Birthing My Book, part IV

How I Faced My Worst Fear as a Writer One of my first tasks after I decided to publish was to email other writers I know and ask them to endorse my book. This meant that I would need to send them the manuscript.

At first I was delighted that ten people agreed to read my book for an endorsement. And then I felt completely naked, but I pushed the Send button anyway.

I quickly received an endorsement from one woman that was supportive, encouraging and perfect. Phew! One down, nine to go.

And then I received an email from another endorser who said she had read part of my book and couldn’t endorse it. No explanation. I sent her an email inviting her to give me feedback. Which she did.   It was extreme and scathing. I wanted to throw up. In fact, I almost did.

You know when you say, “I never want to (fill in the blank),” it’s like a magnet, drawing to you that which you don’t desire, like the more we resist, the more we attract something? Well, throughout the years of writing my book, I kept saying I didn’t want to sound like I was whiney and self-indulgent. But that’s how I read this woman’s feedback. And that stung. Like a nest full of angry hornets.

When I opened that email I felt like I had opened a door and was staring straight into a brick wall. With a sign that said, STOP! I seriously thought about giving up on publishing my book. I didn’t think I could withstand that kind of feedback from more one more person, but when we publish, we put ourselves out there for any kind of feedback. I didn’t think I could take it.

She Writes Press had just copy edited the manuscript, so we asked the copy editor for her opinion. She was much more professional in her delivery, but she essentially said the same thing: the book isn’t well balanced between my challenges and my insights.

And then I remembered a passing thought I had before I sent my manuscript to the publisher. It went something like, I finished this book two years ago. If I were to go through this book with a fine tooth comb right now, I’d have a lot more to include about my insights. Oh well, this is what I wrote and I’m up against a deadline. So I pushed Send.

Note to self: Listen to my gut.

This situation rocked me to my core. It brought to light all of my insecurities, which are classically cliché, but incredibly painful and real, nonetheless. But I couldn’t wallow in them; I needed to move beyond them.

I decided to revise my book. I’m working with a super star editor, Cami Ostman (for anyone who’s interested in a decidedly awesome developmental editor). She and I have picked through this book like a detective scouring through a crime scene. Cami knows how to find and connect the dots of insight.

So, what was originally a painful email and a difficult realization about my book, turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Cami and I are nearly done with the revisions and I can honestly say that I am proud of what this book has become.

What brick walls are you up against? What do you do when you come face to face with your worst fears about yourself? How can you walk through the illusion of those fears and into who you want to be?

Birthing My Book Part III

Three Steps to Releasing Shame  

A few years ago I had an essay in an anthology, Dancing at the Shame Prom, Sharing the stories that kept us small, edited by Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter. In my essay, Residual Shame, I write about the shame I felt being “less than” everyone else – physically and, because of my abbreviated body, in every other way as well. But my disability isn’t the only part of myself I felt shameful about.

Though my abortions were private experiences, they became secrets because of my shame.  Secrets are toxic. I was so consumed with shame after my abortions, that I spent a lot of energy to try and create a hazy fog between me and my shame. And though my avoidance behaviors distanced me from the immediacy of my shame, they did not take my shame away. My shame made me feel worthless and wrong.

When I came out of the abortion closet recently, I was reminded of a few key learnings that keep coming up in my life:

First, I was reminded that I am my own worst critic. I hold myself to a higher standard than anyone else would ever dream of holding me to. I speak to myself far more harshly and disrespectfully than I would to anyone else I know. When we live with intense emotions for an extended period of time those emotions not only becomes a part of us but they are building blocks to the structure of beliefs we hold about ourselves. Part of the framework of my self-identity was built by the shame of my abortions. Deep down, I believed that I was a horrible person. The secrecy weakened the scaffolding of my identity.  I get to choose whether or not I listen to those voices.

Second, people are far more forgiving than I assume they will be. When I was writing my book, I took a three-day retreat to write about the abortions. Until then, I didn’t know if they would be included in my book. When I realized that they are an important part of my story, my stomach flip flopped. I panicked when I wondered how people would respond when they knew about this ugly part of me. Fortunately, I have many people in my life who, upon hearing about my abortions, have modeled loving acceptance.  If they can still love me then so can I.

