Fackin Truth Blog

Diet Cola, Children, and Health - My singular self-righteous, non-scientific view

This past Saturday, my friend and I journeyed over to our favorite breakfast spot. As I sweat my way though the painful decision of corned beef versus bacon, I caught the conversation from a nearby table. To my dismay, the young girl, no older than 9 - 10 years old, ordered a Diet Coke with her meal.

The girl seemed proud to place her order, evident in her grown-up glance towards her mother... her overweight mother... who probably didn't want to pass along the same habits that began her own weight problems. Sadly, her mom probably taught her that Diet Coke would help her grow up to not be overweight, because, well, that's all she knows to do. 

Just like we select the right octane for our cars, it's time to start understanding what we pump into our bodies. For years, artificial sweeteners emerged on the radar as unhealthy substances that contribute to medical ailments from multiple sclerosis to cancer.

Calorie Counters waged war against the Cancer Counters. One group sought to discredit and silence the other. Medical specialists warred about the truth and consumers were downright confused. So why was I still deeply annoyed with this girl's mother?

Consider this: A news report blasts across the radio. "GassyAssy gasoline may contain a dangerous additive known to slowly destroy a car's engine. The car will begin to perform poorly and then stop running altogether." Gasoline specialists emerged with new data showing why the chemical destroys engines. Drivers started complaining of car problems after hitting the pumps.

As a driver, would you care if a new set of specialists tried to discredit the scientific data and driver testimonies? Wouldn't you avoid GA altogether to protect your precious car?

This is why mom gets the gas face. There's too much controversy surrounding the use of chemicals in diet sodas, and a child's health is worth avoiding the potentially offensive chemical. If not that, consider the other less scientific reasons:

• Checmicals aren't synonymous with health and well being. Aside from the need for pharmceuticals in emergency situations, why risk it on a good day?


• No such controversy swirls around natural juices and old fashioned water. Aren't both available where soda is available? 

• One study featured at WebMD concludes that drinking diet cola actually contributes to an increase in weight gain. You mean I'm gonna drink this nasty ish and get fatter faster? I'm running this race backwards...


• What young child do you know who needs CAFFEINE? Forget the artifical sweetner. You couldn't pay me to amp my son's current energy level with caffeine. (Unless payment included two free nights of babysitting, about how long it would take to pry him from the ceiling).

Wilfull ignorance is not a good look. Even without the science degree, the backdoor studies, or the experience, you can see enough smoke around this issue to suspect there's a fire. Lawd we gotta do better.

Reclaiming the Hunger Reflex - Part 1

I remember my original fascination after learning that years of poor dietary habits can cause the hunger reflex to malfunction. In many cases, when dieters exchange those habits for a healthier lifestyle, the first order of business is learning to distinguish real hunger from a host of other sensations (such as thirst or boredom).

Digging deeper into this phenomenon, I see the tragedy in losing the natural reflex whose sole function is to trigger nourishment for the body. Without nourishment comes death. How do we exchange life for the act of eating all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons?

I liken this sad state of affairs to a game we play too often with our souls. During an anonymous game of question-and-answer, a curious player asked about the biggest mistake I ever made. My answer was almost immediate:

'I spent too much time living to the expectations of others, and turning the tide has been difficult.'

Like poor dieting, trying to live up to conflicting expectations meant replacing my heart's desire for meals served from another table. I ate when I wasn't hungry. I nibbled on junk food. I consumed the feast for parties that I shouldn't have attended. I set aside too many dreams for paths presented by well-intentioned spectators.

One day... almost in an instant... I experienced a deep interest in the Radical Honesty of my experience. (Yes, I even read the book which I highly recommend). I wanted to know how my personal desires correlated to my unique purpose on this earth. I grabbed a pen and paper. I desperately wanted to see "me" in writing. I wanted to know for sure, as LoveBabz teaches her readers to ask, "Who am I and what do I want?"

