Wednesday, December 11, 2013

The Policy


This is a blog that I should’ve written in the very beginning.  Not only to show the people reading it the purpose of what I’m trying to do, but to remind myself why I started this.  I called it The Stage is Yours as a way of giving people an outlet to anonymously remove those things in their lives that were holding them back. Free of judgment and prying eyes. But upon doing that, I stepped aside and took it away from myself. I stopped putting in effort to remove the things that were holding ME back. That isn’t fair to myself and it certainly isn’t fair to those of you that have so beautifully shared yourselves.  So I’d like to take this opportunity to pull the curtain back and do what all of you have done.  Take charge of my life and attempt to pick up the pieces.

I am a liar.  I have made up stories about myself and my life in an attempt to make myself seem better than I am. Lying to me is a compulsion. I am addicted to it. Small things and large things have all been effected by this addiction.  I am so caught up wanting everyone to like me that I modify who I am to suit individual needs. Or what I thought they would need.  This has left a giant hole in me. A hole that I tried to fill with alcohol and drugs and the attention of people that I didn’t truly know. I used people to make myself feel better. And for a time it would work, but it never lasted.

I have a wonderful woman in my life. Someone who never looked at me with judging eyes and never wanted me to be anything more than who I am. But I’ve lied to her as well.  I still sought out the attention of others. I still filled that hole inside me with drugs and alcohol. And now I stand here and could potentially lose everything. My wife, my family, all of it. This is what lying has done. This is what it will do to you.  She told me to put up or shut up. She told me that she doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m afraid, I’m terrified. More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life. This is what lying has done to me and the people I care about.  Maybe it’s time I told myself to put up or shut up. Lying shouldn’t be this easy. We teach our children that it’s wrong to lie. I was raised to believe that the truth was the most important thing. So put up or shut up. I don’t want to wake up a year from now and not have her here, not hear the laughter of my child. I don’t want to die with regrets.

Like any addict, this isn’t going to be easy. I’ll have to force myself on a daily basis to live the way I know I should live. To be honest, both with myself and with her. I’m going to have to attempt to rebuild her trust in me. I don’t know if I can do it. But I know for the first time in my life I have to try. I give up too easily on everything. And after a while, when you live like that, people and things will give up on you. I know that it’ll take time for the truth to be believed as well. When all you spew are lies, the truth sounds exactly the same.

Put up or shut up. Stop talking about who you want to be and be it. Stop standing on the side lines and waiting for things to happen. Make them happen. Stop lying and tell the truth to yourself and to those you love the most. Stop giving yourself to people that you don’t really know. Stop hurting people. Stop making excuses and fucking change.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Every Day

I've never been able to talk about what has happened to me. A few times I have tried to reach out but chickened out at the last second. My family doesn't know. My friends don't know. They may never know...

When I was 15 I met a boy who thought I was amazing. We met in January and the following month was my sweet 16. At my sweet sixteen party he decided to give me his present. He wanted sex. I wouldn't do it and he punched me in the stomach. He abused me in some way shape or form every time we saw each other after that. He was rough with me in every way possible. His father even verbally abused me. Nobody ever knew what happened and its still hard to talk about. When he finally dumped me I was truly broken. I was scared and ashamed. Worst of all I thought it was all my fault. 

A year later I was looking to feel something. Anything. I got involved with this guy and his friend took us behind the cemetery so we could be alone. I was in the backseat when his friend jumped in the car and started to kiss me. I tried to fight him off and yelled for help. I heard the guy I was supposed to be with laughing. When they were both done with me they took me home. I showered till the water was ice cold. I told my best friend and she said I was lying. She liked one of the guys and told me that "he wouldn't do that". A part of me died. 

There are 2 years of my life that I don't remember after that day. I was depressed, defiant. The one time I asked for help I was rejected. I had been destroyed. Slowly I was able to bury the memories of what happened and I tried to join the world again.

Some years later when all of my memories were buried deep and I was out in the world acting like I could function, I went out to a local bar with some co-workers. One of them invited their brother and we seemed to really hit it off. 

I only remember bits and pieces of that night. I don't know how we got to my car. I don't know how it happened. I tried to stop him but I was in a fog. I couldn't move. I was pinned down. I was half naked. I was saying no. It was the only thing I could say. I started to shake my head back and forth. He stopped because I started to throw up. After he left two girls were walking through the parking lot and saw me hanging out of the car half naked. The police were called.  I was taken to the hospital. 

The detective who took me, because I refused an ambulance, was so supportive and tried to help me. He knew what happened even if I couldn't talk about it. There was a counselor from the VAP (Victim Assistance Program) that tried to help me work through it but I just wasn't able to talk about what happened in my car. 

I felt like I failed. I thought I deserved it. I was ashamed. I didn't know how to tell anybody that I had been drunk, probably drugged, and that my friend's brother had attacked me in my own car. I had to drive that car. The counselor told me to get rid of it but I couldn't afford to. I couldn't look at my co-worker so I transferred to a different branch. I buried it deep. It took me almost 7 years to get my life back.

Today I am with a man that knows nothing of my past. If he asks me, I will do my best to tell him about it. We have been together for a year and a half and he has never raised a hand to me. He has never even raised his voice to me. He talks to me. He is affectionate and makes me happy. He talks about a future. He talks about our wedding. He talks about our children. For the first time in my life I feel safe. My boyfriend may not know about my past but he is the one person that has helped me heal. I love him. He's not perfect but he makes me laugh. He is supportive and makes me want to be a better person.

