As spring reaches out to take her turn and summer totally just takes cuts in front of her, I’m feeling completely snowed in by this cold economy. Up until now, I have been a patient observer even through the downward spiral of unemployment, and the overwhelming rising price of gas, among so many other things. Now a quiver goes up my spine as I face the hard truth, it has seriously brought me down ...
and Please! I don't need a pep talk I need a *gulp* J O B.
Our culture is changing so rapidly an old school girl barely has a chance to shift gears and catch up. But you should know, I was once one of the first people that I knew, to use computers at work and now they have taken over our lifestyle. I was once a switchboard operator with cords, cables and rotary dials and now phones are attached to ear balls. Once upon a time I was a powerhouse in boardrooms, partnering people with purpose to get a project done over donuts and coffee, and now in person meetings are replaced virtual conferencing. People have forgotten what it was like to pick up a telephone and catch up, instead preferring to direct message in social media. All around my neighborhood, beloved libraries and bookstores are closing, and people are being forced into seeking content online. Even utility bills are encouraging me to go paperless. (Do you smell a through line?) After having been through identity fraud, that’s where I draw the line. Excuse me, but there has to be a balance here somewhere. Closing libraries isn’t green people. The Books Are Already Printed!
Yesterday, I went in person to a staffing agency, (they, who shall not be named) of which in the past I had amazing success with I might add, even using this agency to employ others when I needed to staff up as a manager, and was treated with complete disdain for dropping by. I was unceremoniously told I must go back online to request a meeting! By the way, the office was completely empty! It wasn’t like the line was out the door. As I went out the door I took it with a sense of humor and made the 3 girls laugh who worked there, but I could smell conspiracy. Hello!?! Really!?!
I went online and endured some difficult testing which was stunning, to apply at a store which is local to me just for convenience. Irony? Every village that was ever missing their idiot seemed to work there, meaning why not me! No response. Maybe I didn't pass the test? Over the last year and a half I have averaged thousands of online applications with only one “in person” interview. Excuse me, but there has to be a balance here somewhere. Forcing our humanity into a box ie; "Internet" is not going to make us disappear. People have to be able to afford the Internet or at least a cup of designer coffee for wi fi!
Now look, I have moved with these changes and adapted them as a part of my own life and truly feel there is huge value in technology. I'm the first in my family to champion the miracles of Twitter and what not, and I certainly don't really miss the rabbit ears on my television. But when the Internet goes down, we'll all be stranded in mid air waves, without even a book left to read by candle light at the rate things are going.
When it comes to career and looking for work, the model is completely lacking in humanity on every level with one exception, relationships. I have met some of my dearest friends in person from Twitter, which is rare. Usually if someone already knows you out of “the box" they are usually receptive to you. In the olden days, I used to go into a place and was hired on the spot. Doing this is for some reason is hugely discouraged now, but I’m brave and chase pavements regardless. Why? Because just being in the box alone is not enough to get a response! What else can a person do? Aside from blinging out my resume, or sending gifts I can't afford to potential employers, which I have also done! Somehow I believe I am not alone in my quest. I’m sure there are many of you out there trying to get your stilettos in the door just like me.
It seems my life has always been a work in progress, which is what life is really all about anyway. But through everything I’ve been through there was always one constant, work. Since the time I was 12, I worked. I worked when I was in abusive foster homes. Through several abusive relationships, I worked. When I was nursing precious babies and changing dirty diapers, I worked. I became a hero to myself and to my children because I worked. I was the man in the family. Even though my story is tragic, the results have been magnificent. I refused the hardships as destiny and forced the joy in and believed. Once learning the word "choices", I choose to be an inspiration and count my blessings in life.
I evolved and grew into my own authenticity, working smart and through hard work. It was the very least I could do for opportunity to show my gratitude for her. I often thrived by her kind generosity and was always grateful to at least be able to stand among her guests. Now with even opportunity herself standing at the back of the unemployment line, I stand watching, completely affronted at the mistreatment and flagrant disregard of my grand hostess. Both of us left to the mercy irony.
I’m done taking it on the chin now Mr. Naughty Economy, you need a time out. Don’t you dare wait till I’m homeless to help me! I’m putting you on the naughty seat and you’re not to get up until I tell you to, or you're going right over my knee! If you don’t behave I’m so gonna hurt your feelings …
People who can’t even spell economy are talking about you. You had no right to treat opportunity like a schmatta. She’s your sister!
I'll send a shiver through your monotony and find a way to employ others. Take that stimulus, I could turn you around so fast it'll make your head spin.
I'm the something from nothing girl, Remember me? *bootstraps* ...
Anyway, I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do about all this, but something, I'm definitely going to do something ...
*sigh* stay tuned ... the saga continues ...
Throughout history people have done amazing things when forced into change. It is possible for us to all work together to decide on how technology will impact our humanity. It's our responsibility.
Want to help me donate books to sad people!?!
YOU CAN!
***
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
"Emergency Repair Kit for Broken Heart" by Ruby Bell
Have you ever been dumped in a text message, DM box, or a post-it note?