Third, I am not perfect. I know, I know. No one is. But we all want to be, right? How do we balance our desire for perfection while embracing our imperfect past? The key for me is compassion. I look back on who I was—almost as a separate person—and realize that I did the best I could given what I had to work with. I remember my powerful reconciliation with the man who caused the loss of my leg and the healing power of forgiveness. Forgiveness and compassion walk hand in hand. If I can hold compassion for the man who took my leg, if I can forgive him, then I can certainly forgive myself.

How has shame limited your life or your relationships? Is there residual shame in your life that you are ready to release? You don’t have to write a book to release shame. Talking to just one trusted, non-judgmental person can be the first step.

Birthing My Book Part II

Coming Out of the Closet When I first made the decision to publish with She Writes Press, a partnership publisher, I was elated. I called my husband and gushed. I told my kids when they got home from school. But that night, in the midst of menopausal insomnia, I started freaking out. I can’t publish this fall. It will be Luke’s senior year of high school. Our lives need to be about college applications, finding scholarships, getting senior pictures. And then I started to worry about the cost of publishing. In my middle-of-the-night angst, I convinced myself that this will cost me $10,000, no $20,000. My heart raced and I started to realize that I was catastrophizing this experience. What’s really going on here? I asked myself.

And then it hit me: I have to come out of the closet. The abortion closet.

I grew up a good Catholic girl. Ours was the “goody two-shoes” family of the parish. Abortion was a sin. Period.

During my 20’s I found myself pregnant. Twice. Each time I had an abortion.

Shame has had me in a headlock for years. My family is close, but my shame kept me silent. I didn’t tell my family for fear that they would be massively disappointed in me. I knew they wouldn’t disown me, but I felt a place deep inside them would be disgusted and would be repelled by me.

Through my 20’s and well into my 30’s I was single, waiting for Mr. Right and watching my family and friends have children. Each baby that was born showed me what I had given up. Shame shoved me further and further to the back of the abortion closet.

But here I am, ready to publish a book that talks about my abortions in detail. There’s no way I can’t have my children or my closest loved ones know about them.

When I told my 17 year old son Luke, it was hard to say the words without them catching on my self-judgments. My fear about revealing this part of myself was wider that the fear I felt when I went skydiving, deeper than the fear I felt kayaking in five foot ocean swells, longer than the fear I felt when I was climbing up a rock face for the first time.

But I had to tell him, regardless of my fear of reproach.

We had a good conversation about the many facets of this revelation. I explained that there could be people who feel differently about me once they find out I had two abortions. Luke encouraged me to publish. “You gotta do this, Mom.”

Luke’s was just the first of many compassionate, supportive comments I’ve received as I’ve inched my way out of the closet. I am deeply grateful for the love and support I’ve received around this issue.

You may wonder why I feel compelled to go public with this part of my past. The reason is twofold:

First, the book explores how I accepted my disability through the lens of motherhood. Part of that acceptance was saying “No” to motherhood twice. My two abortions are as integral to the story as my two births are.

Second, in my research I discovered that 43% of all women will have an abortion by the time they are 45 years old. In looking for comparable books to mine, there were few books that talked about the anguish of an abortion – both in making the decision and living with that decision – in a non-political, polarized way.

My narrative is simply honest, truthful and open. I believe that many of that 43% will resonate with that part of the story and may find ways to heal their own residual shame.

An Invitation

Is there a part of yourself or your past that you are afraid will repel the rest of the world? What closet have you put yourself in? I invite you to watch and be inspired by this TEDx video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSR4xuU07sc

Birthing My Book

I am pleased to announce that I am in the gestational process of birthing my book,    A Leg to Stand On, An Amputee’s walk into Motherhood. Due date:  November 11, 2014!