Even though I'm in a good place right now...I'm still scared. I'm still ashamed. I feel like I may have deserved it. All of it. I hate myself. How can he love me? How can anybody love me? I'm safe if they don't know. 

I'm still working through everything that has happened. BUT...

Every day I wake up. Every day I take a deep breath before I start my day. Every day I ask for the strength to make it through. Every day I tell my boyfriend that I love him. Every day he tells me he loves me. Every day I heal a little bit...

Thursday, November 21, 2013

To All of You


This is generally the time of year that people will start talking about how thankful they are for all the good things they have in their lives. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’ve always been one of those people that believed that if you’re only openly thankful on one day a year or around one time of year, you’re missing the point.  So, every fiber of my being is rebelling against the idea of droning on about how thankful I am.  I’ll try and avoid the laundry list of blessings but forgive me if a stick my toes in the water from time to time.

Anyone who is privy to my life outside of this computer might say to me, “Hey man, are you thankful for second chances this year?” The answer to that is no, I’m not. What I am thankful for is clarity. Which is something that for far too long I didn’t have. Not even in the slightest.  I’m also thankful for perspective and finally having the sense to look at the life that’s right in front of me and enjoy it for what it is. An always evolving adventure that is often far too short.  In my life I have lost friends, some at a fork in the road and others in the blink of an eye. A year ago I’d have thought about this and lamented over the times we never got to spend together. Now I tell myself that the time spent together was more important than the times never spent.  The only waste in life is not learning what those people were there to teach you.

 Tomorrow marks kind of an important day for me. My oldest turns 14. If I stop and think about that for too long, my ears start to ring and I get the cold shakes. I still vividly recall her swinging from my arms and climbing all over me. It must mean I’m getting older or something.  My son, who just turned 6, now sits and watches monster movies with me just like she did when she was that age. The cycle continues. So to the both of them, in the off chance that they read this someday, I love you both very much.

I learned that somewhere along the line I gave up on myself. It was just easier to sit back and let other people make decisions for me. It happens, everyone does it at some point in their life. Problem was, I was allowing people who were no longer a part of my life make decisions.  Like annoying voices from beyond the grave. I used to spend my nights locked up in my dark apartment, waiting for someone to come in and shine a light for me. All the while the light switch was right beside me. But I’m good now, certainly not about to shoulder the burden of the world anymore.  It feels really good to take a deep breath and just live. Enjoy the little things, Like the way the sky looks early in the morning when I’m walking the dog. Or the way the house smells when I feel inclined to play in the kitchen.
So if I’m thankful for anything, it’s the ability to be thankful.  My life isn’t as bad as I imagined it to be. I’ve got some great friends and an amazing family. When I started this blog, my goal was to “change the world.” I did. I changed my world. So thank you to all of you who have submitted or simply just hopped on here and read what others have written.  You’ve made this into a reality.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

That Light at the End of the Tunnel


I’ve spent much of my life feeling angry.  I’ve been angry about things that have happened to me and mine that were under no one’s control, that were unfortunate circumstance.  I could never find a way to process the anger or sadness or other feelings and put them behind me.  

Days innumerable have been spent in the fog of anger, of rage.  Of absolute negativity.  Of the inability to believe or hope good things would come my way – or if they had, to see or appreciate them.  

I’ve been too busy being angry, being determined to be angry to realize that continuing that path has kept the bad in a beeline for me.  

While it’s a hard habit to break, I’m determined to do it.  And I am doing it.  Baby steps are still progress, no matter how little.  

I’ve spoken of hope before, but I spoke of it in a meaningless way, sort of the way you’d talk about unicorns.  It’s a lovely thought, but you don’t really believe they exist.  

I’m beginning to believe.  Not in unicorns, mind you, but of hope.  That it does exist, that it is real, that having it can make life change.  

This year has held many dark days for me but they were days I had to convince myself would end.  

Without the dark, you’d never be able to see the stars.  

If the bad hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t be here now.  

I’ve changed my mindset, changed my perspective.  

While I certainly didn’t enjoy the bad, without it, the good that’s present now wouldn’t be here.  The bad has led me to the good.  

I can choose to worry about the things I cannot control, or I can accept them and move on.  I can choose to be a slave to anxiety, or I can count my blessings and be grateful.  

Life isn’t perfect.  It never is.  But this life is about acknowledging what you have – good or bad – and doing what you can with it.  And we only get one chance.  I don’t want to live the way I’d been living anymore.  I want good things, I want happiness, I want hope, I want love and family.  You have to believe in them, fervently believe they are possible and that you deserve them.  And, I’m finding out, if you believe, if you repeat over and over, they will come to you.  

We must choose happiness over the anger every day.  Every morning we wake up, we must make a choice to let fear or happiness reign.  We must choose to believe.  

And maybe I believe in unicorns too.  But only a little.  

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Ignorance Shaming Week


I’m one of those people that tend to arrive late to the party.  It’s probably on purpose.  I do love to make an entrance.  So earlier today I read something about this little movement called “Fat Shaming Week”.  It seemed a little absurd to me.  Had I also missed “Pedophile Shaming Week”? How about “Bestiality Shaming Week”? Did we take care of all those groups and we’re now moving on to fat people?
After some reading and research it seemed that there was one main egg responsible for it.  I’d call them a person, but you see, this internet warrior decided to leave his face far off of his Twitter account.  I can only guess that this is to make sure they are safe from any critique or ridicule that they might in fact receive. But what’s a bully without a heap of fear and repression.  Maybe they used to be fat? Maybe they needed a hug from Mom and Dad?

