good man who’s been a friend of my family for many years. I’m saving up to get my own place again. I like my independence; I crave it. There’s many bonuses to moving here. I’m closer to E, closer to my entire family, closer to school. There’s dog parks for Carla to enjoy, riding schools for me to enjoy, and any store I could ever need is close by.
So now, present day, I still suffer from pains on a daily basis from both hip and uterus, but manage them because now they’re worth it, outweighed by the good stuff that has happened and is going on. I’ve started a 3-year University line of education with multiple subjects at the start of February, with online classes so I won’t have to drop out due to physical issues. I’m closer to my mother and father than ever before. I spoke to my little brother for the first time in 8 years at the end of last year; so long, that I had forgotten his voice. I have been without my psychiatric medication for about two years. I still keep it with me, though, for those really bad days. I haven’t tried to take my own life since the start of 2014, and have been clean from cutting and other kinds of self-harm for just as long. The urge to self-harm is still there, at times, but when I find myself staring longingly at the knife block or try to figure out how many pills it’d take to kill me, I shift my eyes to Carla, and to E, and then the urge disappears. And I know now, that no matter what, I’m strong enough to get through it, and anything else life throws at me. And I know for sure, that no matter what, I’ll be okay. Because I wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.
“And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit. You build a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself, you signed it yourself “They were wrong!” Cause maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique. Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show-and-tell but never told, because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it? You have to believe that they were wrong! They have to be wrong.. why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdogs because we see ourselves in them. We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called. We are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on some highway. And if in some way we are, don’t worry. We only ought to get out and walk to get gas. We are graduating members from the class of “We made it!”. Now the faded echoes of voices crying out names will never hurt me.. of course, they did. But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain and more to do with beauty.” ~Shane Koy
Destigmatizing Menstruation in Swaziland
I am inspired in the hope of destigmatizing menstruation and be period positive.
It was one of the days whereby you feel that everything is against you. As a mother of two boys and a girl I did not know what to give my children when they came back from school. I did not know how to use twitter but out of the blue I told my first born son to register me.
Little did I know that four days down the line my life will change. I found Binti Period. It was like everything written in their website was directed to me. For a very long time I carried fear, sadness, bitterness and shame. I was called names, not allowed to do chores, used leaves, rags and newspapers when menstruating. It was like you were cursed. Imagine how far I am, the CEO of Binti Period took her time to call, talk and help me come out. I was nervous but excited. It took me a little while. I still cannot believe it that I am now happy and free.
Today I stand tall that I bleed and I am normal and healthy. My period is a blessing and I am proud of it.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Let us join hands and smash shame and end stigma. Together we can do it.
I am now helping girls and women in my country to overcome this. NO MORE SECRECY & WHISPERS! Say It Forward
Committed to Mentorship
The year was 1997 and I had worked for Pathfinder International for 6 years in Program Administration and I loved my job. At the beginning of that year, my husband got a Post-Doctoral Fellowship opportunity in Glasgow, Scotland that would last 3 years. Our baby son was 7 months old. We talked about it and decided that we would all move to Scotland for the next 3 years. I prepared myself for life as a stay at home mum for the next 3 years, maybe with another child by end of it.
A month before my departure, I submitted my resignation and went to have a word with the then Regional Director. She looked at me as a mother would a little girl and asked, “Is this what you really want to do?” I replied in the affirmative and she said she was happy for me. She then proceeded to give me advice that helped to open my eyes to a different way of doing the same thing. She advised me not to resign but to request for unpaid leave for 1 year, which was the maximum I was allowed at the time. She asked me to spend that year identifying a suitable Masters’ program while also getting a feel of what the life in the UK had in store for me. If by the end of the year, I wanted to come back home, my job would still be waiting for me but if I decided I could pursue my Masters’ degree program then I could resign with her blessings and request for my an early pension to go towards part of the fees for my studies.
Those words not only opened my eyes to an opportunity to advance my studies and by extension, my career, but they gave me a feeling of being appreciated and loved. I felt that my work over the past years had been given a stamp of approval and I was worthy of further consideration. An older, successful and experienced woman saw what I could not see ahead and decided to encourage me to think beyond my immediate world. In a sense she was saying, “I believe in you; you can do it.” She did not stand to gain in any way from whatever I decided to do but she saw something in me and reached out and committed to helping me.
I did go to Scotland and I did enrol for a Masters’ in Business Administration, majoring in Strategic Management…and yes I did graduate in November 1999 with an MBA. When I returned to Kenya 3 years later, I got a job as a Program Manager. I have worked in similar positions since and I know I would not have made that leap without the gentle and encouraging words I received.
Over the years, I have sought to be a voice of encouragement to young girls and women wherever I meet them. I have committed to be a mentor to as many as will be brought my way so that in a small way through my words and life they can find hope, believe in themselves and shoot for the best they can be.
“Elizabeth Lule, I appreciate and salute you!”
Logro Académico como una Salida
Cuando yo tenía 12 años, nosotros (mi madre y mis dos hermanos y una hermana) nos mudamos desde Colombia a los EE.UU. para vivir con mi padre que había emigrado 7 años antes. Llegamos a descubrir que él se había convertido en un alcohólico y apenas hacia suficiente dinero en su trabajo en la fábrica para pagar las cuentas y mantener su hábito de beber. No hablabamos Inglés, no estábamos familiarizados con la cultura y conocíamos muy poca gente en nuestro nuevo país. Las cosas en casa siempre estaban tensas con la bebida de mi padre, sus cambios de humor violentos y las preocupacionesconstantes de dinero.