I stared at that blank slate in a state of disappointed disbelief. My hunger reflex was failing. The unique woman that God created me to be was hopelessly wrapped in layers of unfamiliar expectations. Suddenly, those layers became the lens through which I viewed life - the confining net from which I decided my next steps - the box from which I plotted my actions. None of it felt like it was mine.

At the age of 30, I had already eaten, digested, and processed too many meals that weren't designed for my anatomy. I absorbed the criticism that I should have repelled in exchange for acceptance. The salve for doubt soothed for a moment but caused more doubt when trying to answer my questions. To this day, I admire the "black sheep" rebels who refuse the lure of this exchange.

As I near my 40th birthday, I realize how much elbow grease I need to turn this lumbering ship. Faith tells me this experience wasn't a waste. I refuse to make any declarations that I 'wasted my life.' I learned too much along the way. The hard way. My flower is in bloom, and this exploration leaves me examining life with a childlike newness.

What will I find? I guess I'll share new discoveries in Part 2... and all the follow-up parts that I'll pen on this wild ride.

Welcome to "me" back to blogging. You ready?

Git Yo' Head Right (The Self Assessment Series)PART 1B - "WHO ARE YOU?"

How do I sucker myself into public displays of Too Much Information? This is Part 1B of a multi-part series called "Git Yo' Head Right - The Self Assessment Series." For the list of questions, take a peek at the daggone post that started it all.

Question: Who Am I? (Part 2)

Late to the party? Here's Part 1 of "Who Am I?"

I'm a mother with two children - both of whom arrived out-of-wedlock. I came home from college pregnant with the first, and I married the father of the second. I ended that string as a divorcee raising two sons. I wish the best lessons in poor judgment didn't come wrapped in the bitter scent of crappy experiences. Anywho...

I defer dreams when disappointments rob my heart of hope. This is a bad habit. Hope shouldn't be so fragile. Even worse, I'm great with the deferral, but terrible with the retrieval.

I value my personal position of "love and kindness" towards strangers. I do believe that "I am my brothers' keeper." When I mistreat a stranger, I believe the effects flow to others. Likewise, when I'm kind to a stranger, I believe the positive effects flow to others, like a pebble dropped into a pond.I hear a lot of lip service about love towards strangers. But I look around and wonder where the rubber hits the road.

I love with great passion. Likewise, I get angry, hurt, happy, etc. with great passion. If I trust you and you betray me, forgiveness comes completely, but with great effort on my part. I don't believe "forgiveness" and "restoration" are siblings. Just distant cousins. Forgiving you doesn't mean you resume a position of authority or trust in my life.

I can be terribly impatient. Not all the time. But at key times. And I'm most likely to be impatient at home. Friends, associates, other family, and constituents recognize me as having unwavering patience. That's because, wrong or not, I'm more likely to display impatience on the homefront. Why? Because I'm serious about home being a refuge and a sanctuary from the world. Y'all ain't gonna worry me to death after everybody out there just stepped on the last nerve I have left. And just like most things balance in the end, home is also the place I have the most fun, play more games, laugh like a child, and express love without abandon.

I love hip-hop music. My "Chores CD" contains hard-hitting hip-hop songs. While I love a variety of music, hip-hop wins the day to keep me moving on mundane chores. If I scrubbed a floor to classical music, I might get too relaxed and fall asleep on the tile.

I still haven't resolved my "mommy issues." The average onlooker would never suspect I even have mommy issues. We get along fine. She's a great lady and I love her. But I avoid the discussions that I really want to have with her. I do this to keep peace, but I want to be so much more candid. I don't feel she was open with me about issues that really matter, and I could learn so much more from her if she was. She directed my life with a firm hand based on the lessons she learned, but she didn't offer the benefit of sharing her personal experience. I longed for those conversations. My fiance lost his mother in 1999 and encourages me to stop letting time pass with things unsaid.

My father grounded my life in ways he doesn't realize. I found my mother to be too strict, judgmental, and controlling (yet I still give her credit for operating on what she believes to be the right reasons). My father was the opposite, and I am grateful for the balance. Together, they taught me the importance of a two-parent home.