 Anyway, I read through this shriveled nutsack’s tweets and fund them to be not only basic and misogynistic, but completely devoid of any real thought process.  Things like “If you’re fat, no one will love you”, or “Put down the fork”.  Clever, so clever.  Truly you’re proof of how great our educational system is.  If these were written out prior to shitting them onto the internet, I’m guessing it was in crayon, with a lot of misspellings.  One of his brilliant insights even said, “I just had sex.  And I’m laying here while the girl cleans herself in the bathroom.  Or whatever women do.”  The answer to what they do, is masturbate.  Because you’ve never satisfied one.
In my life, I’ve had the privilege of knowing a lot of great women.  Each one beautiful in their own way.  They’ve been of all shapes, sizes and colors.  They all have something they should be proud of.  They all deserve to be loved.  They deserve to live in a world free of narrow minded asshats like you and the embarrassing army of gerbils who thought your opinion had merit.

 So, in summation, I’d like to say this: If you so deeply believe in what you’re preaching, show your face.  Stand up and let the world see you, since you think you’re so much better than others.  Hell, Mike Jeffries of Abercrombie & Fitch put his face out there and he looks like what would happen if Eric Stoltz in Mask spent a day getting stung by bees.  I’d gladly invite you to suck my dick, but guys who wear Ed Hardy and smell like Axe Body Spray just don’t get my blood flowing.
Ladies, be proud of who you are and what you look like.  Be happy in it.  Confidence is the sexiest thing on a woman.  Go check out the hashtag #effyourbeautystandards on Instagram.  Take a picture, post it and give a giant middle finger to anyone who tries to hold you down.  Seriously, fuck those people and everyone like them.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Rainbows and Darkness


When your memories hold you hostage, how do you begin to take your life back?

When you’re held prisoner to a constant movie reel of past pain and heartbreak, how do you break free? 

How do you emancipate yourself from your own mind? 

In my life, I’ve experienced joy and misery.  Happiness and depression.  Rainbows and darkness. 

It’s the dark, the bad memories that are the ones that repeat.  The ones where I can remember each detail in Technicolor, the sights, the smells.  All of it.  The good memories are more faded like an old photograph, the edges dog-eared and the images not as clear as they once were. 

I’m the one that bestows that power upon them.  I’m the one that went willingly, head hung low in defeat, into my cell of sadness inside my own mind.  I condemned myself to this life, to putting my focus on the negative.

I’ve spent a lifetime drowning in the awful. 

It’s high time I started to kick to the surface. 

But how?  How do we begin to wrest ourselves from the self latched chains of our memories, our pasts?  What defining event will open the door?

What beautiful things have happened to me that I’ve shoved to the recesses of my mind and forgotten and replaced with something shameful, embarrassing, hurtful or sad?  What have I missed out on because of my frightening ability to see only the terrible?  How many smiles, hugs, encouraging words, beautiful scenes?  How many compliments?  How many breathtaking sunsets?  How many moments of just love, be it friend, family, significant other? 

How many lost memories are running adrift in my mind because I’ve refused to see them?

Is setting yourself free as simple as telling yourself that’s what you’re going to do?  Resolving to no longer give it the power it held before?  Can it be that easy? 

I suppose that it can’t hurt to try.  It can’t hurt any more than I’ve already hurt myself. 

So then today, now, right this minute, with fear and hope in my heart, I vow to stop it.  I’m taking away the power.  I’m taking away the power I’ve given to the bad memories, to the darkness, to the fear, to the hopelessness, to the anger, to the people who’ve hurt me, to the people who enjoyed my suffering. 

I’m done letting memories, emotions, and people control my life, my mind.  It’s done. 

I’m taking back my life.

Too long I’ve spent wishing to be happy, to be free. 

Today, I’m moving in a different direction.  I’m shedding those chains; I’m losing my prisoner number. 

I want to know joy.  Know it fully.  Know it like we have a secret handshake. 

Fear and hate and anger can go right back to the hell that spawned them all.  I’m done with you. 

I want my goddamn life back.

And it starts today.

Friday, August 9, 2013

Tired


You’re going to need to take a long and potentially painful look at yourself in the mirror and demand that you recognize the good in yourself. It’s not going to be easy. I tell myself this exact thing every single day. And every day I find some reason, big or small, to ignore even the slightest bit of good in myself. It’s silly and I know it. I’m human, just like everybody else. And part of being human is making mistakes, learning from them and then not repeating them. But rather than looking at the mistakes I’ve made and putting them behind me, I carry them around like some form of penance. The wrongs that have been done to me? Well, I make sure to plant those deep so they never go away. So, I can’t tell you what my best qualities are, where my strengths lay. But I can tell you every single ill word that has ever been said to me. It’s an awful way to live and after doing it for a very long time, I can say that I’ve grown really tired of it. Tired of being the person who shoulders burden that isn’t mine. Tired of holding on to everything.

It’ll kill you in the end. Maybe not literally, I would hope not literally. But it’ll carve you out inside and make you nothing more than a giant empty shell. Let it go, all of it. Even if it has to be a tiny piece at a time.