En casa, yo me sentía impotente y temerosa, y en la escuela me sentía como una extraña. Para mi noexistía un lugar de tregua en esos días. Era poco lo que yo podía hacer para cambiar la situación en la casa, pero me di cuenta de que donde yo podía cambiar mi situación era en la escuela. Así que decidí aprender Inglés lo más rápido posible. Me conseguí un diccionario Inglés-Español y lo llevaba conmigo donde quiera que fuera. Cuando recibía las tareas, en casa las traducia al español, hacia el trabajo en español y luego lo traducía de nuevo al Inglés. Quisiera haber guardado algunas de estas primeras asignaciones, porque me puedo imaginar lo aspero que debieron haber sido las traducciones, y cómo los maestros probablemente se reían al leerlas!
Fue mucho trabajo, era como hacer el doble de la tarea todos los días. Pero poco a poco, había cada vez menos necesidad de traducir la tarea, hasta que llegó un momento en que estaba al día con las clases y con las asignaciones. Mis habilidades verbales estaban todavía ásperas, pero al menos era capaz de descifrar lo que pasaba en la clase. Llegó como una sorpresa cuando, al final del año, nuestro maestro, el Sr. Edson, me presentó un trofeo por “mayor mejoría.”
Un año despues fui a la escuela secundaria y me enfrentaba a un nuevo conjunto de desafíos puesto que el trabajo era más complejo. Pero me dediqué a la escuela de la misma manera que me había dedicado a aprender Inglés, porque ahora tenía la mirada puesta en ir a la universidad. No sabía cómo iba a hacerlo; para entonces, mis padres se habían separado, y estábamos viviendo con medios aún más limitados.
Había una escuela de secretariado en mi barrio donde se ofrecieron clases nocturnas y préstamos financieros. Después de hacer algunas averiguaciones me matriculé con la idea de que con un diploma de secretaria me podría conseguir un trabajo para pagar la universidad. En mi último año en la escuela secundaria obtuve mi diploma de secretaria y también un trabajo en la misma escuela de secretariado enseñando una clase de computación. Mis días comenzaban a las 7 de la mañana y terminaban a las 11 de la noche.
Cuando mi escuela secundaria anunció la clasificación de los estudiantes de la clase de graduación, me dijeron que yo estaba en el puesto número siete en una clase de más de 400 estudiantes. Yo había estado tan ocupada tratando de mantenerme al día con el trabajo escolar que no tenía idea de que en realidad había superado la mayor parte de mi clase en el desempeño académico.
Esas buenas calificaciones me aseguraron la admisión en la universidad estatal, y una serie de préstamos y becas para estudiantes me permitieron pagar parte de la matrícula. Con mi diploma de secretaria pude conseguir trabajo y pagar por el resto de mis gastos. Cuatro años despues (y diez años en los EE.UU.) yo logré obtener un título de licenciatura y así logré cumplir mi misión.
Stop Blaming (yourself)
Blame is a way we discharge pain.
We blame others, hurling insults and digging our heels into the cushy comfort of self-righteous indignation.
Or we blame ourselves. We beat ourselves up. We call ourselves names like “loser” and “failure.” And then we wonder why we feel small, alone and sick to our stomachs.
Next time you notice you are blaming someone or blaming yourself, no matter why, try getting curious instead of launching an attack. Ask yourself:
“What am I feeling that makes me want to judge, criticize or belittle my friend right now?”
“What am I feeling that makes me judge, criticize or belittle myself right now?”
No doubt there is emotion involved.
Being curious about yourself is good for your brain. The mere act of inquiry is positive in so many ways. Being curious:
• Stops the hurtful impulses dead in their tracks
• Creates space in your mind
• Lets you practice going deeper beyond just what you think you know
• Creates a flexible mind over time
• Solves problems before they escalate
To illustrate what I mean, here’s something that I recently experienced:
I had a miscommunication with someone and it was really frustrating and upsetting for me. I found myself oscillating between my anger at her and judging myself. I was angry at this person for misunderstanding my intention and “making” me feel bad. I was judging myself for causing this tension between us. In other words, I was blaming her and then I was blaming me. Neither felt good. And neither felt right or led to any relief or solution.
And then I remembered to be curious. I pulled back and tuned in to what I was feeling inside on an emotional and visceral level. I felt my pain. I felt my discomfort and the desire to move away from it and back to the blame game. But I didn’t this time. I stayed with my sadness. I felt my anger. I felt my shame and anxiety. I sat with myself for as long as I could to see what might happen if I didn’t attack myself or my friend. I found myself needing to take deep breaths to manage what I was feeling. It was hard at first and then something shifted—the pain lost intensity. I no longer felt the pull to act or to have to figure out who was bad. Instead, I was left with a manageable sadness over the whole ordeal. Miscommunications and bad feelings suck!
It was a relief to just be sad. We were both hurting. My pain turned to compassion for us both. And that also felt better. We both had suffered. Maybe that was enough to hold in mind for now, I thought.
Pema Chodron writes, “Getting curious about outer circumstances and how they are impacting you, noticing what words come out and what your internal discussion is, this is the key. If there is a lot of ‘I am bad, I am terrible,’ somehow just notice that and maybe soften up a bit. Instead say, ‘What am I feeling here? Maybe what is happening here is not that I am a failure—I am just hurting. I am just hurting.’”
I was just hurting.
a 4-year-old's letter to god
here is a kind soul working in the dead letter office of the U.S. Postal Service somewhere...
Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4-year-old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God, so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could, so she dictated these words:
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Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her you will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
Love, Meredith.
(written by the mother of Mer Claire)
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We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to: God in Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office.
A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had. Yesterday there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, "To Meredith" in an unfamiliar hand.
Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers, titled, "When a Pet Dies." Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:
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Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.
Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I am wherever there is love.
"Love, God"
a night on call - true story
a night on call - true story
By Ofc. Dave Gomez
In the Police Academy they told us over and over again to be ready for anything when we show up on a scene. As I am driving around in my patrol car a citizen calls 911 to report an issue in my city. The dispatcher takes the call, talks with the caller, and translates the conversation into a call type and a sentence or two that comes across my computer screen on what I need to respond to and where.