A reader at What About Our Daughters once commented that "We love our sons, and raise our daughters… WITH CONTEMPT” While I avoid generalizations, I can relate to that statement on some levels.

Sometime after having my first son, my mother warned me not to tell anybody that I was her daughter because she was embarrassed by my status (as a 21-year old unwed mother). She delivered this punch at the dinner table - without provocation and without warning. My father stood up for me that day. I was too immobilized to respond - literally. I was frozen in rejection. The blind-side sucker-punch felt tangible. And it came from somebody I thought loved and accepted me. I always figured she should simply know how wrong it was. I guess she was having a bad-hair-day. She never apologized. I never expressed. And I never forgot.

Once, my mother "complained" that I looked like the light-skinned busty women that my father ran around with. Another time, she walked away from a grocery aisle when I had to use my food stamps as a single mom trying to finish college. The look I received from her was far worse than any judgmental glaces I received from strangers.

At one time, these "mommy" experiences were painfully crippling for me. Over the years I rolled the remnants into dark corners and can't really say where one issue stops and another begins. Sometimes I'm not sure: "Am I having a bad hair day or did I just get sideswiped by a mommy issue?"

I miss my old church. I miss it terribly. I keep in touch with the Pastor and Co-Pastor (his wife). They're forever members of my extended family. But I still can't visualize myself at another church. Since then, I received invitations to visit other churches. While I plan to accept those invitations soon, I don't see myself finding another church home in the near future.

Sometimes I think I either want more than I deserve, more than I earned, or more than I can handle. I recently asked my 16-year old son about Christmas gifts. "What do want for Christmas? Do you believe you deserve it?" He went all righteous on me (hehe) and replied, "Nobody deserves anything more, really. We just hope for what we want because we're all flawed and don't always do the right thing." I gave him infinite props for that answer. Because he meant it. And he's right. He spoke with a maturity that I may need to borrow on a bad day. And he got everything he wanted for Christmas. As far as I'm concerned, he deserved it for that answer alone.

I fight with my fiance like Water in Oil Town. Unfortunately (or fortunately), he's just as passionate as I am. We know how to ride the extremes back to safety and serenity. We love each other like crazy. This will either result in a powerfully unbreakable life-long union, or an Apocalyptic nuclear demise. Personally, when we sit and laugh about this, we both put all our money on "unbreakable."

I wake everyday concerned about the effect (positive or negative) I'll have on the world. One kind gesture. One evil thought. Do you believe they can change the course of the world? I do. And I consider the possibilities everyday.

I remember one day in a Denny's restaurant. The waitress looked stressed. Distraught. Unloved. I found something beautiful about her, and complimented it. It surprised her. She appreciated it. She needed it. Her demeanor changed. Her day changed. A light went on in her eyes. Did I change the world with that compliment? Possibly. But even if I didn't, I changed her world that day.

I bite my nails like they're going out of style. That's the tangible stress outlet I adopted at the ripe old age of three years old. I stop every few years - with lots of effort. I plan to stop forever, but who knows when that will come. I need a replacement (besides food or some other unhealthy vice) before then. I could do a Kojak and invest in lollipops.

I used to fear drowning. I would even have nightmares about it. Now, my biggest fear is not discovering the purpose of my life and missing my potential. The short version: I don't want to waste my life. I certainly don't subscribe to the idea that my success will be measured in dollars. Do I measure it by how well my sons turn out? Do I measure it by how much I enjoyed each day? I don't know, but I don't want to get to the end and regret that I "never quite got it right" - whatever "it" is.

So that's it. I consider this question sufficiently answered. I'm a recovered wild child with two sons, an ex-husband, mommy issues, and periodic bouts with disappearing patience. I'm concerned about my impact on the world although fear and laziness recently immobilized me into having little effect on the world - especially my world - at all. My biggest fear is to die before learning and living my purpose although I take great pain (and pleasure) in striving to be a good person (whatever that is). You won't find me in a church, but you'll find my heart in the Bible. And oh yeah, blog posts like this reveal my sick sick obsession with providing TOO MUCH INFORMATION. Love y'all.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of the series, where I'm forced to answer the next question: "Do You Like Who You Are?"

