Fackin Truth Blog

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 3 - "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?"

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

I figure I should return from "sick leave" with another installment in my Too Much Information Self Assessment Series. Today, I'm forced to answer a two-part question, (which reminds me that returning from sick leave is never without the reward of an overstuffed inbox of crap to get done.)

Who Do You Want To Be?
I need to be careful here. And if you're playing along at home, you need to be careful too. If you're 38 years old, 5-feet-5-inches tall, trust me when I say you will NOT be the next winner of America's Next Top Model. Hell, you won't even be on the show unless you're serving food (what, they actually EAT?) or holding a camera. Whether you want it or not, it ain't in the cards for you, baby.

What I am trying to say, with all the snark of a woman who was clearly sick and miserable for a week, is that I need to maintain some semblance of realism with this answer. Because some "hopes" of a final state can go against the grain of reality much like floating anvils defy the law of gravity.

I remember the time I looked up to a woman I worked with. She came across as almost regal. She spoke slowly, was slow to smile yet amazingly friendly, and her voice had the most endearing twang to it. And there was something wonderful about her body language. She could probably sell a Muslim a Pork BBQ sandwich.

Come to find out, I smile too damn much to be "slow to smile." I find the bright side of everything, even when I'm not looking. Even better, Ms. Regal was digging me too. We were totally different people with different strengths, both liking the natural uniqueness of the other.  It really pays to start embracing the naturally-occurring things that make you you.

Anyway, taking into account who I am (and liking it more and more), and realizing I will never be able to sing like Whitney Houston Before Bobby (damnit), my answer looks something like this:

I want to be a focused mother and wife who plays as hard as she works, has a reputation for fairness/justice, demonstrates some serious creativity, and leaves a legacy of kindness on this earth.

That's my honest albeit short answer, because that sentence accounts for the major areas of my life - including ones that have weakened in recent years. (Focus? What focus?) I want to be on fire about something. When I focus on something that really fires me up, clarity comes in other areas of my life. And because I'm a big kid, I want my playtime to really really feel like playtime - not some lousy coffee break from my work.

What is it that you must change?
I need a hobby. No, seriously. I'm not on fire about anything. I don't have any major memberships, affiliations, or goals that ignite me each day. At one point, I was very active in my church, working in administration and leadership. There was always something going on that required my attention, and I loved what I did. I was on fire about it. Attending college had the same effect. There's a goal. There's a job to be done. And I enjoy that feeling.

Right now, my challenging mountains are made of laundry and/or dishes. In case you haven't guessed, these mundane domestic hills don't inspire me to leap over buildings.

I considered returning to school for my Masters degree - my dream piece of paper. Or finding a new church. But somehow I believe the next adventure that lights my fire will be neither.

Return and join me next time when I'm forced to answer the question: What do you stand for?

Git Yo' Head Right (The Self Assessment Series)PART 2 - "DO YOU LIKE WHO YOU ARE?"

How do I sucker myself into public displays of Too Much Information? This is Part 2 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.

I found it sufficiently difficult to answer the first question of "Who Am I." That nail-biting exercise required a long-winded two-part blog post (1A and 1B) that could still never really communicate everything that "I am." Satisfied that I did my due diligence in highlighting the good and the bad, it's time to answer the next question of whether I like myself or not.

Question:
Do I Like Who I Am?

(I also refer to this question as "Mirror Mirror on the Wall.")

Believe it or not, I had to think about this longer than I expected. I was tempted to take the common (but dangerously flawed) route of assessing my circumstances to see if I like them. But that's tricky, because circumstances - those we create and those we can't control - don't always accurately reflect the entirety of who we are. I believe this is a major reason why some fail to separate "who they are" from job status. Or money. Or fame. Or some other nonsense that fluctuates with the weather. No wonder so many people don't like themselves - working tirelessly to live a lie. Too many bet their entire soul on shifting sands. When the money falls and the fame fades, the lost soul blows in the wind.

So I refocused and reentered this exercise. I stopped ruminating on the extra pounds. I quit looking at how much further I'd like to be at work. I looked past the fact that I'm not as financially stable as I want to be. I dug my heels into examining my heart, the way I think, and the way I treat others. And the resulting answer is "YES." I like who I am, although I'm not always pleased with the choices I make.