The dispatcher looks and sees the address is in my area and comes over the air to let me know I have a call holding. I acknowledge to her that I am en route to whatever call she has put in my que. She assigns the amount of officers depending on the call type. A fight situation might need 4 officers where as a vandalism report usually only needs one officer. The dispatchers have to use their best discretion on translating what is told to them over the phone into how many officers will go to the call. There are about 20 different call types that include traffic accidents, lost kids, property checks, drunk drivers, and welfare checks just to name a few. The dispatchers are awesome and they really watch out for our safety and do a great job.
En route to the call I always think through the scenarios of what might possibly happening so that I can formulate a plan of action. Sometimes a call comes across where it seems there will be a battle and it turns out to be nothing. Some times a call comes across that seems very small and it turns into a huge deal.
Last night I was dispatched as a single responder to a traffic hazard call.
The caller told dispatch there was a dead dog in the road that was causing a traffic issue. Fortunately it was 11pm on a smaller street and I knew there couldn’t be too much of a traffic issue so I was in no hurry. While driving to the call I didn’t even give it a second though. My plan was to get to the scene, move the dog to the side of the road, and let animal control know they needed to pick it up in the morning. I was already finished with the call before I got there and did not even contemplate there could possibly be more to the story.
As I approached the area I turned on my spotlight and easily found the dog as it was a large retriever dog and was right in the middle of a two lane road. I turned on my overheads (blue and red flashing lights) so no one would run me over as I was moving the dog. One truck approached and went around me pausing briefly to look at the dog on the roadway. I was putting on rubber gloves to move the dog when a smaller passenger car approached and came to a stop right next to the dog. As I looked inside I saw a woman in her late 40’s open the window and lean out to look at the dog. I was about to tell her to move on as she was blocking the only route around my patrol car. As I approached her she put her head back into her seat, covered her face with her hands, and started uncontrollably sobbing. I was not sure if she really loved dogs or if this was her dog that had been hit. I approached her window and asked her if it was her dog that was on the road. She could only slightly nod her head yes through her tears. I asked her to move over to the side of the road so that other traffic could pass and I would be right there to talk to her.
I moved the dog to the opposite side of the road from where the lady had parked and turned my car around and parked directly behind the lady. I approached the vehicle and gave her a moment to calm down because I couldn’t understand anything she was saying through her sobs. Once she could talk she explained that her son was in the military and had been killed last month. She explained this was his dog, “Charlie” and that it was the best reminder she had of her dead son. She broke down sobbing again as she tried to explain to me that she didn’t know how she would tell her two grandchildren that Charlie had been killed such a short time after their father had been killed. At this time I had to take a step back and compose myself and try and be as strong as I could for this poor lady. In the end all I could do was put a hand on her shoulder and tell her I was sorry for her loss.
The lady had a 15 year old son in the car with her. The 15 year old was being very brave himself and trying to comfort his mom as best he could. I asked her if she had any family close by she would like me to call for her and she said she just moved here recently to be by the grand-kids and didn’t have family here. The 15 year old did not have a license and could not drive her home like I would have liked. I told her I would follow her home to make sure she got home safe as I was very concerned for her.
Before we left the scene she asked if I would take the collar off Charlie so that she could bury it and remember him. I told her of course I would get the collar for her. I took Charlie’s collar off him and placed it in a small brown paper evidence bag. I went to the opposite side of the car and gave the bag to the 15 year old who was quietly sitting in the passenger seat. I explained to the 15 year old as I gave him the bag that he would have to be the man of the house tonight and take extra good care of his mother. He bravely took the bag and placed it under his seat where his mom could not see it and said he would do his best to take care of her.
I followed her to her house which was very close and made sure she made it home safe. I waved goodbye and cleared my call so that I would be available for the next call to come across my computer screen.
A short while later I ended up transporting a young lady to jail for a probation violation. It is about a 15 minute drive time to the jail from any place in the city and I often talk with my passengers. This young lady began to tell me how rough her month and year had been. I told her the story about the dog in the road that I had just come from and her attitude quickly changed. While still upset she was going to jail she decided some people have much tougher problems.
I signed up for this job because of the adventure and the excitement. You never know what will be at the address you are going to and I love every bit of it.
It will be a while before I go to a traffic hazard call without thinking of Charlie the dog who was a much bigger story than could fit onto two lines of my computer screen.
a story of miracles by a 7th-grader
When I was only 18 months old, I was diagnosed with lead poisoning. I was supposed to end up in the hospital in a wheelchair.
My parents told me that the day I was brought into the hospital, my face was yellow and I wouldn't stop crying. The doctor said it was permanent. But in just one month, I
went back to the doctor, and he said the lead poisoning was completely gone. My parents had prayed for me throughout the whole month, hoping it would go away.
My dad always drank. My older brother and I always got scared of him when he came home drunk. One day, my dad had to go to the hospital because he drank too much. He was in the hospital for one month, and I prayed every day for him to get better. My dad was in pain and agony, and no medicine made him feel better. By the time my dad was able to come home, the doctor said he had one year to live. My dad is now 52, and it has been six years. My dad stopped drinking when I got into second grade. It was a miracle. Ever since, my dad never drank again.
The doctor told me 11 years ago that I would be in a wheelchair, unable to talk, see, move or do anything. Yet in second grade, I was entered in a Talented Artist Program; in fifth grade, I was in honors classes; in sixth grade I was in a play and on two softball teams; and in seventh grade, I am in a play, am president of my class, and I am in a Documentary Film Club.
I thank God every day for the blessings he gave me. He is what motivates me and inspires me every day. He inspires me to be the best I can. My parents' love for me also inspires me to be the best of the best. I love God and my family.
a trooper's story
On Thursday, April 17, 2003, you participated in an escort detail for
GREGORY P. HUXLEY JR who was killed in action in Iraq on April 6, 2003. On
behalf of the entire Huxley family and from me, personally, I want to say
"Thank you very much." Your professionalism, dedication and sincerity meant
so much to the Huxley family, that words cannot describe their feelings at
this time.