I hope the answers get shorter. I talk too damned much.

New Year's Resolutions: What the Heck are You Trying to Resolve?

From Merriam-Webster Online:
res-o-lu-tion 3a: something that is resolved (made a resolution to mend my ways)
re-solve 4a: to deal with successfully : clear up (resolve doubts) (resolve a dispute) b: to find an answer to c: to make clear or understandable

If we had a moment of
Radical Honesty while stumbling through our list of Resolutions, we'd crumble under the weight of our own bull-shnit. Why? Because a real "resolution" requires a total deconstruction of the original fluff. Take these typical resolutions, which appear on the Top Ten New Year's Resolutions:

Work Out/Lose Weight
As far as New Year's Resolutions go, this is probably the King of the Hill. Although it sounds great on paper, what does it "resolve?" A true resolution with weight loss in mind would deconstruct the problem into smaller and meaningful bits.

Why do you weigh a metric ton? What excuses did you make all year (and all ten years prior) to avoid losing weight? Was it hamburgers or the stress of a lousy marriage? What are you willing to do about those things to make exercise and weight loss work for you?

Spend More Time with the Family
Well why can't you be found within 10 square miles of them now? Why do you run from them like The Fugutive? Do you work too much? If so, why are you a workaholic? Is it fear of being poor or you can't stand the noise associated with family time? What are you willing to do about those things  to make family time work? 

Quit Smoking
Why do you always look like your head's on fire? Are you stressed or self medicating another issue? What are you willing to do about those things  to help you quit smoking?

I think you get the point.

So this year, my New Year's Resolutions come in the form of a categorized 5-Year plan, broken into annual chunks, that deconstruct my goals through meaningful analysis - much like the Frugal Zeitgeist shares here. And I just love Frugal Z for giving me one word to keep my goals on track: S.M.A.R.T. (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Time-constrained).

To add some meat to this exercise, I want to complete one of the best deconstruction exercises I've seen in a while: The Great Assessment courtesy of Ladylee. So what that she stole it from somebody else. At least they're friends, and she gave some throwback credits in her post.

Anyway, The Great Assessment is really a batch of simple questions that don't have simple answers. In fact, some may take days to answer - either because you're not ready to be honest or because you never considered the issues. If you avoid the answers that "sound good" or "reflect who you want to be as opposed to who you really are," I conclude that some r-e-a-l resolutions are coming your way.

I may share my answers on this blog to make myself accountable for the hard work of deconstructing issues with honesty. I suspect some will be too private for y'alls virgin eyes. Without further ado, here is the list of questions:

:: Who are you?

:: Do you like who you are?

:: Who do you want to be, what is it that you must change?

:: What do you stand for?

:: What is your passion?

:: Who are the people that you love?
:: Why?

:: Do the people you love, love you?
:: Why/why not?

:: When people know you, do they really know you?

:: Is the place that you rest your head, your “home”?
:: If not where is “home” and do you want to be there?
:: If so, why are you not there?

:: When you wake up, do you go to the job that you really want to do?
:: If not, what are you doing to change that?

:: Is your family close to your heart?
:: If not why?

:: Who do you love?

:: Can you love them better?

:: If you can love them better, why don’t you?

:: Do they love you?

:: Can they love you better?

:: What do you want?

:: How will you get it?

:: What is important to you?

:: Who do you fight with?
:: Why do you fight with them?

:: What do you need?
:: What do you want?
:: Why don't you have it?

:: Are you happy or are you sad?
:: Why?

:: Are you smiling or are you crying?
:: Why?

:: What will make you better tomorrow than you are today?

I wish you a Very Merry Christmas and a
Productive and Prosperous New Year, complete with real resolutions that guide you along the way.

Where in All of God's Green Creation Have I Been?

Warning: This post contains a long whine from a woman generally considered as "having it relatively together" or at least "aimed darned well down the road." If you can't stomach the gruesome scene, just keep it moving.

Besides missing-in-action at this blog, where in the h*ll have I been? I would love to answer that question for you, but I'm floating in a stagnant sea of "I DON'T KNOW."