Experience is a wise teacher.  Being published in four anthologies and speaking at my local TEDx event, I’ve learned that the process of pursuing a goal is just as important as the end result.  So over the next few months, I’ll blog about what I’m learning from the process of publishing my book.

Gremlins

My first step was to have a serious talk to my gremlins, those pesky voices in my head that keep telling me, in one voice or another, that I’m worthless and should just shut up.

Here is what I told them, tell them nearly everyday as I push against new boundaries:

"I hereby declare that you don’t have power over me anymore.   You thought you were so clever, but guess what?  I am cleverer than you; I figured out how to transform you. You thought you could trick me into thinking that you were me.  I’ve realized that when I hang out with Truth instead of you, you have no power.

Here is what I know to be true. . . .

You want me to believe that the swarm of fears that follow me where ever I go would lead me right into the hole of depression and helplessness.

What is true is that I can skip right over that hole and completely dismiss my fears.

You want me to believe that the fog of my fears is so great that I can’t see the giants that threaten to destroy me.

What is true that I see all the threats that stand in my way for what they truly are: distractions.

You want me to be overwhelmed by all the choices in front of me.  You hope I will become obscured by the chaos of options.

What is true is that I see the path before me.  I know what choices to make.

You want me to believe that my flock will reject me, that I will be discarded, thrown away.

What is true is that I am supported beyond measure.  People want to help me.

You want me to get stuck in the waters of my emotions, to believe that I AM sadness, I AM anger, I AM overwhelm.

What is true is that I glide over the ocean of my emotions, allowing them to ripple over me, unaffected.

You want me to believe that I am invisible, a wall flower.  I am not seen.

What is true is that I shed my wall flower status and throw myself onto the world.

You want me to believe that the world is constantly judging me for being every shade of wrong.

What is true is that I fend off judgments, others’ and my own, by accepting myself and having compassion for myself.

You want me to believe that every door I open leads straight into a brick wall.

What is true is that the door to the universe of my heart is always open.  I just need to run through it.

You want me to believe that I don’t have enough time or space to live my passions, that I am constantly overwhelmed.

What is true is that I am in tune with Universal timing.  I trust that everything happens as it needs to.

You want me to believe that I have nothing to say, that I need to keep quiet, that I have no voice.

What is true is that my story’s song comes to me naturally, instinctively.  I share my story with the world.

You want me to believe that the important, key secret to life is out of my reach.

What is true is that the key to my life is nestled in my heart.  I carry it always.

You want me to believe that I am stuck.  Forever caught between my desires and a perpetual unrealized reality.

What is true is that I have been living into the wonder of my potential since the day I was born.

And I will continue to do so.

An Invitation

What are your gremlins telling you?  How do they deplete and dismiss you?  Instead of giving them all the air time, what do you have to say back to them?  If your gremlins were sitting in front of you, what would you tell them?

Where is Your Wailing Wall?

"The more you hide your feelings, the more they show. The more you deny your feelings, the more they grow." ~Unknown  

A friend of mine recently talked to me about her daughter who left for college.  My friend is sad.  Of course she is.

Another friend talked to me about the job that she lost.  She’s feeling depressed.  Of course she is.

Yet another friend talked about a failed relationship and how he had rebuked her.  She’s angry.  Of course she is.

We live in a culture in which grieving is not encouraged or honored.  People have to die in order for us to be given permission to grieve and then we’re allowed only three days of bereavement leave.  But death isn’t the only time that we grieve a loss.  Like my friends, there are so many transitions in life that cause us grief, true grief.  Many times we’re not even aware that we are grieving.  All we understand is that we’re sad or angry.

As a culture, we are not taught what grief is, what to expect from grief, how to grieve and how to support those who are grieving. My friend whose daughter went to college?  Everyone at her workplace knew about this transition, but did anyone check is with my friend, whose child left the nest?  No.  Not one person asked how she was doing.  My friend who lost her job?  People just keep asking her about the job hunt and about her next steps. When people we know are sad, they make us uncomfortable, don’t they?