What most did not know was that the US Army had promised the family members
that they would be taken to Dover, Delaware to be present when their son
arrived from Iraq and there would be a full military ceremony in Dover for
GREGORY. Unfortunately, there was a communication problem and they were not
present during that ceremony.
Then they were informed that the body of their son was being flown to
Syracuse and that the funeral director could pick up the "fallen soldier" at
the cargo area of the airport and that somebody would help them remove the
casket from the cardboard shipping container for transport to Boonville, NY.
The funeral director felt that unacceptable for a nineteen year old young
man that gave his life for this country and for the freedom of so many
others. As a family friend, he contacted me to see if anything could be
done. We now had six hours before GREGORY arrived in Syracuse. Phone calls
were made to SP North Syracuse and SGT Nick Harmatiuk took over from there.
What you participated in and observed the rest of that day was truly an
outstanding display of what this agency can do in very short time. What
happened was just visually and emotionally overwhelming.
The procession left SP North Syracuse led by eight Syracuse PD motorcycles,
followed by the hearse, four cars with family members and followed by ten
State Police and Syracuse PD cars. How ironic it was that when the
procession was traveling parallel to the runway, the plane carrying GREGORY
landed next to it. We were able to enter the planes cargo area and remove
the shipping crate from the casket and drape the American flag over the
casket. When the casket traveled down the conveyor belt, fifteen New York
State Troopers and the same amount of Syracuse Policemen lined the path to
the awaiting hearse - all at attention. A hand salute was executed as six
State Troopers proudly bore the flag draped coffin to the hearse. After a
short prayer, the family was given some time to welcome their son home.
The entire airport was so quiet. I looked up at the concourse windows and
saw a hundred or more people. They were all standing, watching, with their
hands over their hearts, saluting a young man that they did not know.
Somehow they learned that a fallen soldier had come home and they wanted to
honor his sacrifice.
The casket was then placed in the hearse and the procession left the airport
in the same fashion as we arrived, only this time with a young hero that our
hearts will never forget.
The motorcade was escorted to the thruway entrance by the Syracuse Police
Department's motorcycles. All traffic was stopped for the procession and we
headed east towards Boonville. After getting off the thruway, we found that
every intersection that the procession encountered was controlled by State
Troopers, allowing us a safe, unimpeded passage. At each intersection, the
State Trooper stood at attention, saluting the fallen soldier and his
family, giving him and his family the respect that they deserved. How
emotional that was to see and now to reflect on.
When entering the Village of Boonville, the main street was decorated with
an infinite number of American Flags and yellow ribbons. As we approached
the center of town, all of the church bells began to peal at once
recognizing and saluting Gregory's arrival. Hundreds of people holding
American flags lined the street, some with their hand over their heart and
some weeping for GREGORY for what he sacrificed, for us and his country. As
we drove by the village park, the National Anthem was being played, for
GREGORY, and I think, for all of us.
At the funeral home, eight veterans lifted the casket out of the hearse and
into the home with the family. GREGORY had returned home.
GREGORY'S family said to me later that the images I have just described will
always be etched in their hearts, forever. But the one memory that will
always be there first, was of the State Troopers at the airport, standing at
attention, saluting, with tears running down their cheeks for their son, a
fallen soldier. A hero whom those Troopers never personally knew.
Our jobs take many different avenues in life. We hope that during our day or
shift that we have made a difference, a positive contribution. On this
occasion you did just that. An entire family knows that you cared to do your
very best to honor their son. Their words and expressions told me just that.
We made a difference yesterday, and we did it well.
The rewards we receive for details like this one do not come from anywhere
but from the heart. Take pride in what you accomplished, because it was
distinct and without equal in this Trooper's eye. I have had so many good
things happen since I have been a State Trooper, but in those twenty fours
years, I have never been more proud the New York State Police as I was
yesterday - A fallen soldier, a hero, a son, a brother has finally come
home, in grand deserving style, thanks to all of you.
being rich
We prowled through the second hand bookstore, the day after Christmas, just my husband, Louie, our daughters, Jenny and Helen, and me. This was a precious time for us, because we would be splitting up as a family, again, in just a couple of days.
It had been a tough eight months since my husband had retired from the Navy. As plotters and planners, we had manipulated the "military system," while on active duty, as much as we could, trying to prevent a long, dreaded absence from one another. Now, here we were, retired, and we were eight months into our longest separation.
When my husband retired, we discovered that the only job available for him was in the city of Norfolk, Virginia. Our dream was to live out the rest of our lives in the mountains of southwestern Virginia, six and a half hours away. My health had gotten so bad, that it was impossible for me to stay with Louie in the city. We had settled for a separation, praying that a job would become available in the beautiful region that we love.
So, there we were, delaying the inevitable, passing time in a second hand bookstore, before the girls and I headed back to southwest Virginia. We were as broke as we'd ever been, supporting two households; yet we were grateful to be together, and we seized every opportunity for extra hugs, shared daydreams and laughter.
There was only one other person in the bookstore, besides the proprietor, a lovely, well-dressed, woman, about my age. I noticed her clothes, her shoes, and her expensive handbag, and I wondered what it would be like, to be rich enough to walk into a bookstore and have the money to buy any book my heart desired. But we were having so much fun, that I quickly forgot the woman.
We joked as we continued our treasure hunt, clutching our spending money of five dollars apiece, all hoping to be the first to find the oldest, least expensive book. It was a bittersweet excursion. Frequently Louie and I would brush past one another, finding excuses to touch or to give on another's hand an extra squeeze.
Jenny remembered, that there was an ATM machine, not far from the bookstore, and she decided that she needed another twenty dollars that she had squirreled away.
"No fair!" I cried, laughing. "The rest of us can only spend five dollars, and here you're going to have twenty-five dollars?!"