Has a friend or loved one?
"breaking someone's heart on purpose should be a federal offense" - Ruby Bell
Highly Recommended!!! The "Feel Good" Hand Holder!!!
Please Purchase here to help the 'under dog' >
https://www.createspace.com/3461861
Read The Reviews!!!
http://www.amazon.com/Emergency-Repair-Kit-Broken-Heart/dp/1453635785
Portions of proceeds to will be going to ...
my mother's last wish and assist the: "Women's Recovery Association" http://www.womensrecovery.org/
Want To Help Me Donate Books To Sad People?
YOU CAN!!!
Thank for your loving support!
***
***
Has a friend or loved one?
"breaking someone's heart on purpose should be a federal offense" - Ruby Bell
Highly Recommended!!! The "Feel Good" Hand Holder!!!
Please Purchase here to help the 'under dog' >
https://www.createspace.com/3461861
Read The Reviews!!!
http://www.amazon.com/Emergency-Repair-Kit-Broken-Heart/dp/1453635785
Portions of proceeds to will be going to ...
my mother's last wish and assist the: "Women's Recovery Association" http://www.womensrecovery.org/
Want To Help Me Donate Books To Sad People?
YOU CAN!!!
Thank for your loving support!
***
***
Saturday, February 12, 2011
When "Love" is Around
When "Love" is around, I tend to let it in, no matter what fine specimen of Adonis walks in.
To the point I might as well wear a t-shirt that says "I'm with Uh Oh".
It never comes in wearing an "under construction" sign over its head,
consequently forcing the deconstruction of Debbie in its wake.
In some cases barely allowing me to escape its grasp alive!
When "Love" was around in the beginning it pursued me relentlessly. Taunting me in doorways and often sending holograms ahead of me to distract my attention, appearing to be shiny armor guys who really wanted a ride to the bus stop or their bar bill paid.
Ah love, Ah amore ... the stuff that Dean Martin is made of baby...
When "Love" is around it sends its warm surges through my veins and intoxicates me as I force my tiny feet into vintage shoes again. It quivers my spine and changes my mind and I flounce. That's right I said flounce. In all of my full on boa regalia I soar with my feathers on clouds and make breakfast.
When "Love" is around it tends to favor sports over my melting Puccini on a Saturday, as it leaves evidence of itself everywhere, shamelessly unaware.
Still I tend to sing in the kitchen, as I clean up the bacon grease and I never seem to mind massaging its neck.
But love likes to go first in the bathroom and forgets to bring me coffee.
It thinks I can carry half my own body weight uphill for 3 miles in 100 degree weather when I'm on my period... then thinks its okay to hand me a shovel when I have to use the restroom.
It likes to think I always taste like sugar, I'm made of rubber, pay my bills through osmosis and I'm always aware where its shoes are when I stumble over them.
When "Love" is around there is always a sense of adventure. As a spirited woman I embrace the antics and all of its foibles, knowing full well I won't be able to get a word in edgewise when it keeps me up past 3:00am.
Nevertheless, love itself will always be my hero. It has such a winning way in all its crooning even though it's spoiled rotten and often broke my heart.
One day it will claim me as its champion, because I’m sure it knows how hard I've held to the beauty of its loving essence, even when I had to wash the soap. ~
**********************************************************************************
To the point I might as well wear a t-shirt that says "I'm with Uh Oh".
It never comes in wearing an "under construction" sign over its head,
consequently forcing the deconstruction of Debbie in its wake.
In some cases barely allowing me to escape its grasp alive!
When "Love" was around in the beginning it pursued me relentlessly. Taunting me in doorways and often sending holograms ahead of me to distract my attention, appearing to be shiny armor guys who really wanted a ride to the bus stop or their bar bill paid.
Ah love, Ah amore ... the stuff that Dean Martin is made of baby...
When "Love" is around it sends its warm surges through my veins and intoxicates me as I force my tiny feet into vintage shoes again. It quivers my spine and changes my mind and I flounce. That's right I said flounce. In all of my full on boa regalia I soar with my feathers on clouds and make breakfast.
When "Love" is around it tends to favor sports over my melting Puccini on a Saturday, as it leaves evidence of itself everywhere, shamelessly unaware.
Still I tend to sing in the kitchen, as I clean up the bacon grease and I never seem to mind massaging its neck.
But love likes to go first in the bathroom and forgets to bring me coffee.
It thinks I can carry half my own body weight uphill for 3 miles in 100 degree weather when I'm on my period... then thinks its okay to hand me a shovel when I have to use the restroom.
It likes to think I always taste like sugar, I'm made of rubber, pay my bills through osmosis and I'm always aware where its shoes are when I stumble over them.
When "Love" is around there is always a sense of adventure. As a spirited woman I embrace the antics and all of its foibles, knowing full well I won't be able to get a word in edgewise when it keeps me up past 3:00am.
Nevertheless, love itself will always be my hero. It has such a winning way in all its crooning even though it's spoiled rotten and often broke my heart.