I am less concerned about where I am than the concern I have about why I don't really know. If you ask my mom, she would blame the fiance's mere presence. If you ask any Pastor, they'd complain that I need to return to church. If you ask Richard Simmons, he'd say I need a good dose of aerobic exercise. And if you ask Martha Steward, she'd say my house is too messy right now for any human to enter and formulate a lucid sentence.

I am aware of my outward circumstances.

My cluttered desk is crummy.
Got a little extra pad on my tummy.
The money is funny.
And my nose is runny.

I could rhyme a list from now until Christmas, but it wouldn't explain a thing. Why? Not a dang thing on that list is the problem. (And if you comment on my weak azz rhyme, you'll get coal in your stocking. But I digress...) Many agree that outward circumstances simply reflect an inward condition. And if that's true, I don't like what's flowing from within.

So where am I really?

Some days I'm flat out Frustrated.

Which crack-smoking leader of the road crew thought it was a fabulous idea to shut down the westbound lane of a two-lane highway during rush hour for a paving job that could be done in a snap AT A BETTER TIME OF DAY?

Some days I'm Angry.

"The last 200 times I had to have this conversation with you, I kept my cool. I wonder if I can go ahead and HEAT IT UP this time????"

Some days I'm Confused.

If 2 + 2 = 4 and 5 + 5 = 10, why doesn't MyCheck-MyExpenses=Savings??

Some days I'm Insecure.

If that dang shirt doesn't stop clinging to my stomach like that, I'm gonna have a pretty new set of cleaning rags by tomorrow. Where's my scissors?

But too many days

I'm just Hopelessly Resigned...

...and that's the dangerous life-draining culprit that I discovered beneath my circumstance. What can be more dangerous than accepting the idea that life will always be less - far less - than you ever hoped for, and your resistance is futile.

Hopeless resignation doesn't just temporarily steal attention from dreams, visions, and goals. Anger can do that. Frustration can do that. But hopeless resignation eats away at the place in the heart which hopes and believes that a little more effort can/will eventually produce a satisfying result.

On one particularly low day, PMS introduced herself to Hopeless Resignation. I stared at the wall while they had a party and the conversation (more like a monologue spoken in unison) went something like this:

What the hell is the meaning of life anyway? We get up earlier than we want, roll out of bed like zombies, rush to a job we can't stand, crunch for time after work with the family we really value, spend the check on bills instead of something fun, and wake to the same sick cycle the next day. Insanity means repeating these crap days over and over while hoping for a different result. Madness is triggering a freak accident while trying to find an exit off this ride to change something for a better result.

So the choices aren't looking good, huh? Either stay on the ride of insanity, or look for an exit from the high-speed-hot-mess and lose a limb trying to jump off?

As if it wasn't enough that voices were talking to each other in my head, they started asking me questions like I'd be brave enough to answer them (out loud, anyway).

And what about all the "higher meaning" and "spiritual" aspects of life? Howz that Christian faith workin' for ya? Isn't the mountaintop beautiful? Would you even know what the mountaintop looked like since you can't see it from the lowness of the valley?

I look around and see so many things that require my attention. Some require my daily influence and others represent the cumulative effect of leaving too much stuff undone. Where do you start when the To-Do List has one big red word written in the middle:

EVERYTHING

I expend all of my energy to barely keep up. At least that's how it feels. Getting ahead seems totally out of reach. While my heart is thankful enough to manage a cheerful smile, sincere laughs, and priceless joys, the sinking feeling is always just below the surface - like I'm missing a major boat that won't sail my way again.

I keep watching the mail for the memo stating, "This is only a mid-life crisis that will be over next week. In 7 days, click your heels together three times and watch that sinking feeling wash away. And oh yeah. That messy desk may just clean itself, too" Since my memo didn't get here, I have to fight this one from the pit.

I made a deal with myself to go All-Out for an entire year. I mean burn rubber and see how many positive changes I can make in a year. I got through one week (or maybe that was one day) before the sinking feelings returned. With so much to live for, to love for, and to work for, I wonder why lately I'm about as useful as a sack of broken teacups.