We all laughed, and we began to tease Jenny, mercilessly, but she was able to convince her Dad that she must have the $20, in order to get that irresistible book.
"Come on, Jenny," Louie laughed. "I'll drive you to the ATM."
Then we did another round of hugging and kissing, none of us wanting to be apart for even a few minutes.
Soon Louie and I would be saying "good-bye." We couldn't resist the opportunity to assure one another of our love, and our faith that our separation would soon come to an end. It must have been a curious ballet, this demonstrative family scene, but we were oblivious to what others might think.
Military families seem to fall into two categories: those who look for affectionate opportunities, and those who avoid close contact, because "good-byes" are painful. I have to admit that we're a pretty "huggy-kissy" family, so unmindful of anyone else, we continued to give kisses and hugs all around. In our military career, we had become painfully aware, that anything can happen during even the briefest separation. But now, as I look back, I realize how odd me must have looked.
Finally, in between another hug and kiss, I saw the perfect book for me! It was one hundred years old, and it was on my favorite time period, the Middle Ages. Oh, how I wanted that book! I quickly checked the inside cover for the price, and my heart fell. It was twenty-five dollars! We just didn't have it. I looked up at Louie, already knowing the answer.
He must have wanted me to have that book. I could see the pain in his eyes. Louie reached out and gave me an extra hug. I understood his "honey, we just can't afford it" message. I leaned into his sheltering arms, and I saw that the well-dressed lady was also touching the book that I wanted. Ah well, let her have it. I gave Louie and extra hug, and half serious, I murmured, as my eyes locked with hers.
"Oooohh, I wish I were rich!"
"It looks to me, as though you already are," she said with a smile.
There was a pause that stretched through eternity, and my heart filled with comprehension. I looked up at my husband, and I gazed at my daughters, wrapped as we were in the arms of love, and I knew it. I was rich. Very rich. I quickly turned to thank the woman for her gentle reminder, but she was gone!
Who was she? I'll never know. But what she did for my outlook, was nothing short of miraculous. I will never forget her. Where did she disappear to? I can't say.
Strangely enough, within days, my husband received a job offer in southwestern Virginia. In less than two weeks, he was hired and we moved to the place that is now our home. The job notice had been sent out two days before Christmas, even as we hugged and kissed and wished in that bookstore. Even as I heard the words, "It looks to me, as though you already are," events were already in motion to unite our family.
I am quite certain that it was all part of God's plan, to remind me of what being "rich" is all about... faith, love, family, and friends. And when I get to heaven, I will not be at all surprised to discover that God sent an angel to a second hand bookstore, in Norfolk, Virginia, to give me his richest message, the day after Christmas, many years ago.
bounced check letter
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire salary, an arrangement which, I admit, has only been in place for eight years.
You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $50 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways.
I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, prerecorded faceless entity which your bank has become.
From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will, therefore and hereafter, no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate.
Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete.
I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof.
In due course, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses
required to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me level the playing field even further. Press buttons as follows:
1.- To make an appointment to see me.
2.- To query a missing payment.
3.- To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4.- To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5. -To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6.- To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7.- To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated at a later date to the Authorized Contact.
8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.
9. To make a general complaint or inquiry.
The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.
Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May I wish you a happy, if ever-so-slightly less prosperous New Year?
Your Humble Clien
christian the lion
Australian John Rendall and his friend Ace Berg bought the lion cub from Harrods in London in 1969 when the world famous store had an exotic animals department. Herrods had gotten the cub from Illfracombe zoo and it was on display at the store in cage when spotted by Rendall and Berg.
Christian lived in the basement of Rendall's flat in Chelsea and for a year was a pampered cat. And a clean one too, according to Rendall. He unfailingly used a very large kitty litter box and was jointly cared for by Rendall, Berg, and two of their female friends.
Christian eventually grew to nearly 200 pounds and started growing a mane, which made him look fearsome even though he was very friendly and accompanied his owners to all kinds of events. He became a feature at Rendall's furniture store and one day Bill Travers and Virginia McKenna walked into the store and saw Christian. They were actors who had been in the film Born Free, the true story of a lion cub named Elsa that was successfully rehabilitated into the wild in Africa by conservationist George Adamson and his wife Joy.
It was decided that Adamson and Africa might be the next destination for Christian. Adamson was cautious because Elsa had been an African lion born in Africa. Christian was from London and had lived a very different first year of life.
In Africa, Christian befriended a lion from the Born Free film named Boy. Adamson added a female lion to the friendships and began the process of educating Christian about the wild.
Rendell and Berg would visit from time to time to check on Christian's progress but it was in 1974 that Adamson told them that Christian had finally adapted to the wild. He had a litter of cubs, did not return to the camp very often and was the leader of his pride (Boy had been shot and killed in a tragic event near the camp.)
Upon hearing the news, Rendell and Berg decided they would make a final trip to say goodbye even though Adamson told them it might be a waste of time. Christian had not been seen in nine months. But when the two men arrived in Kenya Adamson told them that Christian and his pride of lionesses and cubs had arrived the night before, almost as though he had known they were coming. Adamson said Christian was sitting on his favorite rock outside the camp waiting for them. The reunion, as seen on the video, was one of overwhelming joy and tears. Afterwards Adamson warned that the lionesses didn't seem too pleased with what was going on so it might be time to leave. It was the last time that Christian was ever seen.
communion on the moon
Forty years ago two human beings changed history by walking on the surface of the moon. But what happened before Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong exited the Lunar Module is perhaps even more amazing, if only because so few people know about it. "I'm talking about the fact that Buzz Aldrin took communion on the surface of the moon. Some months after his return, he wrote about it in Guideposts magazine.
And a few years ago I had the privilege of meeting him myself. I asked him about it and he confirmed the story to me, and I wrote about in my book "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About God (But Were Afraid to Ask)."