You see, I answered this question by taking a sifter to my life and carefully separating who I am from any pleasure or displeasure with my current circumstances. While they may be related (e.g. who you are determines many of the decisions you make), the evidence of a transient circumstance doesn't reveal the whole truth.

Looking back, I wasted precious years and brain cells disliking myself for various insignificant reasons. Weight. Hair. Absorbing the unkind words of others. Even wishing I had somebody else's gifts/talents instead of loving the ones I possess. I squandered time feeling broken when I should have felt empowered - all from not understanding that liking me was not only a good thing - but a necessary starting point.

Somewhere, there's a poor and broken man who would give the shirt off of his back to a needy stranger. Elsewhere, there's a rich man who spends his nights devising plans to profit from the misfortune of others. Quite possibly, the poor man doesn't like himself very much because he didn't disconnect the pain of his situation from the beauty of his heart. Equally possible, the rich man simply adores himself for accumulating a fortune. Both are trapped on the wrong side of assessing self-worth. My leg was caught in that trap more times than I care to count. How about you?

Liking who I am doesn't mean I believe I'm perfect. Oh God. Not even close. I am clearly a work-in-progress. But that's just it. I'm in progress. And that's one of the things I like the most. No matter how disappointed I get. No matter how many times I give up. No matter how many mistakes I make. A small voice keeps pushing me to believe that tomorrow - and the tomorrows after that - are big unwrapped presents with lots of goodies inside.

Stay tuned for Part 3 of the series where I'm forced to answer the question: "Who do you want to be, what is it that you must change?"

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.

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

How do I sucker myself into public displays of Too Much Information? This is Part 1A 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?

I can only answer that question for today, because I change. And if you drop the bullshit display image of how you think you're supposed to look, the one you cling to like a life raft in the perfect storm, you'll discover just how much you change - or need to.

Consider this quote, which I snatched from this blog:

"What I Wrote Yesterday, I May Not Believe Tomorrow, Because of What I Learned Today."

That truth applies to the essence of "Me," because 'who I was yesterday, I may not be tomorrow, because of what I learn today.'

Just 10 short years ago, I was a wife raising one son and two stepdaughters. I was embedded in the church with the new-car-smell of a hopeful Christian. I loved my in-laws and cherished the title of "wife" like a badge of honor. I had dreams and goals that actually seemed attainable. While something still didn't "feel" right, I thought I was doing the damned thing.

Just 5 short years ago, I was covered in the rotten smell of a newly divorced woman, raising two sons, questioning the foundation of life, and wondering if that life would even go on. I missed the idea of a husband without missing the man. My goals shrank from 5-year plans to one-day survival strategies. 

While those summaries highlight the circumstantial, consider how my mind, my heart, my hopes, and my fears changed during those times. I lived and learned.

Fast forward to today. Who the hell am I today? I don't have a neatly flowing monologue of sickly-sweet blurbs that make me sound like a package of moral fortitude. I won't pepper whack B.S. with a few words about my acceptable flaws to make my assessment sound like I'm trying to be brutally honest about my shortcomings. Because if you had a spiritual shovel to dig with, most folks who admit to flaws barely chip the tip of their humongous icebergs.

I'm humanly flawed in some of the best and worst ways. I can contradict myself before I realize it. And I'm more honest with myself now than I've ever been about how I really feel about certain things. So here's my poorly organized, possibly contradicting, probably slightly sanitized, rambling list of WHO I AM:

I hate lists that start with roles + titles, because the titles ignore the underlying mess. For instance, "I am a single mother of three beautiful children" doesn't say much. How about, "I damn-near minored in prostitution while in college and spread-eagled my way to three children out of wedlock." Doesn't that sound better? Or how about, "I made the decision to marry the wrong man who eventually left me to raise his three children alone." On principle alone, for the sake of this Self Assessment, I won't drop any roles or titles on my list - unless I include how I received the honor.

I consider myself a woman of faith who believes in God and the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, but I dislike the Christian church. I'm not talking about the generic 'body of believers,' but the ridiculous way religious culture plays out inside church walls.