One day it will claim me as its champion, because I’m sure it knows how hard I've held to the beauty of its loving essence, even when I had to wash the soap. ~
**********************************************************************************
Monday, November 1, 2010
"Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken Heart"
(20 or so things you can do while you're waiting for time to step up and heal all wounds)
by Ruby Bell
My Pen Name is Ruby Bell, more to come on the story of Ruby Bell later.
Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken by Ruby Bell > Available on amazon!
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1453635785
"Rejection is anarchy to the human heart, blinding paths for self discovery and can put life in a stronghold"
Every single one of us has suffered from some kind of loss, or at the very least we know someone who is going through some variable of heart break. Perhaps even someone who can't stop calling you, because someone has dumped them in a cruel way.
Well after having suffered from many of my own repeated losses, I realized I just was unable to heal.
Finally, I gathered everything anyone ever told me .. and all the things I felt or needed someone to say to me during those painful times and ...
Quite by accident & then very on purpose I created this feel good hand holder for the broken heart.
It really works! I am living proof!
It has already been acclaimed by a licensed therapist and I have also been told it's something that everyone should read even if they never had a broken heart!
Please help me create awareness for the worst invisible injury on the planet - Rejection.
Book Launch party news to come soon!
Thank You all so much for your loving support.
~ djs
********
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Ocean is My Mentor
It almost seems as if I can feel the ocean screaming. I have always felt connected to the ocean, beyond connected really. The ocean is my mentor. Throughout my life it has mothered me, healed me, and sang to me.
Now, I can feel a definite change as I stare in gaping mouth at the flagrant disregard for humanity and our precious earth, by so called commerce. I watch our Atlantic Coastline taking the full brunt of humanities assault with humility it seems for now. But I know her so well. Once she lifts her head up from her fatal injuries she is going to have her say. As any mother worth her salt, she will admonish her children for having forsaken her as they kneel weeping at her feet inconsolable with guilt. Well one can only hope. We humans have taken more than has ever been our right to, from our mother earth. We have had the luxury of taking this earth for granted from the beginning of time. The very blood of her existence, water, is poisoned because of the greed of her children. Like any mother, she gives willingly, but I don’t think it will be quietly. There is a horrific lesson to learn here when we all will eventually get the “howler” on this one.
The entire catastrophe is insulting and makes me personally feel ashamed for these people in charge of such a huge responsibility. It has become painfully obvious that they lack not only integrity but the maturity to handle so great a responsibility. Oh wait that’s right, greed is never responsible for its behavior is it? Ok well let’s just say that is true. Everything in equal measure to consequence is a universal law. The one thing humanity cannot get around. Oh it may seem to for a time, but sooner or later karma washes up unto shore and makes toxic sand cookies.
Every one of us has seen mother earth take back everything that was always rightfully hers. But she has been a good mother to us. We should handle her not with fear or brute force, but with love. We have pummeled, pumped and purged every part of her precious resources. From rocks we get diamonds. We build kingdoms and legacy for generations to inherit. Our homes, our clothes our technology all gleamed from the bounty this world has to offer. Yet we still have so little regard for the life the earth gives us and for human life itself which is evident by war and neglect and worse. We can recycle, turn off lights, we can call ourselves “green” thinking we are somehow giving back. But compared to what we have already collectively taken, can we honestly say we are giving back? Sometimes the best way to give back is not to take in the first place.
The one thing every country has in common regardless of culture is the wanting of “stuff”. It sickens me to watch leaders play tug of war games over oil instead of learning how to share and embrace diversity and care for one another. Basic principles I struggled to teach my own children seem to be lost on the mighty. Now the mighty may not even have a sandbox. At least not one they’ll be willing to wiggle their toes in. We have no idea what the impact this BP event will have on our great grand kids.
I’m so confused why we don’t learn from our mistakes. For example; in the 1800’s our government gave land to farmers in what is now referred to as the “dust bowl”. These farmers were encouraged to farm the land, seems innocent enough. But in doing so they scourged the earth of its protective foliage which kept the earth from rising into dust storms in four states. By the 1930’s the area suffered long droughts. As the winds rose, they blew miles of earth thousands of feet into the air and traveled at up to hundred and fifty miles an hour. These were called “black storms” and would last up at three days at time and one of these storms hit from Alabama to New York City. The loss of life was catastrophic and some of the regions hit by these storms have still never recovered, so much for commerce, right? The government was apprised of the situation years prior but did nothing until it literally showed up on their doorstep.
The point is, we have many of these references and we still don’t learn. The precious eco systems are not going to just stay and play nice in areas we’ve “decided” to designate them in. We have wild life reserves, and call ourselves protecting forests, while our hand is still in the cookie jar with drills piercing the earth like needles digging thousands of miles for oil. How do we actually know what the impact will be because of this? The earth works in perfect and delicate balance with itself. Oil may in fact protect or rather lubricate some greater part of our planetary core. Perhaps keeping plates from shifting even more violently then they do, perhaps even assisting a greater balance with gravity as it relates to our solar system. We don’t know everything. This is acutely apparent with our situation in the gulf.