The background to the story is that Aldrin was an elder at his Presbyterian Church in Texas during this period in his life, and knowing that he would soon be doing something unprecedented in human history, he felt he should mark the occasion somehow, and he asked his minister to help him. And so the minister consecrated a communion wafer and a small vial of communion wine. And Buzz Aldrin took them with him out of the Earth's orbit and on to the surface of the moon.
He and Armstrong had only been on the lunar surface for a few minutes when Aldrin made the following public statement:
"This is the LM pilot. I'd like to take this opportunity to ask every person listening in, whoever and wherever they may be, to pause for a moment and contemplate the events of the past few hours and to give thanks in his or her own way."
He then ended radio communication and there, on the silent surface of the moon, 250,000 miles from home, he read a verse from the Gospel of John, and he took communion. Here is his own account of what happened:
"In the radio blackout, I opened the little plastic packages which contained the bread and the wine. I poured the wine into the chalice our church had given me. In the one-sixth gravity of the moon, the wine slowly curled and gracefully came up the side of the cup.
Then I read the Scripture, 'I am the vine, you are the branches. Whosoever abides in me will bring forth much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing.'
I had intended to read my communion passage back to earth, but at the last minute [they] had requested that I not do this. NASA was already embroiled in a legal battle with Madelyn Murray O'Hare, the celebrated opponent of religion, over the Apollo 8 crew reading from Genesis while orbiting the moon at Christmas. I agreed reluctantly.
I ate the tiny Host and swallowed the wine. I gave thanks for the intelligence and spirit that had brought two young pilots to the Sea of Tranquility . It was interesting for me to think: the very first liquid ever poured on the moon, and the very first food eaten there, were the communion elements.
And of course, it's interesting to think that some of the first words spoken on the moon were the words of Jesus Christ, who made the Earth and the moon - and Who, in the immortal words of Dante, is Himself the 'Love that moves the Sun and other stars.'"
dear abby letters
Dear Abby,
A couple of women moved in across the hall from me. One is a middle-aged gym teacher and the other is a social worker in her mid-twenties. These two women go everywhere together and I've never seen a man go into or leave their apartment. Do you think they could be Lebanese?
Dear Abby,
What can I do about all the Sex, Nudity, Fowl Language and Violence On My VCR?
Dear Abby,
I have a man I can't trust. He cheats so much, I'm not even sure the baby I'm carrying is his.
Dear Abby,
I am a twenty-three year old liberated woman who has been on the pill for two years. It's getting expensive and I think my boyfriend should share half the cost, but I don't know him well enough to discuss money with him.
Dear Abby,
I've suspected that my husband has been fooling around, and when confronted with the evidence, he denied everything - and said it would never happen again.
Dear Abby,
Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was raised in a good Christian home turn against his own?
Dear Abby,
I joined the Navy to see the world. I've seen it. Now how do I get out?
Dear Abby,
My forty year old son has been paying a psychiatrist $50.00 an hour every week for two and a half years. He must be crazy.
Dear Abby,
I was married to Bill for three months, and I didn't know he drank until one night he came home sober.
Dear Abby,
My mother is mean and short tempered - I think she is going through mental pause.
Dear Abby,
You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex - and he is a doctor. Now what do I do?
Remember these people can vote.
Here are some more true questions, with Dear Abby's funny answers...
DEAR ABBY:
I've been going steady with this man for six years. We see each other every night. He says he loves me, and I know I love him, but he never mentions marriage. Do you think he's going out with me just for what he can get?
GERTIE
DEAR GERTIE: I don't know. What's he getting?
-----
DEAR ABBY:
My boyfriend is going to be twenty years old next month. I'd like to give him something nice for his birthday. What do you think he'd like?
CAROL
DEAR CAROL: Never mind what he'd like. Give him a tie.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
Are birth control pills deductible?
KAY
DEAR KAY: Only if they don't work.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
Our son was married in January. Five months later his wife had a ten-pound baby girl. They said the baby was premature. Tell me, can a baby this big be that early?
WONDERING
DEAR WONDERING: The baby was on time, the wedding was late.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
Do you think about dying much?
CURIOUS
DEAR CURIOUS: No, it's the last thing I want to do.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
Is it possible for a man to be in love with two women at the same time?
JAKE
DEAR JAKE: Yes, and also hazardous.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
I know boys will be boys, but my 'boy' is seventy-three and he's still chasing women. Any suggestions?
ANNIE
DEAR ANNIE: Don't worry. My dog has been chasing cars for years, but if he ever caught one, he wouldn't know what to do with it.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
I have always wanted to have my family history traced, but I can't afford to spend a lot of money to do it. Any suggestions?
SAM IN CAL.
DEAR SAM: Yes. Run for public office.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
What inspires you most to write?
TED
DEAR TED: The Bureau of Internal Revenue.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
When you are being introduced, is it all right to say, "I've heard a lot about you"?
RITA
DEAR RITA: It depends on what you've heard.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
I am forty-four years old and I would like to meet a man my age with no bad habits.
ROSE
DEAR ROSE: So would I.
-----
DEAR ABBY:
What's the difference between a wife and a mistress?
BESS
DEAR BESS: Night and Day.
earning your desk
earning your desk
A TRUE STORY -- Author Unknown
Back in September of 2005, on the first day of school, Martha Cothren, a social studies school teacher at Robinson High School in Little Rock, did something not to be forgotten. On the first day of school, with permission of the school superintendent, the principal and the building supervisor, she took all of the desks out of the classroom. The kids came into first period, they walked in, there were no desks. They obviously looked around and said, "Ms. Cothren, where's our desks?"
And she said, "You can't have a desk until you tell me how you earn them."
They thought, "Well, maybe it's our grades."
"No," she said.
"Maybe it's our behavior."
And she told them, "No, it's not even your behavior."