My friend who is angry at her lost lover?  People can get on board with her anger and justify her vindictiveness, but when we do that we’re only adding fuel to the fire.  We're not probing and asking what’s underneath the anger.

Grief is a conglomeration of emotions that absolutely need to be expressed.  If not expressed in an honest, open way, grief finds subversive ways to express itself.  Think yelling, addiction, depression.  Grief gets under our skin and lives with us until we find healthy ways to express it.

Denying our grief doesn’t make it go away.  I tried to avoid the grief I felt about the loss of my leg for nearly 15 years.  I spent a lot of energy stuffing my anger, depression and grief.  I was terrified that, if given half a chance, they would eat me alive.

It didn’t work.  My grief, just under the surface of my heart, came out in inappropriate ways. Depression, anger, yelling, feelings of inadequacy all plagued me for years. Yep, the more I tried to hide those feelings, the more they grew.

Until I went to a counselor. My therapist taught me appropriate ways to express my sadness, anger and resentment.  She loaned me a piece of the Wailing Wall a friend had brought her from Jerusalem.  I carried it in a pouch around my next for months as I allowed myself to grieve.   Every time I felt sad or angry, I rubbed that piece of rock and felt less alone.  I imagined myself standing shoulder to shoulder with the others who go to the Wailing Wall to release their sadness.

My emotions didn’t eat me alive as I had feared.  Actually, I became alive when I started to truly feel them.

Ultimately, allowing ourselves to grieve -- or supporting someone who is -- without judgment, without expectation, without advice, is the most compassionate thing we can do for ourselves or another human.

An Invitation:

Are there feelings inside you that, no matter how hard you try to suppress them, keep growing?  Can you find your own Wailing Wall and allow yourself to feel them?  Don’t judge the feelings.  Don’t resist.  Just allow.  And see how alive you feel.

Empty

Lately I’ve been feeling empty.  Not depressed.  Not unfulfilled.  Just empty. I told my brother about it on a recent road trip to the ocean.  I expressed my concern about this empty feeling, how it’s been mounting in the three months since I stopped working, how it’s gotten even more pronounced since my TEDx experience ended, how even the holidays didn’t fill me up the way they usually do.

I explained that without clear direction and focus, I was aimless, wandering through the day.

“Do you feel lost?”  he asked.

"No, I don’t feel lost because I don't even know where I'm going.  I just feel empty and purposeless."

And then he said it, the thing that changed everything. . . .

“Colleen, maybe you’re just getting ready to be filled up again.”

Bam!

Wow!

Maybe I'm getting ready to be filled up again.

I sat with that during our two days at the ocean and realized something.  Since I’ve stopped working I have been letting go of my identities – a working mom, a non-profit worker, an executive director, a woman who’s doing it all, even when her husband is on frequent business trips.  I’ve also been letting go of states of being: panic, frantic, stressed, tired, overwhelmed.  These aren’t a part of my life anymore.

I lived this way for a number of years.  As healthy as it is to let it all go, it’s unnerving, unsettling.  I haven’t replaced the old roles and states of being with new ones, except Empty.

Before my brother made that comment I was judging Empty as something bad.  Now I see it as that space between the tides, the slack tide when the waters are unstressed, before they make the transition.

This is the pause between the inhale and the exhale.

Instead of jumping into another stressful state of being and new stressful roles, I am disengaging from the old and making room for something new.

                     

Isn’t it interesting that my initial inclination was to judge the empty feeling negatively?  If my perspective was akin to a picture frame, I was holding that frame up to my empty state in the Portrait position and I saw negativity.  My brother came up, took that picture frame, turned it 180 degrees into the Landscape position and voila:  Hope!

Nothing on the outside changed, but by simply reframing my internal experience I shifted to a positive state.

An Invitation:

What issue is currently nagging at you in a negative way?  If you re-frame your inner experience about that issue, what happens?  Can you see this situation from a positive perspective instead?    I’d love to hear.

The Four Things

It’s so much easier to love others when we love ourselves. It’s so much easier to forgive others when we learn to forgive ourselves.