So I’m making a list in my head of everything good about me. I’m much more accustomed to listing my flaws but that hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’m kind of tired of being stuck in one place. It’s boring and the view is old now. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life dwelling on things that don’t matter anymore. Or let the opinions of fools tell me who I am and who I’m going to be.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Perfect



I was perfect.  Good grades, good schools, good friends, extracurricular activities. By the time I was 27 I’d gone to graduate school, had a house built, had a lavish wedding – even gave out communion at Saturday night Mass. Perfect, perfect, perfect.


Until I wasn’t. It’s been years now, but I’m not even sure how I snapped. I remember making muffins for a Bake Sale and completely losing it. I said I was too young to be making muffins. I should be abroad, or in a city, looking at art, trying new foods.  I didn’t know how to change my life.   I had an affair. I snuck around.  I let someone else be the reason I left.  Until he left me.

Even though I felt sadness and resentment in my marriage, I’d felt powerless to change my situation.  I took those feelings and buried them in a secret – in an act of defiance.  Did that help me?  Of course not.  Was it selfish?  Absolutely.  But it made me take a really cold, hard look at myself and ask myself that when these relationships were over, what did I want?

Fast forward several years, through that toxic divorce, that new toxic relationship, moving four times, and I finally got it. 

I moved out of state. I took myself abroad on vacation. I visited friends I hadn’t seen in years. I relished my freedom.

If I could go back and give myself advice – if I could go out and give every young adult advice – I’d say, Don’t try to be perfect.  It really doesn’t matter.  Change your surroundings even if you don’t have the time or money.  Don’t ever let a relationship define you. 

 

Friday, August 2, 2013

I Am Enough

     From as early as I can remember I never felt I was good enough. Not for anybody, and not at anything I achieved or attempted. I went through life a perfectionist (later to be diagnosed as OCD)- always obtaining high grades and high honor roll status, performing well at multiple sports, and maintaining a decent group of friends. From the outside my life was exactly what I wanted everybody to think it was, perfect. But I was miserable. My grades were good, but they could have been better. I was captain of the soccer team, but I could have dedicated more of time to practicing... etc. I never felt I was giving my best effort. I was anxious and high strung and depressed. I felt I had more than I deserved, yet I always wanted more than I had. I developed an eating disorder when I was 16, shortly after being raped by a boyfriend. I began drinking heavily on the weekends. I began using sex just like I used alcohol.  My world was crashing down around me and I needed find balance and control. For a long time, all the way through college, I continued on this way, pretending everything was perfect while using my eating disorder, alcohol, and sex to numb out the reality that was my life.
 
     The summer after college I relapsed with my eating disorder pretty badly. I was lower than I had been in years. I was depressed, scared, my life was at a turning point, and yet it was a stand still. I managed to come back from the depths of the disorder only to find alcohol waiting for me at the other end. That is where my life took a turn for the worst. I went from a functioning human being to a useless wreck over the course a few months. I didn't want to live. I was living to drink, hurting myself and the people I love the most. I hated myself more than ever and I honestly could not see a way out. In my mind my only choices were to keep going on that way making things worse and worse until I had nothing left, or to just end everything. So that is what I decided to do, after one last day of drinking. On June 4, 2013 I called out of work without telling any of my family or my significant other. I spent the morning at the beach and the afternoon and evening at the bar. When it came time to go through my plan to "accidentally" crash my car into a tree on my way home, around 7 pm, I was already blackout drunk. So I don't remember the conversation I had with my parents when I got to my car and saw them standing there about how they found me, and I'm not sure that matters. What matters is that they found me. I am here. That was the last drink I took. I went inpatient for twelve days and detoxed. While I was in the hospital I learned a lot about myself. Since I have been out of the hospital a lot of amazing people have entered my life that have made me feel like these past sixty days have not all been for nothing. 
 
     Every day is a struggle to stay sober, to eat right, to think positively, to get out of bed... But I look at where I was sixty days ago and where I am today and it makes me want to keep fighting. I have grown so much in the past two months, more than I ever thought was possible. For the first time I am actually looking forward to the future.

I don't look at myself and think I am the smartest or the prettiest or the best at anything, I am not there yet and I may never be.. But I can finally look at myself and truly know, I am enough. 

Love, Lasting


I marvel at any couple who manages to stay together past the 50 year mark.   If you ask them the secret to a lasting marriage, they all pretty much say the same thing: The secret is love, laughter and facing problems together.  Truth is: the secret isn’t shared.  It’s witnessed. I’ve spent the last 5 days playing witness to what it takes to make a lasting love. 

My parents retired to North Carolina when my eldest son was just 2 years old.  They returned home last week to attend 2 weddings, one of which is my eldest son’s.  They had their 12 day stay all mapped out. They would spend time with family members and hit local favorite dining and shopping spots in between weddings and rehearsal dinners. Then, adversity reared its ugly head and their plans changed, putting love to the test….one more time. 

Mom was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital and admitted with an acute gallbladder attack.  The surgeon was reluctant to operate because she was considered high risk, due to chronic health issues.  Her surgery was cancelled 3 times due to complications. On day 4, she finally had her diseased, infected gallbladder removed.  What I witnessed, in those 4 days, is the reason only some marriages stand the test of time.

My father never left her side, during visiting hours.  He was reluctant to leave her and worried endlessly until he was able to return to the hospital.  He held her hand in one of his hands and a basin in the other, as she dry-heaved and vomited for days.  He sat by her side while she slept and fed her ice chips when her mouth was dry.  He helped her to bathroom, when the nurses weren’t able to answer the call bell quickly enough.  He kissed her forehead every time he left the room.