I still don't know why I'm content to whine in a public blog. In some ways, whether a pat on the back or a slap in the face, the comments are like free therapy. And who can afford therapy in this economy?

Note: Happy posts and possibly a major success story about "turnaroud" to come after these commercial messages...

When are the skies most clear?

I say "After the Rain."


And that's exactly what happened after my post mired in frustration. I didn't walk off into the sunset with singing birds fluttering through the sky. But I did get clear on a few things and the clarity is like having a second-sight.


It's crazy. Seriously. I have a quick budget plan that will be in place by the end of the week. I implemented some changes around the house that had an immediate effect. And my crazy fiance started handling some of his business this morning after surprising a sistah with breakfast in bed before work.


This blue sky after my personal rain almost feels strange... the kind of strange that people must feel when Ashton Kutcher jumps out with the notice YOU'VE BEEN PUNKED.


I dragged my fiance through the entire process. Wait... not true. Truth be told, he was riding his own wave of frustration. We've both been taking assessments and frowning at the results. We laugh together. We cry together. And we clearly walk through the rain together.


And do you know what's funny? Like Blu said in the comments:

"Because as I said before, you've accepted, you've expressed, and now you can move forward."

Walking under his own new blue skies, my sweetie sounds like a new man. A man with a plan. My baby started his day preparing me breakfast in bed so I could have a hot meal before work. We sat. Ate. Talked. And even cried happy tears. I think somebody passed gas, too... but I won't name names.


We talked about small plans we can implement now. He called me at work today with the result of some phone calls he made to handle his business. Thank God for rain that clears the skies.

Smack Dab In Da Middle

Warning: You would think I'd return to my blog with a feel-good message. Or at least some politics. But I warn you... this post contains the ridiculous whining of a perfectly mature 37-year old woman. Strike up the violins. Hit the sound track.  "Whaa whaa whaa." But I'm gonna get this out. And if you keep reading, you effectively volunteered to be my therapist.


I am smack-dab in the middle... I mean dead center... like friggin ground zero... of some personal frustrations.


And I don't find solace in the typical canned answers from well-wishers. You know... the:

"But you're so blessed. You have two lovely boys. You have parents who adore you. Your fiance is simply mad about you. You have a good job. A car to drive.... DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE DON'T HAVE A JOB TO GO TO????"

I am deeply grateful for each of those things. Seriously. Sometimes... out of nowhere... my heart will fill with joy over the gifts I received in this life.


BUT... And there's always a big butt to muddy the picture... the time comes when comparing my life to the misfortunes and shortcomings of other people's lives isn't enough reason to crack a smile.


Think about it. It's the "be thankful for your life because there is a child starving in Africa" strategy. You've heard it before. (And it never made you feel any better.... DID IT?) Hey, the strategy works on children who won't eat their vegetables, but at some point it doesn't work for an adult who had goals and missed the mark. And while I am thankful for what I have, I reserve the right to be as frustrated as I want about the goals I failed to reach and the opportunities I failed to recognize.


I have gifts and talents that I expected to be in full force by this age. But right now, I'm still punching a clock on somebody else's time to benefit somebody else's profit margin.


I've spent the last 10 years with a small company. I'm not a manager or somebody with some "pull" in the food chain. I'm not an executive or somebody with "veto" power. I'm a worker-bee with a regular check that depends on somebody else blessing my presence.


I gave myself until the age of 40 to get in good physical shape. But at 37, I seem further from the mark than I was just 2 years ago. Bad habits. Poor sleep patterns. Those darned pasta dishes. And I haven't been on a cleanse since who knows when. I have an abandoned Cleanse Blog to prove it. That blog used to get truck loads of traffic from everywhere - including countries I never even heard of.


I have a son who will graduate high school in 2 years. I never gave him the house-with-a-yard that I always wanted my children to experience. I went from mom's house... to an apartment... to a townhouse. And the townhouse wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the piss-poor neighborhood.