As children of the earth, we can do more to secure and preserve what is left of it. How? By shifting our priorities and changing our collective minds and value set. If we work together and value life itself over “stuff” I believe it will have a global impact on our humanity, on our commerce and its integrity and ultimately our planet.
The tongue and cheek approach our media is taking with this BP tragedy cannot in any way minimize the devastation it’s creating. Nor can there be an attempt to “manage perceptions” to the public which is what most of corporate America does. Our manufactures have found a way to put petroleum, which is a derivative of crude oil in everything we use, by “managing our perceptions”. It’s in everything from our lotions to our cosmetics. Perhaps there is no way to stop everyone from driving cars, but maybe we can do something on a smaller scale, by each of us refusing to buy products containing petroleum. Aside from alternative fuel sources, we have alternatives to other things as well. By the way, hi Jojoba and hemp oil how are yah!?!
I am just a nobody and maybe my little two cents on all of this may seem to be naïve. But we have to start somewhere and make a stand with greater intention then we have ever had before. Shame is not enough. Some loss can mean forever. If we don’t mama’s gonna get the last word. She always does.
By the way must read article in Herald de Paris “It’s Not a Spill” http://www.heralddeparis.com/?s=It%27s+Not+A+Spill
Want to see if the products in your cabinets have petroleum?
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/
Greed cannot, must not win.
*****
Now, I can feel a definite change as I stare in gaping mouth at the flagrant disregard for humanity and our precious earth, by so called commerce. I watch our Atlantic Coastline taking the full brunt of humanities assault with humility it seems for now. But I know her so well. Once she lifts her head up from her fatal injuries she is going to have her say. As any mother worth her salt, she will admonish her children for having forsaken her as they kneel weeping at her feet inconsolable with guilt. Well one can only hope. We humans have taken more than has ever been our right to, from our mother earth. We have had the luxury of taking this earth for granted from the beginning of time. The very blood of her existence, water, is poisoned because of the greed of her children. Like any mother, she gives willingly, but I don’t think it will be quietly. There is a horrific lesson to learn here when we all will eventually get the “howler” on this one.
The entire catastrophe is insulting and makes me personally feel ashamed for these people in charge of such a huge responsibility. It has become painfully obvious that they lack not only integrity but the maturity to handle so great a responsibility. Oh wait that’s right, greed is never responsible for its behavior is it? Ok well let’s just say that is true. Everything in equal measure to consequence is a universal law. The one thing humanity cannot get around. Oh it may seem to for a time, but sooner or later karma washes up unto shore and makes toxic sand cookies.
Every one of us has seen mother earth take back everything that was always rightfully hers. But she has been a good mother to us. We should handle her not with fear or brute force, but with love. We have pummeled, pumped and purged every part of her precious resources. From rocks we get diamonds. We build kingdoms and legacy for generations to inherit. Our homes, our clothes our technology all gleamed from the bounty this world has to offer. Yet we still have so little regard for the life the earth gives us and for human life itself which is evident by war and neglect and worse. We can recycle, turn off lights, we can call ourselves “green” thinking we are somehow giving back. But compared to what we have already collectively taken, can we honestly say we are giving back? Sometimes the best way to give back is not to take in the first place.
The one thing every country has in common regardless of culture is the wanting of “stuff”. It sickens me to watch leaders play tug of war games over oil instead of learning how to share and embrace diversity and care for one another. Basic principles I struggled to teach my own children seem to be lost on the mighty. Now the mighty may not even have a sandbox. At least not one they’ll be willing to wiggle their toes in. We have no idea what the impact this BP event will have on our great grand kids.
I’m so confused why we don’t learn from our mistakes. For example; in the 1800’s our government gave land to farmers in what is now referred to as the “dust bowl”. These farmers were encouraged to farm the land, seems innocent enough. But in doing so they scourged the earth of its protective foliage which kept the earth from rising into dust storms in four states. By the 1930’s the area suffered long droughts. As the winds rose, they blew miles of earth thousands of feet into the air and traveled at up to hundred and fifty miles an hour. These were called “black storms” and would last up at three days at time and one of these storms hit from Alabama to New York City. The loss of life was catastrophic and some of the regions hit by these storms have still never recovered, so much for commerce, right? The government was apprised of the situation years prior but did nothing until it literally showed up on their doorstep.
The point is, we have many of these references and we still don’t learn. The precious eco systems are not going to just stay and play nice in areas we’ve “decided” to designate them in. We have wild life reserves, and call ourselves protecting forests, while our hand is still in the cookie jar with drills piercing the earth like needles digging thousands of miles for oil. How do we actually know what the impact will be because of this? The earth works in perfect and delicate balance with itself. Oil may in fact protect or rather lubricate some greater part of our planetary core. Perhaps keeping plates from shifting even more violently then they do, perhaps even assisting a greater balance with gravity as it relates to our solar system. We don’t know everything. This is acutely apparent with our situation in the gulf.