And so they came and went in the first period, still no desks in the classroom. Second period, same thing, third period. By early afternoon television news crews had gathered in Ms. Cothren's class to find out about this crazy teacher who had taken all the desks out of the classroom. The last period of the day, Martha Cothren gathered her class.
They were at this time sitting on the floor around the sides of the room. And she says, "Throughout the day no one has really understood how you earn the desks that sit in this classroom ordinarily." She said, "Now I'm going to tell you."
Martha Cothren went over to the door of her classroom and opened it, and as she did 27 U.S. veterans, wearing their uniforms, walked into that classroom, each one carrying a school desk. And they placed those school desks in rows, and then they stood along the wall. And by the time they had finished placing those desks, those kids - for the first time I think perhaps in their lives - understood how they earned those desks.
Martha said, "You don't have to earn those desks. These guys did it for you. They put them out there for you, but it's up to you to sit here responsibly to learn, to be good students and good citizens, because they paid a price for you to have that desk, and don't ever forget it."
flying with no hands
Oxford and Cambridge have now decided to remove the words CAN'T and IMPOSSIBLE from their dictionary. Jessica Cox, 25, a girl born without arms, stands inside an aircraft. The girl from Tucson , Arizona got the Sport Pilot certificate lately and became the first pilot licensed to fly using only her feet. Jessica Cox of Tucson was born without arms, but that has only stopped her from doing one thing: using the word "can't."
Her latest flight into the seemingly impossible is becoming the first pilot licensed to fly using only her feet.
With one foot manning the controls and the other delicately guiding the steering column, Cox, 25, soared to achieve a Sport Pilot certificate Her certificate qualifies her to fly a light-sport aircraft to altitudes of 10,000 feet.
She's a good pilot. She's rock solid," said Parrish Traweek, 42, the flying instructor at San Manuel's Ray Blair Airport . Parrish Traweek runs PC Aircraft Maintenance and Flight Services and has trained many pilots, some of whom didn't come close to Cox's abilities.
When she came up here driving a car," Traweek recalled, "I knew she'd have no problem flying a plane."
Doctors never learned why she was born without arms, but she figured out early on that she didn't want to use prosthetic devices. So, the next time you are ready to tell yourself, "I can't possibly..." remember this amazing young woman and change your vocabulary.
freedom and jeff
freedom and jeff
By Jeff Guidry
Freedom would also come to me in my dreams and help me fight the cancer. This happened time and time again...
Freedom and I have been together 11 years this summer. She came in as a baby in 1998 with two broken wings one of them broken in four places. Her left wing doesn't open all the way even after surgery. She's my baby.
When Freedom came in she could not stand. She was emaciated and covered in lice. We made the decision to give her a chance at life, so I took her to the vets office.
From then on, I was always around her. We had her in a huge dog carrier with the top off, and it was loaded up with shredded newspaper for her to lay in.
I used to sit and talk to her, urging her to live, to fight; and she would lay there looking at me with those big brown eyes. We also had to tube feed her.
This went on for 4-6 weeks, and by then she still couldn't stand. It got to the point where the decision was made to euthanize her if she couldn't stand in a week.
You know you don't want to cross that line between torture and rehab, and it looked like death was winning. She was going to be put down that Friday, and I was supposed to come in on that Thursday afternoon. I didn't want to go to the center that Thursday, because I couldn't bear the thought of her being euthanized; but I went anyway, and when I walked in everyone was grinning from ear to ear.
I went immediately back to her cage; and there she was, standing on her own, a big beautiful eagle. She was ready to live. I was just about in tears by then. That was a very good day. We knew she could never fly, so the director asked me to glove train her.
I got her used to the glove, and then to jesses, and we started doing education programs for schools in western Washington. We wound up in the newspapers, radio (believe it or not) and some TV.
Miracle Pets even did a show about us.
In the spring of 2000, I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. I had stage 3, which is not good (one major organ plus everywhere), so I wound up doing 8 months of chemo. Lost the hair - the whole bit.
I missed a lot of work. When I felt good enough, I would go to Sarvey and take Freedom out for walks. Freedom would also come to me in my dreams and help me fight the cancer. This happened time and time again.
Fast forward to November 2000, the day after Thanksgiving. I went in for my last checkup. I was told that if the cancer was not all gone after 8 rounds of chemo, then my last option was a stem cell transplant. Anyway, they did the tests; and I had to come back Monday for the results. I went in Monday, and I was told that all the cancer was gone.
So the first thing I did was get up to Sarvey and take the big girl out for a walk. It was misty and cold. I went to her and jessed her up, and we went out front to the top of the hill. I hadn't said a word to Freedom, but somehow she knew. She looked at me and wrapped both her wings around me to where I could feel them pressing in on my back (I was engulfed in eagle wings), and she touched my nose with her beak and stared into my eyes, and we just stood there like that for I don't know how long.
That was a magic moment.
We have been soul mates ever since she came in. This is a very special bird.
On a side note: I have had people who were sick come up to us when we are out, and Freedom has some kind of hold on them. I once had a guy who was terminal come up to us and I let him hold her. His knees just about buckled and he swore he could feel her power course through his body. I have so many stories like that.. I never forget the honor I have of being so close to such a magnificent spirit as Freedom.
*********
So often animals help us triumph over illness. If you are an animal lover and give of yourself to preserve nature and the wild creatures that inhabit it, and want to read more you can read Jeff's book: An Eagle Named Freedom: My True Story of a Remarkable Friendship.
god made me blind -- big deal
When I met 18-year old Patrick Henry Hughes, I knew he was musically talented. I had been told so, had read that he was very able for someone his age and who had been blind and crippled since birth.
Patrick's eyes are not functional; his body and legs are stunted. He is in a wheelchair. When we first shook hands, his fingers seemed entirely too thick to be nimble. So when he offered to play the piano for me and his father rolled his wheelchair up to the baby grand, I confess that I thought to myself, "Well, this will be sweet. He has overcome so much. How nice that he can play piano."