I'm not sure how to end this post. In the perfect world of 30-minute sitcoms and Tyler Perry movies, I would suddenly see a bright light and live happily ever after. I would stretch my arms, hug myself, and talk about how silly I was to complain. I'd buckle-down, buy a T.D. Jakes series, and write a 5-year life plan. I'd walk off into the sunset as birds flew by and squirrels played around my feet.


Yeah.         Well.             I'll do those things later. I know how to take action. Seriously, I will. But for right now, I reserve the right to experience the raw moments of my frustration.


Happier posts with smiley faces and colorful pictures will return after these messages......

Verily Verily I Say to Young Women - Get it Together Now While You Have Life, Love and Youth Ahead of You

Rambo Feminism (as I call it) doesn't always liberate women. In this essay, one woman discovers unfortunate and potentially life-altering blemishes on the underbelly of the "feminist" movement. Originally posted by kellymac:

A Middle-Aged Princess Grows Up.

On the cusp of my 45th birthday, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. It wasn’t the bathroom mirror, it was a photo I had from graduate school. I looked at myself 20 years ago and had a startling and clear epiphany. It wasn’t a happy moment. It was a terribly sad moment. It was so sad that I involuntarily burst into tears, something I haven’t done since the dark days of my divorce.

I looked at the photo and came to the conclusion that I had made a real mess of my life. I felt the utter misery of my life come in waves of sadness, regret, anger, and loneliness. For almost an hour I cried as I looked at the photo of a younger me. I was 24 with a fresh MBA from an excellent school. I was eager to conquer the business world. I was eager to prove that women could do anything. I was so much thinner. My clothes looked stylish, almost sexy. Of course the hair style was awful but that was the 80s and such styles could be forgiven. I saw the brightness in my eyes, the sparkle of life, of the great opportunities that were open to me. The world was there for my taking and I was ready.

But somehow, some way, it never came to be. My life evolved into something painful and difficult. But until that moment when I looked at my photo from over two decades ago, I always blamed someone else. It was never my fault for the bad decisions I made. Typically, it was the fault of men - my father, my boyfriends, my husband, my boss, my sons. Never, ever was it something that I had done. When I commiserated with my women friends, they always supported me. They even supported me when I had my affair, telling me that my husband was not giving me the attention that I needed. I read the women’s magazines and every article was about how women were always strong, intelligent, morally righteous, unable to make bad decisions. Worse, I believed that any of my needs, no matter how frivolous, no matter how many times I changed my mind, no matter how miserable I made the men in my life feel, were more important than anything - motherhood, career advancement, a healthy marriage, whatever.

I hate the world for teaching me those lessons. I remember complaining about how my husband never grew up. But as the tears streamed down my face, I came to the conclusion that I had never grown up. I never learned about compromise, trust, tolerance, niceness. I was a bitch, pure and simple. I know now that being a bitch is not about strength or independence. Being a bitch is about being repellent, unpleasant, unhappy, and lonely. Being a bitch is nothing more than being a spoiled princess who is too selfish or stupid to accept the joy in life.

I had become a fat, unpleasant, middle-aged princess because I had refused to grow up. Sure, I had taken on grown-up responsibilities (marriage, career, house, motherhood) but at the core of my psyche was a 13-year-old girl who stamped her feet and whined when she didn’t get her way. Of course, I had stopped whining years ago but I simply replaced the whining with emotional manipulation and ornery bitchiness. No wonder I was still single and my two teenaged sons spent all their free time with their father.

When I was growing up, being a dilettante feminist, I swallowed the standard line that women can have it all. I wanted it all and I wanted to make no compromises, to assume no sacrifices, and to feel completely validated in all of my lifestyle choices. The biggest mistake in my late teens and early 20s was to let other women - women whom I thought to be strong, independent, and intelligent - determine which lifestyle I was to follow. I was simply too spoiled and lazy to look inward, to embrace the kind of introspection necessary to find one’s own path in life, the path that could lead to real fulfillment and happiness.