As children of the earth, we can do more to secure and preserve what is left of it. How? By shifting our priorities and changing our collective minds and value set. If we work together and value life itself over “stuff” I believe it will have a global impact on our humanity, on our commerce and its integrity and ultimately our planet.
The tongue and cheek approach our media is taking with this BP tragedy cannot in any way minimize the devastation it’s creating. Nor can there be an attempt to “manage perceptions” to the public which is what most of corporate America does. Our manufactures have found a way to put petroleum, which is a derivative of crude oil in everything we use, by “managing our perceptions”. It’s in everything from our lotions to our cosmetics. Perhaps there is no way to stop everyone from driving cars, but maybe we can do something on a smaller scale, by each of us refusing to buy products containing petroleum. Aside from alternative fuel sources, we have alternatives to other things as well. By the way, hi Jojoba and hemp oil how are yah!?!
I am just a nobody and maybe my little two cents on all of this may seem to be naïve. But we have to start somewhere and make a stand with greater intention then we have ever had before. Shame is not enough. Some loss can mean forever. If we don’t mama’s gonna get the last word. She always does.
By the way must read article in Herald de Paris “It’s Not a Spill” http://www.heralddeparis.com/?s=It%27s+Not+A+Spill
Want to see if the products in your cabinets have petroleum?
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/
Greed cannot, must not win.
*****
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hope Lives among Us
My son Isaiah has been once again nationally honored for his contributions and recognized as being a champion of hope. The event was a celebration of the 50th birthday for The Los Angeles Department of Mental Health hosted at the California Endowment Society in downtown Los Angeles.
As I tagged along in mommy fashion, I found my heart wretched cleanly from my chest throughout the day. As I gawked in sheer amazement at his artwork for the event and the outpouring of love and adoration for my son’s shining achievements, I was struck in awe and a little bit paralyzed. Watching him charismatically weave his way as he was surrounded by celebrity as well as professionals in the Mental Health Care industry was nothing short of stunning. His bright humility, moved with sincerity warmth and kindness, neglecting no one.
We soon watched the tearful video he created in company with his mentors, which inevitably moved hundreds. >>> http://dmh.lacounty.gov/News/press_room.html
His story, as he tells it, is his testimony of hope for all he has been through and his purposeful effort to transform his pain into art.
As he talked about his trauma of being homeless or rather "houseless", it hurt to the core of my existence. He talked about our family struggle and the ripple in the water effect it had on him. In my attempt at listening as an objective observer, all I could feel was beyond grateful. Even though sequences of actual events are a bit blurred in the translation, his heart bursted through every precious reflection. It is his story and the telling of it, is his right to champion for his own healing and the healing of others as it turns out.
The LADMH and their affiliates of this event, deal personally and professionally with all issues dealing directly with the voiceless of our American society. In a land of the free, there are so many shackled and imprisoned by the stigmatism of a mental and/or emotional infliction.
The seemingly voiceless, are creating a world of hope walking with an invisible limp. All the while, the language they speak is about wellness. I was enthralled as I heard testimonies from war veterans, the hearing impaired and the physically paralyzed, to the victims who have lost family members to suicide. Every person now apart of an advocacy program mentoring others through hardships they themselves had been through.
The list is endless and came up close and personal when our Key Note speaker Mariette Hartley addressed us with her own brave and heart wrenching story. As she mentioned the term PTSD, I was capsized. Having been in stronghold from within throughout the day, her bravery unraveled my heart.
The power of her warm words made me realize how powerful my son was as she mentioned him several times having been moved by his story, but also how alone I had been feeling for years. She melted me and made me realize it was time for me to come forward.
When I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I attempted to write the about the experience of the trauma I had suffered in a paper I called Corporate Cancer. However, since then I made a conscious decision to attempt to keep moving forward, with my maimed inner self. Not because I was in denial but honestly because I felt no support for what I was going through. There simply has been no voice for it and even though I worked within the healthcare industry to support my sons, most of their young life, there was no advocacy or support. After all every mama needs a village and unfortunately the one that surrounded us was severely lacking. Sometimes it seemed there just wasn't enough "village" to go around.
The fact that my son found the resources I needed all along is not lost on me. This is so telling, the ways of the ironical vortex and how it always seems to find a through line. Needless to say, I too will be contacting these people and finally get the care I have needed for years. So in truth my son will by default also be healing his mom.
The life events and traumas which created my sons story is only one among many thousands of people who have suffered throughout the world as well as throughout history. But the difference my son makes is the voice he is willing to give to his story through his art and his generous heart and soul. My job is done. My baby son can be one of the finest human beings on the planet.
So, should I discuss the hardships we all suffered that made this so? The truth is if it could happen to us, it could happen to anyone, and often does. An entire family can fall apart from one single trauma. Whether it is a lengthy hospital stay from an illness, to a car accident, job loss, loss of a loved one, or even something as seemingly simple as a broken heart.