It’s so much easier to connect with others, heart-to-heart, when we connect with our own hearts.

It’s so much easier to be non-judgmental when we release the judgments we have of ourselves.

An Invitation:

Which of these statements screams at you today?  How can you be more loving, forgiving, connected or accepting of yourself?

Congruency

Here is my third and final tidbit of what I learned from my TEDx experience: One of the comments I received from one of my practice sessions plopped me right on the path of congruency.

A woman told me that as I told my story of being hit by the car I was . . . smiling.  She explained how incongruent my body language and my words were.

Wow.

I was genuinely surprised.  How could I be smiling while I told that story?

I pondered over this feedback for a few days.  I thought of all the times I’ve been asked to recount the story of my accident and remembered all the shocked faces I seen as I told it.  And the inevitable, “Oh, I’m so sorry I asked.”

And then I realized something.

I have grown so accustomed to taking care of people as they hear my story that I have developed tactics to soften the blow.  I smile as I tell them, “Yes, my leg came right off.”  I veer the conversation toward something funny like how my prosthetic leg easily ‘farts.’  I wave off the impact the accident had on my life with a swish of my wrist.

But after receiving feedback from this woman that I smiled as I told the audience that my leg was ripped from my body, I had to rethink this.  How does it benefit anyone if I’m not authentic enough to show my sadness?  My anger?

I worked with my speaker coach, Cindy Brooks and she helped me identify the various feelings that arose during each part of my talk.  We developed techniques for me to be present with and express those feelings.

The final result was that, when I gave my TEDx talk, I was authentically present and expressive.  Even though I knew my anger and my message could push some people’s buttons, I didn’t take care of the audience.  I felt bold in my expression and strong in my delivery.  That’s not to say that I didn’t feel vulnerable.  Giving that talk was incredibly tender.

My take-away, my most profound takeaway:  Be congruent.

Do not sacrifice self-expression for caretaking.

Give myself permission to be unapologetic in the telling of my story.

An Invitation: Where do you see yourself being incongruent?  What small step can you take to be in higher alignment with who you truly are?

Taking It In

Receiving feedback.  When you read that, where does that land in your body?  Do you find yourself clenching or tightening?  Sweating?  Resisting? The first time I received feedback on my writing, years ago, I was a nervous wreck.  It took all I had to hit the Send button so my writing class could read it and respond.  They had a week to review the piece and send me their thoughts.  Even though the writing teacher had guided us on what feedback to give and how to give it, I bit my nails anxiously for the next week every time I turned on my computer to see if anyone had responded.

Those first responses to my writing ended up being so powerful and supportive.  Instead of reading, “You suck.  Why are you pretending to be a writer?” as I had feared, I read, “This part confused me and I’m curious if you meant…..”  or  “Can you flush this part out?  Give me more!”  It was exhilarating and exciting and I was inspired to write more.

I gave my TEDx talk six different times before the event with a twofold purpose: to practice in front of a group and to get feedback from my ‘audience’ about how the talk felt to them.  My experiences receiving feedback about my writing prepared me on an intellectual level, but emotionally I felt extremely vulnerable.  I felt like I was naked as I stood in front of people telling such a personal story and then asking them to pick it apart. People didn’t comment just on my words, as they do with my writing, but on my body language.  That felt personal!

Just as I was pleasantly surprised with the writing feedback, so too did the comments people gave me about my TEDx talk buoy me.  Every time I gave my talk I felt support from my audience; I knew they wanted me to succeed.

What were my takeaways?

First, I understand that asking for help is actually a very courageous act, not a helpless one.

And second, In this world that feels so competitive, we actually want each other to succeed.

An Invitation . . .

How do you take in feedback?  How do you ask for it?  I invite you to be courageous and seek out feedback this week about something that's nagging at you.   Allow others to support you.

Forgiving the Unforgivable

"Of course anger can always be justified. But then, so too can forgiveness.    Just depends on how much more you want form the adventure."   ~  Mike Dooley Here is my TEDx talk, Forgiving the Unforgivable.  Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE7TaUG3qQI