I remember college well. It was a fun time and I thought, at the time, an enlightening time. The parties were exciting, the political debates intense, the string of boyfriends and casual sexual encounters pleasant. I studied hard and I played hard. I attended the campus feminist meetings and listened to diatribes from sturdy and self-righteous peers about the evils of masculinity. I learned to scorn men when I didn’t need them for selfish reasons - study partners, shoulders to cry on, willing sexual partners. But I was never hesitant to bat my eyelashes or let my skirt ride up on my then-slender thighs if I needed something from a man. Men were handy to have around occasionally, but certainly not required, as my female peers kept insisting.

Never Tell a Lie: A Social Experiment

What if you never told another lie in your life? Did you ever wonder whether the whole truth would be liberating or if raw honesty would cause too much conflict?

I was absolutely intrigued as I read this article by A.J. Jacobs. Jacobs interviews Brad Blanton, the father of the Radical Honesty movement. The five-page article had me sitting on the edge of my seat as Jacobs attempted to live the Radical Honesty lifestyle as part of the writing assignment.

As I expected, telling the whole truth all the time tends to spark conflict with those on the receiving end. But Jacobs also experienced a strange liberation that also seemed to liberate those he was honest with:

"That's one thing I've noticed: When I am radically honest, people become radically honest themselves. I feel my resentment fade away. I like this guy. We have a good meeting."

Jacobs even noticed an improvement in the quality of communication between him and his wife.

  Blanton, the father of the Radical Honesty movement, also offers an interesting myth-busting reality: Lying to show compassion is a falsehood. It's cruel to spare feelings by lying. Truth is the true compassion.

Take time to read this interesting article. After reading, I started to ponder through the times I wasn't genuine - always in an effort to "spare somebody else's feelings." I started to see what Blanton is teaching. We only spare our own feelings and avoid the potential for conflict. There's no selfless compassion in that at all.

I always wave my proud flag, "I'm not a liar." For some reason, I only categorize lying as the malicious spread of mis-information or an effort to concoct a story. But what about the times I called myself adding joy to somebody's day by offering something that wasn't totally genuine? Or how about the time I let a woman walk away with toilet paper on her shoe so I wouldn't embarrass her?

My sweetheart V lives somewhere close to the Radical Honesty movement. He often ends some of his statements with, "the average person wouldn't even tell the truth about that, but I love you and you should know." And do you know what? Not only do I feel liberated in my ability to share my most raw feelings with him, but we are the best of inseparable friends. I'm starting to see the trend here. Truth is truly compassion.

Could you live in the zone of Radical Honesty? I'm not sure if I could go that far. Do the results reported in the article make you want to try?

Now I'm off to purchase a Brad Blanton book.

Blogging the Alphabet: A is for Another Look

I was watching reruns from a previous season of The Biggest Loser last night, and the man (Matt) who would go on to win the competition said something that punched me in my gut:

"For the first time, I'm looking forward with hope instead of back[wards] with regret."

At first I didn't understand why his statement caught me like a bear trap. Why was I so wrapped around his words, as they hung in the air like a dense fog?

And then I knew.

My hopes for tomorrow haven't really been about "tomorrow." My hopes are more like a desperate gasp for air that tomorrow will be better than yesterday. Because I view my yesterday like a loaded gun that's taking shots at tomorrow's happiness. That's not real hope. That's escape.

I never saw myself as regretting my past, but Matt's comment was like a bright light of truth. My mind raced around the wrongs: I married the wrong man, I ate the wrong food, I bought the wrong house, I spent my time the wrong way... the list went on and on. If all I ever "hope" for is a day better than yesterday, I'm not really living with the faith and hope that God placed in my spirit.

If I live each day to escape past regrets, I'll have a small life. So I had to take Another Look:

Trials and tribulations come to make us stronger. Every regret in my life was really a necessary lesson. Like touching a hot stove, some experiences were simply meant to teach me, "Don't do that again." Other lessons broke my heart and taught me a humility that helps me to love others who are broken. And if I let those lessons turn into future regrets, then I really haven't learned anything at all.

I'm thankful that Matt forced me to take Another Look.