I could say if I hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, he could be already teaching and sitting in a bistro in Europe by now discussing philosophical art and its impact on humanity. I could talk about long painful nights in worry about my all children and my own illness. But really the truth is, Isaiah has become the person I ultimately wished him to be as I cradled him in loving sincerity. Now he is well on his own life path which screams to the universe his right to exist, much the same way he kicked while in the womb forcing me to my knees. Today he brings the universe to its knees, in souring hope. I know I don’t regret a thing, as long as whatever it was, it got him here; to these moments of triumph and understanding as he waves his banners in colorful benevolence on canvas.
Isaiah’s story began before he was even born, before I was born. But the one he tells is appropriate and timely. In response, I can only say I have always been proud to be his mother, and likely would have found him in friendship even if I hadn’t been. My testimony is I am grateful others value and love my son as much as I do. There is no greater gift for any unselfish parent.
In Isaiah’s artwork is a logo which was coined the “stigma buster”. If someone else had created such a logo during our little family’s time of trauma, there may not have even been a story for him to tell. When he was born, he looked as if he’d been dipped in gold. Now he has the heart to match. What more could a mother ask for? Thank you Isaiah, my sweet baby son, your artful banner is healing my soul.
I would personally like to thank Gina Perez with the Pacific Clinics for her warm mentoring, kindness beyond the call of uh oh from the very beginning.
My gratitude continues for Kathleen Piche, LCSW with LADMH for championing Isaiah right to the steps of everyone’s heart.
To his older brother David, my sweet son, who has never let go of his brother’s hand in caring and love.
I would like to also say thank Mariette Hartley for her beauty and bravery. She truly is a triumph of spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for embracing us.
For anyone dealing with these tragic circumstances, please never give up. I have seen for myself that there are resources and more importantly PEOPLE who not only care, but understand. There is HOPE among us.
See more of Isaiah’s beautiful artwork > http://www.dhfineart.com/
“Stigma Buster Website” > http:/dmh.lacounty.gov
“Breaking the Silence” by Mariette Hartley & Anne Commire
National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals a& families facing addiction 800-622-2255 800-622-2255).
"National Center for PTSD" -clinical care & social welfare for US Veterans/General public- http://bit.ly/3E6Y76
"Suicide Prevention Action Network USA" -opening minds/changing policy/saving lives-http://bit.ly/11h5x
"It's very hard to be useful & unhappy at the same time" ~Spencer Tracey
"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart." ~Johann Wolfgang Goethe
"Nothing and no one is a lost cause" ~ djs
* jussayn *
******************************** ~ *********************************
***
As I tagged along in mommy fashion, I found my heart wretched cleanly from my chest throughout the day. As I gawked in sheer amazement at his artwork for the event and the outpouring of love and adoration for my son’s shining achievements, I was struck in awe and a little bit paralyzed. Watching him charismatically weave his way as he was surrounded by celebrity as well as professionals in the Mental Health Care industry was nothing short of stunning. His bright humility, moved with sincerity warmth and kindness, neglecting no one.
We soon watched the tearful video he created in company with his mentors, which inevitably moved hundreds. >>> http://dmh.lacounty.gov/News/press_room.html
His story, as he tells it, is his testimony of hope for all he has been through and his purposeful effort to transform his pain into art.
As he talked about his trauma of being homeless or rather "houseless", it hurt to the core of my existence. He talked about our family struggle and the ripple in the water effect it had on him. In my attempt at listening as an objective observer, all I could feel was beyond grateful. Even though sequences of actual events are a bit blurred in the translation, his heart bursted through every precious reflection. It is his story and the telling of it, is his right to champion for his own healing and the healing of others as it turns out.
The LADMH and their affiliates of this event, deal personally and professionally with all issues dealing directly with the voiceless of our American society. In a land of the free, there are so many shackled and imprisoned by the stigmatism of a mental and/or emotional infliction.
The seemingly voiceless, are creating a world of hope walking with an invisible limp. All the while, the language they speak is about wellness. I was enthralled as I heard testimonies from war veterans, the hearing impaired and the physically paralyzed, to the victims who have lost family members to suicide. Every person now apart of an advocacy program mentoring others through hardships they themselves had been through.
The list is endless and came up close and personal when our Key Note speaker Mariette Hartley addressed us with her own brave and heart wrenching story. As she mentioned the term PTSD, I was capsized. Having been in stronghold from within throughout the day, her bravery unraveled my heart.
The power of her warm words made me realize how powerful my son was as she mentioned him several times having been moved by his story, but also how alone I had been feeling for years. She melted me and made me realize it was time for me to come forward.
When I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I attempted to write the about the experience of the trauma I had suffered in a paper I called Corporate Cancer. However, since then I made a conscious decision to attempt to keep moving forward, with my maimed inner self. Not because I was in denial but honestly because I felt no support for what I was going through. There simply has been no voice for it and even though I worked within the healthcare industry to support my sons, most of their young life, there was no advocacy or support. After all every mama needs a village and unfortunately the one that surrounded us was severely lacking. Sometimes it seemed there just wasn't enough "village" to go around.