Mom had always done the same for him. Over the years, Dad was the one with the major health issues. Mom was his diligent caretaker.  She always put his needs ahead of her own.  She did so, lovingly and without hesitation.  When the tables were turned, he returned the favor.  He did so…..without hesitation. 

Just before she was wheeled into the operating room she revealed the secret to me.  She squeezed my hand and whispered to me “take care of your father, for me.”  She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about her love.

I had struggled in my own marriages.  My first ended in divorce and my second – my fairytale marriage – came dangerously close to suffering the same fate. I still struggle with trust issues. Every relationship I’ve been in pales in comparison to my parents’ marriage.  Now I understand the secret.  Now, on the eve of my son’s wedding, I am prepared to share it with the bride and the groom at their rehearsal dinner.

Yes, love is patient and kind. It is a give and take. But there is so much more to love. Love cares more about others, than it does about itself. Love places other’s needs over their own; willingly and lovingly. However, love is not always lovely. The reason: but people are flawed. People say and do regrettable things especially under stress; things that cannot be undone, unsaid, unheard or forgotten. This is when love is tested the most. When adversity strikes in the home, only a lasting love can survive.

 Lasting love understands, because it longs to be understood.  Lasting love is forgiving, because it hopes to be forgiven.   Lasting love says I’m sorry, as often as it says I forgive you.  Love may hold your hand when you’re at your best, but lasting love; lasting love holds your hand when you’re at your worst.

Yes, love can be far from ideal. For better and for worse…..adversity lurks around every corner, waiting to rear its ugly head. It tests love’s courage beyond measure. Love will be infected by diseases of the body and the mind. Lasting love is the cure; a cure more powerful than any medication on the market.  Lasting love is hope set on fire. It gives us courage to not just hold on, but to fight; fight for what makes this life worth living. What makes this life worth living is love. 

That is why we take vows.  We promise to love for better and for worse.  There will be joy and there will be pain, of this I am sure.   

We all learn a hard lesson, when we love.  When we fight against each other, love does suffer. 

In the end, we learn an even greater lesson. We learn that when we fight together, love not only lasts, it is an unstoppable force.

The secret to a love, lasting comes down to this:
It takes two – courageous, caring souls who are not only willing to love, but are willing to suffer and fight for each other….for better and for worse…..until death they do part.

Unbroken

A broken soul.  That's all I can remember being.  Surrounded by addicts my entire life.  I lost the only person who ever made me feel loved at the age of ten.  He was my father.  Although, he was broken himself because of wars he had fought for a country he loved, he understood me. 

I was alone.  Surrounded by people, but never feeling a part of anything.  I had a family, a great family, but felt like an outsider.  I used to cut myself just to feel. 

At the age of 14, I was raped.  He was 32 years old.  I never told a soul.  I hated men.  Then I met a boy who I thought hung the moon.  He was 20 and I was 17.  My mother and stepfather hated him, so I moved out and into his house.  Over the next few months I learned more about this man.  He was evil.  There were broken ribs, black eyes and cigarette burns from this man.  His apologies kept me there.  The night he picked me up by my neck and threw me across the hood of my car was the last straw.  I know he could have killed me.  I could see it in his eyes.

My college years were filled with dozens of men.  All whom I used to get what I wanted.  They paid my rent, bought me things and took care of me.  I was a user.  I never loved these men nor did I give them anything in return.  I was starting to believe I would never love anyone and this was my lot in life; loveless relationships.  I had been broken by the last man who I thought I loved.  Then I met a man who I thought would change everything.  It wasn't until our honeymoon I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was.  Over the years he became an addict.  I guess the addictive personality was there, but I didn't see it.  I was blinded by my love for him.  After 9 years of emotional and psychological abuse that sometimes manifested into physical due to his cocaine and alcohol addiction, I left this man.  For a moment, I returned to cutting myself.  I was 31 years old, what was I thinking!!!!

One night, I was out alone.  I met a man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen.  That very night he stole my heart.  He took every piece of my broken heart and healed it one piece at a time.  Finally, I found someone with whom I could allow myself to be me around, someone who never judged me, someone who never allowed me to feel alone and who I felt a part of.  Finally a family!  One that I could call my own.  But sadly, I once again found myself in a relationship that was another destructive one.  He couldn't stay faithful.  I forgave him, but in the end, trust had been broken and sometimes that just can't be repaired.

For months, I cried and wallowed in my own self pity until one day it hit me: I'm not broken!  I never was.  I carefully laid out everything that happened from my childhood to my life then.  These men, they were the broken ones.  I thought they needed me to save them....my father, my step-father and on down the line.  All the addicts and abusers in my life.  All these betrayals by men who I had given everything to.  My love was not to be used and tossed aside like that.  I allowed them to make me feel undeserving, unwanted and broken.  I allowed them to make me build these walls up and allowed them to change me from the little girl who only knew good and saw beauty in everything, to a bitter woman who thought she was unworthy of being loved.

All I can do now is thank these men.  These men all taught me a valuable lesson....I'm not broken.  I can never be broken.  I am in control of my life.  I deserve the best.  I will get the best.  I am worthy.

To all these men, thank you!  Thank you for reminding me that love isn't something with conditions.  It's something beautiful, amazing and unconditional.  I will never again allow anyone that makes me feel as though I have to fight for their love in my life again.  

I remain unbroken.