The original plan, I thought, would be this: We were going to talk a bit as he played. That was the plan. Hughes would explain how he managed to navigate the keyboard and how he first learned the piano and what his favorite songs were.
But then Patrick put his hands to the keyboard, and his fingers began to race across it -- the entire span of it, his fingers moving up and back and over and across the keys so quickly and intricately that my fully-functional eyesight couldn't keep up with them. I was stunned.
The music his hands drew from that piano was so lovely and lyrical and haunting, so rich and complex and beyond anything I had imagined he would play that there was nothing I could say. All I could do was listen.
That is the power of Patrick Henry Hughes. He quietly makes you listen.
'God Made Me Blind -- Big Deal'
"I mean, God made me blind and didn't give me the ability to walk. I mean, big deal." Patrick said, smiling. "He gave me the talent to play piano and trumpet and all that good stuff."
This is Patrick's philosophy in life, and he wants people to know it. He isn't fazed by what many of us would consider insurmountable obstacles.
"I'm the kind of person that's always going to fight till I win," he said. "That's my main objective. I'm gonna fight till I win."
Patrick also attends the University of Louisville and plays trumpet in the marching band. The band director suggested it, and Patrick and his father, Patrick John Hughes, who have faced tougher challenges together, decided "Why not?"
"That's right," the younger Patrick said.
"Don't tell us we can't do something," Patrick's father added, with a chuckle. He looks at Patrick with a mixture of love and loyalty and admiration, something not always seen. in the eyes of a father when he gazes at his son.
"I've told him before. He's my hero," the elder Hughes said.
Father and Son Together at Band Practice
Patrick's father attends every practice and every game with him, and learns all the routines. It's fascinating to watch them together, with Patrick focused on his trumpet's notes, swaying with the rest of the band in time with the music, and his father focused on being his son's eyes and legs.
And this is no sit-still-in-the-wheelchair-while-the-band-marches-around-you routine: Patrick and his father are right in the thick of it, with the wheelchair sprinting and spinning in formation and Patrick hanging on and playing his heart out.
Patrick says the other students in the band have been great to them.
"The students always help out Dad because sometimes he might get out of step," he explained impishly.
Patrick's father grins and nods. He concedes that navigating a wheelchair across the thick grass of a football field, in formation, sometimes at top speed, offers many exciting challenges for a man old enough to be the father of a college student. Fortunately, fellow band members are eager and willing to point him in the right direction.
"The biggest problem is sometimes when I'm backing up with Patrick, I can't stop quick enough." he said. "I'll have a horn player behind me, and they've gotten smart enough now that, rather than running into their horn, they put their hand up."
Blindness as a Gift and a Blessing
Some parents might see some bigger problems in all of this. For example, Patrick's father works an overnight shift at a shipping company and gets four or five hours of sleep so he can attend Patrick's classes and band practices with him all day.
Patrick's mother, Patricia Hughes, works full-time to supplement their income. She also takes care of the household, Patrick's medical needs, and siblings, and handles the concerns of every parent of a disabled child who looks down the road and wonders how it could possibly work out.
That's just not how the Hughes family looks at things. Patrick taught them to see it all differently, his father says.
"Back then he was born it was, 'Why us? What did we do that this happened to us?'" he said. "And we ask the same question nowadays, but we put it in a whole new light. You know, 'What did we do to deserve such a special young man, who's brought us so, so much."
Patrick John Hughes' gaze drifted again to his son, and both their faces lit up with smiles.
"He sees the world in a way that we can't even imagine," the father said.
Just listen to young Patrick and you know what his father means.
"I've always felt that my talent has really been a gift from God," he said.
Patrick includes his blindness, by the way, in the list of gifts.
"That's one of the great benefits I've found of being blind. I don't see the skin color, I don't see the hair length, I don't see the eye shape, I just see what's inside the person," he said.
Actually, Patrick said, blindness more than a gift to him.
"I would have to say a blessing, because overall, it's shown me a complete world."
That's how young Patrick Henry Hughes sees the world.
"He has so much more to teach me," his father said. "And I think to myself: I see just what you mean. He's taught me so much already.
hippo tsunami survivor
NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen, and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down the Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean , then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, 2004, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother', ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park , told AFP.
After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together, the ecologist added.
The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother, Kahumbu added.
The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years, he explained.
if i had my life to live over
I would have talked less and listened more. I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the "GOOD" living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment realizing that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later, now go get washed up for dinner." There would have been more "I love you's" ... more "I'm sorry's" ... but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute ... look at it and really see it ... live it .. and never give it back.
irena sendler
On May 12, 2008, a 98 year old Catholic social worker named Irena Sendler died in Poland. Here is why her story is so important... and TRUE!
During World War II, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw Ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an ulterior motive...
Being German, Sendler KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews.
She convinced Jewish parents that their children were facing death either in the Ghetto or in concentration camps and offered to rescue them. She smuggled the children out of the Warsaw Ghetto and hid them in the homes of Poles, who adopted them, or in orphanages or convents. She smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried, and smuggled larger kids in a Burlap sack.
She also had a dog, in the back of her truck, that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog, and the barking covered up any noises the children might make.
Irena made lists of the children's names and family connections and hid them in jars in her garden so that someday she could find the children and tell them who they were.
Sendler was eventually discovered, arrested, and tortured (where they broke her arms and legs), and imprisoned by the Nazis. The Polish underground bribed a guard to let her escape and she spent the rest of the war in hiding.
During her time and the course of this rescue mission, she managed to smuggle out and save the lives of Twenty Five Hundred (2500) infants and older kids.
After the war, she tried to locate any of their parents who may have survived it all, and reunite the families. Most of the parents, however, had been eliminated in the famous gas chambers.
Last year Irena was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.
She lost to Al Gore, who won for a slide show on Global Warming.