The fact that my son found the resources I needed all along is not lost on me. This is so telling, the ways of the ironical vortex and how it always seems to find a through line. Needless to say, I too will be contacting these people and finally get the care I have needed for years. So in truth my son will by default also be healing his mom.
The life events and traumas which created my sons story is only one among many thousands of people who have suffered throughout the world as well as throughout history. But the difference my son makes is the voice he is willing to give to his story through his art and his generous heart and soul. My job is done. My baby son can be one of the finest human beings on the planet.
So, should I discuss the hardships we all suffered that made this so? The truth is if it could happen to us, it could happen to anyone, and often does. An entire family can fall apart from one single trauma. Whether it is a lengthy hospital stay from an illness, to a car accident, job loss, loss of a loved one, or even something as seemingly simple as a broken heart.
I could say if I hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, he could be already teaching and sitting in a bistro in Europe by now discussing philosophical art and its impact on humanity. I could talk about long painful nights in worry about my all children and my own illness. But really the truth is, Isaiah has become the person I ultimately wished him to be as I cradled him in loving sincerity. Now he is well on his own life path which screams to the universe his right to exist, much the same way he kicked while in the womb forcing me to my knees. Today he brings the universe to its knees, in souring hope. I know I don’t regret a thing, as long as whatever it was, it got him here; to these moments of triumph and understanding as he waves his banners in colorful benevolence on canvas.
Isaiah’s story began before he was even born, before I was born. But the one he tells is appropriate and timely. In response, I can only say I have always been proud to be his mother, and likely would have found him in friendship even if I hadn’t been. My testimony is I am grateful others value and love my son as much as I do. There is no greater gift for any unselfish parent.
In Isaiah’s artwork is a logo which was coined the “stigma buster”. If someone else had created such a logo during our little family’s time of trauma, there may not have even been a story for him to tell. When he was born, he looked as if he’d been dipped in gold. Now he has the heart to match. What more could a mother ask for? Thank you Isaiah, my sweet baby son, your artful banner is healing my soul.
I would personally like to thank Gina Perez with the Pacific Clinics for her warm mentoring, kindness beyond the call of uh oh from the very beginning.
My gratitude continues for Kathleen Piche, LCSW with LADMH for championing Isaiah right to the steps of everyone’s heart.
To his older brother David, my sweet son, who has never let go of his brother’s hand in caring and love.
I would like to also say thank Mariette Hartley for her beauty and bravery. She truly is a triumph of spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for embracing us.
For anyone dealing with these tragic circumstances, please never give up. I have seen for myself that there are resources and more importantly PEOPLE who not only care, but understand. There is HOPE among us.
See more of Isaiah’s beautiful artwork > http://www.dhfineart.com/
“Stigma Buster Website” > http:/dmh.lacounty.gov
“Breaking the Silence” by Mariette Hartley & Anne Commire
National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals a& families facing addiction 800-622-2255 800-622-2255).
"National Center for PTSD" -clinical care & social welfare for US Veterans/General public- http://bit.ly/3E6Y76
"Suicide Prevention Action Network USA" -opening minds/changing policy/saving lives-http://bit.ly/11h5x
"It's very hard to be useful & unhappy at the same time" ~Spencer Tracey
"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart." ~Johann Wolfgang Goethe
"Nothing and no one is a lost cause" ~ djs
* jussayn *
******************************** ~ *********************************
***
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Brothers & Sisters
At the request of my sister, I am back to watching the television program “Brothers & Sisters”. The show pulled me in when it first aired, for my fondness of Sally Field and for the obvious title. I stopped watching after my mother passed away because it was serious "in your face family" at the time and I just could not deal. There are elements of the show’s heart and story lines that can speak a hard reality.
Being able to relate to some of the story lines, can be like reliving them. But now, being pulled by my sister, I’m again taken in by the warmth of Nora’s kitchen, sweet banter and fast paced hydro-drama. Through Kitty’s cancer and barrage of sibling eye rolls there are the tugs that yank on my own life strings.
I suppose it’s silly to compare my family to the Walkers, because in truth we are nothing alike. We are not running for senate or together running a family business or dating people from Paris. But we are survivors, my own siblings and I. We walk the planet in testimony to it. We all have our own warm kitchens and conference call rally every now and then. But we have no one person at the helm in control like Nora. We had our mother as a touch point of comfort when she was alive, but we are all ships with our own sails and I might add, without a neutral common port.
We are blessed with a great bond and are given to hysterical comedy and music between us. But we are not very good at the hard eye rolls or the rally. When something happens of course we are all there for one another. But we are not very good at listening to each other either. So when one of us is in trouble or has discovered an anomaly, we often run rapid in judgmental terror to try to fix it, or we sail off in the direction of a disconnect button. All of us are guilty of doing this to each other. We are also extremely charismatic and have a lot to share at once, whenever we get together. Everything is always important and cannot wait, which is something we do have in common with the Walkers. Vibrating with high emotion, we also can not help but run toward each other in deep sentiment.