Surviving vs. Living

I was the average child, average grades, with good friends.  My mother and father were separated, and we lived with my grandparents. When I was 13 in 1991, my life changed.  My father, whom I didn't get to see as often as I wanted, was killed in a car accident.  To cope, I was turned on to music in a different way.  I was given a Bass.  I learned and practiced constantly.  Then, I got a guitar.  And I taught myself how to play.  Was in a few bands, played a few shows,  and really enjoyed every minute.

Then I turned 18.  Went to community college for a few classes, but realized it wasn't for me.  So I entered the working world, and had a few jobs that I worked in to survive.  I got a job working as a sales rep. for a large organization and I was making great money.  It is difficult to find a job in my area where you can make $60,000 a year.  I got married, had my first child at 30, and survived.
Skip ahead to my 32 birthday.  The day started like all others.  I went to work, made good money, and was enjoying my day.  Everything was going right.  Making my stops at the best possible times, red lights were green for me.  And the Sunday prior, my wife and I found we were expecting our second child.  On my way home for some birthday festivities, I decided to make an out of the way stop at a supermarket. There was a car in the left lane waiting for traffic to clear.  I was 5 feet from her when a tractor trailer hit her car, and pushed her in front of me at 55 mph.  All of the damage and force was transferred to my car. 

It took them 10 min to get me out of the car.  After cutting away the car to get me out, they informed me that I was going to be going to the hospital.  The first hospital I was taken to was not capable of treating, so I sat in the ER waiting to go to Westchester Medical Centers Trauma ICU.  My wife was called, and came in crying, where I told her I was going to be just fine, because I didn't cause the accident.  This would become my litany as time went on, because at least I have that.  The next day, I spent 17 hrs in surgery to have 4 pounds of metal inserted into my lower body to try and correct the 18 breaks I had.  The next day, another 4 as the placed 6 pins in my wrist.  Two days later, I would go back in for another 3 hours to close up the wounds because the swelling was preventing the Doctors from stapling the wounds closed.  All this time, and heavily medicated, I kept repeating, it is alright.  It was not my fault.  When I went back 4 months later, it took 2 people 20 minutes to take the 350 staples out.

As they were stepping down my meds over the next 2 weeks in the hospital, I got to really think about what I was going to do.  My jobs have always been very physical, and that was no longer an option.  So I started thinking, I was always saying I was surviving.....but was that living.  I realized that I lost the dream chasing the dollar.  No more.  Not going to happen.  I am going back to my dream.  I am going back to making, and working with, music.  It is really that simple.  Do what makes you happy, and be with the ones who love you. 

I went to my in-laws while I was recovering so I can be with my wife and kid.  4 months of therapy, and I walk pretty damn good.  Just a small limp, depending on the weather.  I finished my online college courses, and have started to plan my life.  We welcomed our 2nd child on St. Patrick's day.  I live every day in some kind of pain.  Not horrible pain, but dull throbbing pains that will always tell me what I have been through.  The only medication I use is Ibuprofen.  I don't need harder drugs to further change me or my life. And yet, I still wait here for some kind of word....from the Doctors, from the lawyers, from the disability companies, that I can start my life again....

At least now, I have a plan, and with the help of some good friends, I think I am going to be just fine.  I don't need to have a rich bank account to be rich in life.  But I also don't want to miss out on the things I love, or miss time with my loved ones because the dollar commands it.

Feeling Proud

I've been thinking so much lately, about everything. From being bullied for 6+ years, personal reasons and to losing all my friends in high school. I can't believe how far I've come in just a few years. I was the senior in high school who wasn't excited to graduate, who didn't care about anything anymore, who just pretty much gave up with life. I stuck it through, and look at me now. Less then a year away from having my Associates and moving on to my Bachelors. Met an amazing friend who reminds me every day that I have a reason to be alive and proves it to me every day, and I couldn't thank her enough. I guess I just can't believe how far i've actually come in my short life so far. I feel proud of myself in a way.

The Guy Who Met His Girlfriend on Twitter


Some may find it absurd to say that a social networking site could change your life, especially one that limits your interactions to 140 characters or less. Well, I am here to tell you that it isn’t absurd at all. It happened to me and for the first time in years I have joy and the ability to actually look forward to me future.

It all started April 27th 2009. That is the date, after months of ridiculing the basis of the site, that I joined Twitter. Once I joined my account remained pretty much dormant for nearly a year. Jump ahead to February of 2010. At this point I decide to begin finding people based on one specific, and not widely shared, common interest. What was this interest? It was Mystery Science Theater 3000.

If you are not familiar Mystery Science Theater 3000, or MST3K for short, was a television series based on the premise of a man and his robots stuck in space, watching and making fun of horrible movies. It is simply the greatest thing ever to grace cable television…but I digress.

One of the first people I came across who shared a common love for MST3K was witty, kind, thought provoking, and very funny. You know, just my kind of person. Through her posts I met and followed several more people who loved MST3K, and had other things in common with me. Some of these were through something on Twitter known as Follow Friday or better known by the “hashtag” #FF. 

It was sometime in late March or early April of 2009 that I was surprised and honored to see that I had been added to one of her  #FF Tweets. I didn’t think a lot of it at the time, other than it was cool that she thought enough of me to include me. It would be sometime before I would find out just how import that mention was. It would be nearly two years before I, and others would realize that Tweet had set in motion events that would forever change my life for the better.