I haven't been to church in about two years. I find that folks outside the church often display more character, kindness, and love than the finger-pointers in church. I asked more questions about traditional beliefs in the past two years than in my entire life. The results so far: The Bible is a must read. Stop relying on flawed and biased folks to give you their translation to live by. The world would be a better place if everybody could start by absorbing the book of Proverbs.

I'd like to interrupt all the nosy folks, who stopped to read about me, for this public service message: This list is gonna get long, and I don't give a crap. If I'm gonna painfully execute this exercise, you're gonna painfully sit through it.

I have grown terribly lazy. My fiance called me on this and I almost ate him for lunch... With hot sauce. I was livid, but he was right. I placed my personal goals on ice - from finances to health. I survived the trial, but I never went to the freezer to retrieve my life. So there it sits. A block of frozen dreams. A chunk of chores in suspended animation. All next to the ice cream and chicken legs.

My one-day-at-a-time approach saved me from insanity. But that war is over. Continuing on the day-to-day strategy translated into laziness. And getting out is much harder than I thought. The cumulative effect of leaving important and long-term things undone is tremendous.

I still dislike interracial couples. I had to include this because I see this as a moral failure. I'm not as emotionally raw about the topic as I used to be, but somehow (especially) seeing a [wealthy] Black male with a woman of another color produces a blink in a small corner of my eff-u radar.

I haven't figured this one out. I don't have a single bone of ire for any race. In fact, the diversity of my friendships across racial, social, and other lines, is a major source of life enjoyment.

I love to write, design websites, and produce cool print pieces. If I could make a living doing those three things, I would. Scratch that. That's bullshit. Actually, if I didn't suffer from the crippling synergistic effects of fear and laziness, I would figure out how to make a living at those things while working out of my home. That's better. I almost lied to y'all.

My dream education is an MBA, but I'm not sure if that is for "form" or "function." I would love to achieve Master of Business Administration because the degree fits with my career preferences. But I read/study a lot on my own. Broader knowledge is available everywhere. I want the degree so I can appear qualified to others. I want the degree to earn another "brag" from my mom. But that degree won't add a speck to my talent.

Sometimes I think I deferred the degree as a snub. I know degreed folk who couldn't think their way out of a paper bag. At times, I did the thinking for them. But I'm rethinking that quiet (and useless) rebellion, because the paper and talent seem like a much more winning combination.

I haven't graduated from caring what others think of me. No matter how well somebody knows me, I feel hurt if they have an unfavorable opinion of me. Recently, a gentleman on the internet called me a name over a disagreement (of interpretation) in a Google group to which we're both members. I flashed warm. I got a small lump in my throat. My eyes stung. I got angry. While things ended in a calm and apologetic email exchange, I couldn't for the life of me explain why I felt hurt by a perfect stranger.

I was taught to measure myself, at least in part, against the opinions of others. As a child, I hated that unspoken rule, but unfortunately it stuck. My mind understands that it's impossible to please everybody, but my heart is overly disappointed when the time comes.

One of my favorite bloggers, Kit, left a comment for me about this phenomenon. She points out how striving to "get along" and "get paid" (at work) leave us constantly modifying ourselves and tweaking our behavior to make it through the day. And this leaves us wondering if people really know us, based on the image we're often forced to present.

At what point do you recognize the "raw and original you" from the "necessary fabrication?"

Brad Blanton, author of Radical Honesty, traces the root of this behavior to the way children survive in a family. For the most part, children who are honest about what they want to say and do are punished. You're taught that it's painful to be yourself, and we grow into adults aka "overgrown adolescents" playing the same game. While I've shed a few skins, I'm wrapped up in this same dilemma as most.

I'm off course and almost off-topic which represents another truth about me: I get distracted when I get bored. Another way to say it: I'm at my best when I'm juggling several priorities and I have plenty to do. I am most productive when I'm stretched. If I only have one thing going, I'll nurse it like a rum and coke at the club after the drinking money runs out.

I'm exhausted. This kind of free therapy is like a full-contact sport. The name of this post will change to "Part 1A" so I can come back another day and finish with 1B. Where's the Water Boy?