Above all there is always the element of surprise and our random acts of kindnesses we give each other, even though we are infected with conversation "interruptUS". In truth, we never really learned how to work together except when it comes to the kitchen or our music. It fascinates me. When we cook, it is a poem of pleasure as we gather around the table by candlelight and toast mom. When we sing, all four of us are the loveliest blend of harmony anyone has ever heard.
Now personally, I have never been very competitive. As a matter of fact, the discovery of this took me a very long time to understand about myself, coming to the conclusion in loath, even for the word "competition". So when the green eyed monster of sibling rivalry rears its tenuous head, I have mostly recoiled. In doing so, permitting my siblings the limelight of conversation or song. This gave me a deep appreciation and value for observation. Of course I have my own frustrations with each of them. But I do get my point across and my turn. We are each mini powerhouses, not to be trifled with. Even stranger to me is we have so much in common, yet we spin in separate orbits. A curse and a blessing. But, whenever we do join forces, we are together a stronghold of intention unbreakable. It is all a perfect balance of contractions and perfect imperfection. My brother and sisters and I, are so very lucky to have each other. Maybe we don’t have Nora’s kitchen as a common port, but we have four of them at any given time.
I’m glad my sister changed my mind to watch the show again. Aside from dreamy Gilles Marini and tearful moments, the show gives me warm perspective about our own little family. Maybe we are not very good at the conference call rally, but we mostly hold each other close to our heart squeezed marshmallow centers, such as we are. I would not change us for the world. We just need patience, a lot more wine and a gentler eye roll. Oh, and the listening part.
I’ll be watching … thanks kid :) *kisses & grins*
"Speak kind words and you will hear kind echos" - unknown
"The National Mentoring Partnership" -a resource for mentors & mentoring initiatives - http://bit.ly/dN9bg
***
Being able to relate to some of the story lines, can be like reliving them. But now, being pulled by my sister, I’m again taken in by the warmth of Nora’s kitchen, sweet banter and fast paced hydro-drama. Through Kitty’s cancer and barrage of sibling eye rolls there are the tugs that yank on my own life strings.
I suppose it’s silly to compare my family to the Walkers, because in truth we are nothing alike. We are not running for senate or together running a family business or dating people from Paris. But we are survivors, my own siblings and I. We walk the planet in testimony to it. We all have our own warm kitchens and conference call rally every now and then. But we have no one person at the helm in control like Nora. We had our mother as a touch point of comfort when she was alive, but we are all ships with our own sails and I might add, without a neutral common port.
We are blessed with a great bond and are given to hysterical comedy and music between us. But we are not very good at the hard eye rolls or the rally. When something happens of course we are all there for one another. But we are not very good at listening to each other either. So when one of us is in trouble or has discovered an anomaly, we often run rapid in judgmental terror to try to fix it, or we sail off in the direction of a disconnect button. All of us are guilty of doing this to each other. We are also extremely charismatic and have a lot to share at once, whenever we get together. Everything is always important and cannot wait, which is something we do have in common with the Walkers. Vibrating with high emotion, we also can not help but run toward each other in deep sentiment.
Above all there is always the element of surprise and our random acts of kindnesses we give each other, even though we are infected with conversation "interruptUS". In truth, we never really learned how to work together except when it comes to the kitchen or our music. It fascinates me. When we cook, it is a poem of pleasure as we gather around the table by candlelight and toast mom. When we sing, all four of us are the loveliest blend of harmony anyone has ever heard.
Now personally, I have never been very competitive. As a matter of fact, the discovery of this took me a very long time to understand about myself, coming to the conclusion in loath, even for the word "competition". So when the green eyed monster of sibling rivalry rears its tenuous head, I have mostly recoiled. In doing so, permitting my siblings the limelight of conversation or song. This gave me a deep appreciation and value for observation. Of course I have my own frustrations with each of them. But I do get my point across and my turn. We are each mini powerhouses, not to be trifled with. Even stranger to me is we have so much in common, yet we spin in separate orbits. A curse and a blessing. But, whenever we do join forces, we are together a stronghold of intention unbreakable. It is all a perfect balance of contractions and perfect imperfection. My brother and sisters and I, are so very lucky to have each other. Maybe we don’t have Nora’s kitchen as a common port, but we have four of them at any given time.
I’m glad my sister changed my mind to watch the show again. Aside from dreamy Gilles Marini and tearful moments, the show gives me warm perspective about our own little family. Maybe we are not very good at the conference call rally, but we mostly hold each other close to our heart squeezed marshmallow centers, such as we are. I would not change us for the world. We just need patience, a lot more wine and a gentler eye roll. Oh, and the listening part.
I’ll be watching … thanks kid :) *kisses & grins*
"Speak kind words and you will hear kind echos" - unknown
"The National Mentoring Partnership" -a resource for mentors & mentoring initiatives - http://bit.ly/dN9bg
***
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