Sometime later that Friday I was followed by another fellow “MSTie”. I looked at the profile and instantly noticed how beautiful she was. (I am a guy after all!) I also was quick to notice that other than MST3K we also shared a lot of other common interests. I was quick to follow back and add her to the small but ever growing list of people I was following on Twitter.

Right from the onset she became one of the people I most looked forward to reading tweets from each day. Her quick wit and great sense of humor always had me looking forward to what she may post next. We would reply here and there to each other’s Tweets and generally have some random laughs together. When one was sick, the other would send a wish of “get well soon”. It was a very relaxed friendship. That being said, the more I got to know about her online, the more intrigued I became. Something told me there was something special about this person. There was something about her that made me want to know her more.

Over the months we spoke more and more. Through each other’s ups and downs a friendship was formed, a relationship was growing. Outside of all the pop culture and media interests we shared, there were more personal similarities in our lives. Things we hadn’t been able to speak of with other people. Sharing these similar threads in our personal lives just helped to bring us ever closer. We knew that neither of us was happy in our current lives. We also both felt like that wasn’t going to change at any point soon.  There was much being hidden from the online community that we were only sharing with each other.

Then came March 23, 2011. She and I were talking about any number of things through DM, when I happened to mention that I had been “crushing on her for some time now.” To my surprise she said that she had been feeling the same and had wanted to talk to me on the phone to hear my voice. That one phone call was all it took to send things spiraling out of control…in the best possible way!

Within 3 months I had moved from Idaho to Iowa, for a woman I had to that point never met in person. We knew we were crazy, but we also knew we had never been so certain of anything in our entire lives. Nearly seven months have passed, and you have never seen two people so in love. Every day is better for having her in my life. I now have a love that I had never even dreamed was possible. A life forever changed for the better, all thanks to a 140 character or less social network known as Twitter.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Changes

Change is always a good thing, and like most good things for you, we don't always take to them because we don't know how good for us it can be. Change is what keeps you on your toes, it keeps your mind awake and allows you to evolve. Comfort is a good thing, but change is a necessary thing. I have always steered clear of change for a good portion of my life. Like the feeling of a warm blanket, knowing something new and possibly difficult wasn't about to jump in my way and cause upheaval in my life, was comforting. So that's how I spent 27 years of my life. In a never-changing cycle of events that I liked and felt comfortable in. Little did I know the misery that was waiting in the wings because of a static life. I hung out with all the same people, and did all the same things. As a result, I gained weight, learned nothing new, and just got angrier and more jealous that everything was happening to everyone else.

It wasn't until change forced its way into my life in the form of my father's passing, that a series of events that would completely change everything was set in motion. When I was young my parents kept me sheltered, I wasn't allowed to take many risks, and I was provided with everything I needed. So I just lived with them until my father passed away, and then I stayed with my mother until she decided to sell my childhood home and move to Puerto Rico a few years later. It was around then that I realized what I was becoming. I really couldn't imagine living with her for the rest of her life, only to have nothing when all those comforts I was used to were gone. That's when I decided to search, for who I am, and who I would become. I began by leaving behind all the things I knew and grew comfortable having. I decided to throw myself into a new situation completely unfamiliar to me, so I moved to England to live with a friend and see a new country. I lived there for as long as my visa allowed, surviving on my inheritance left to me by my father. My dear friend there was the first to really make me think about the future, and a bit of tough love got me moving, in some direction at least. 

After living in England for six months, the maximum allowed time without some change in national status, I returned to the States determined to start my own life. I moved to Connecticut with some friends and after a few months I noticed I was just going back to the same old habits. Now having help from your friends is a great thing, and I will always appreciate them for all they've done for me, but too much help can hinder you rather than help you. It's like that "too big to fail" concept. No matter how much I mess up, I'll always have help to avoid falling on my face. Sometimes the fear of falling is the only thing that will make you pay attention enough to avoid it. So secretly I hatched a plan to disappear. I figured if I just left one day and no one knew where I was, I wouldn't have the help I'd always relied on  before. One night I came up with a plan, and the next day I implemented it. Looking back it was fairly drastic, and a little dramatic. I literally got in my car with all my things and left for Ohio where I only knew two people. I figured it was few enough friends to force me to do things on my own, but just enough that I wouldn't be completely alone. 

When I first arrived in Ohio I had no home, no place to stay and very limited funds. I stayed at an extended stay hotel for a month while I found a job, and through a little networking, a roommate in the form of a friend of a friend. I won't say it was at all easy; I met new friends, lost some friends, and was faced with possibly failing several times. But through it all I remembered my father, he was always my hero, he did everything to make sure he did what an honorable man is supposed to do. So I had to succeed, not only for me, but for him. A couple of years, a couple of jobs, and a couple of roommates later and I was finally tasting a bit of success. I was living on my own, I had a good job, and I was meeting new people I was proud to call friends. Another year or so later and I finally met the person that would really change everything for me. Sitting at work one day I was asked to train a woman who transferred over from another department. Normally I hate having to train new people, but after taking one look at her I knew she would somehow change the core of who I was. I call her my wife now, and I will always remember how I once said I'd never be married. Not because I didn't want to, but more so because I didn't even consider that kind of change coming into my life. Now I laugh at the thoughts I once had. I remember some one asking me how I knew she was "the one," I answered, "because I couldn't imagine her not being there, she IS home to me." So change isn't so bad, life's still not easy, but change has become a lot easier to deal with, because I learned to change with it instead of fighting against it.

I Got What I Wanted

I was 36 when I got the news that I had Stage 3 Breast Cancer. A chance visit to the doctor for a diagnosis of bronchitis, and a check-up on some fibroids that were always present in my left breast, that turned into an ultrasound and my first mammogram that bore the bad news. Hearing that cancer was invading my lymph nodes and that I was going to lose my breast was devastating in more ways than the obvious. Among my first thoughts was would I be able to watch my 2 boys grow up and maybe even have kids of their own? How would my family cope without me? The look on my mom's face when I told her what was happening was heart-breaking.  She was faced with losing her first born...I could only imagine her pain and fear.

I went through almost 18 months of treatment and procedures, to be declared in remission in August of 2002. A celebration party with my friends and family that had been there the whole time supporting me. I had a smile on my face and was happy. I was a warrior who fought with all her strength through endless nausea, hair loss, painful healing from surgeries, devastating bouts of exhaustion, and trying to stay positive in front of those who were cheering me on.  Yet, deep inside, when the house was asleep and all I had to listen to was my own breathing, I was truly scared to death. Of death. It whispered in my ear on a constant loop how it was going to sneak up on me when I least expected it. Pushing those thoughts away was mentally exhausting. Each visit to my oncologist for checkups, Death would tap me on the shoulder, while the Doctor was telling me that my tests came back fine, and wink. "I'm still here." it would chuckle.  I never let on that I was anything but confident that I'd beaten cancer.  

July of 2010 I found pea sized lumps in my right breast. I immediately made an appointment to see if Cancer was back. They turned out to be benign, but with careful consideration, I decided to have my right breast removed to eliminate the possibility of any return. Healing was brutal and had to have another surgery to close the skin when the wound reopened. All I could think was that I no longer had to worry about the cancer coming back and having to go through treatment again. I was willing to do anything it took. I was so close to the 10 year remission mark, that was my goal. I'd moved to another city, had a really good job that I enjoyed and my boys were grown and living successful lives of their own. Remembering that it had been one of my worries that I'd never see them grow up and now one was married and talking about having a child, filled me with hope. 

Fast forward to June of 2012, I was newly married, had a grandson and was living a good life. The thought of cancer rarely made its way into my mind. I was looking forward to celebrating 10 years cancer free. I'd been experiencing pain while sitting for long periods of time and being so tired after doing mundane things, but brushed them off to being just a woman in her mid 40s. I went for my regular check-up and blood work at the oncologist's, and he came back into the room, sat down and began to tell me and my husband that my cancer was back. It had spread to my bones and was now considered terminal. Numbness. Static noises in my head. Bewilderment, anger, fear, sadness, feeling betrayed by my body once again. Death poked me in the chest and said, "See? You thought I forgot about you, didn't you?"  I walked out of the Doctor's office on auto-pilot.  Where was I going to find the strength to go through this again? And for what result? Just to die? 

I've gone through radiation, more chemo and will be facing more chemo in the future to control the growth of the lesions that have invaded my pelvis, ribs, femur, and spine. I am uplifted daily by family, friends--both old and new, and by a husband who refuses to allow this cancer to steal his wife. I am strong. I am weak. I am determined to live the time I left to the absolute fullest. I do the things I want without apology. No one gets to live it for me or tell me what I can or cannot do with the time allotted to me. My outlook on life hasn't changed all that much because of the cancer. I've had no epiphanies, I've always lived the way I wanted to. What I do want to leave to this small world I've created for myself is the encouragement to do what you love. Do what excites your mind, do what makes you wipe tears of joy. Do what makes a difference to others. I can leave this world knowing I made someone's life better or easier. That's the only thing I ever wanted. 

I

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Live Your Moments


“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

~ Hilary Cooper

A trite phrase, often overused, like “I Hope You Dance” played at a wedding reception.

Trite doesn’t make it any less true. 

A baser explanation would be quality, not quantity.  And that’s where so many get lost.  We fill our days but we fill them with nonsense.  We fill them with meaningless text messages, many of them acronyms for words we are far, far too busy to spell out.  We fill them with staring at the screens of our cell phones or computers instead of enjoying our surroundings. 

Many complain of having an empty life, a boring life, a meaningless life.  All while surrounded by people who could add to that life – significant others, family, friends, strangers.  In this age of electronics, of instant gratification, we’ve forgotten how to live.  Despite capturing every moment on a camera phone, we’ve stopped living those moments.  We watch them through a screen – not as they’re happening. 

I’ve had this same struggle, feeling at times that my life is empty, or rather, not full enough.  That there are too few bright spots. 

I have to make those bright spots.  I have to live them as they’re happening or they’ll escape. 

In thinking about all of this, there are moments in my life that have taken my breath away.  These are the moments I need to huddle close around me in those times when I feel the dark creeping in.  These are the things I must remember, that I need to be present in my own life and be in the moments that are yet to come.

There have been a million moments in my life where I felt full, where I felt happy.  They are like fireflies dancing in the yard during a summer night; each little light carrying a piece of my past where I was happy, where I threw back my head and laughed, where my laughter probably turned into a snort. 

But then…then there are moments that cannot ever be replicated. 

The night I met my husband was one of those moments.  I met him during a dark time for me, one where I was unsure of what the future would hold.  He sat down across from me with a slow smile and that was it.  My heart stopped, my breath caught.  I barely remember what we talked about that night.  I do remember driving home with a smile on my face that refused to disappear.  For days.  I’ve never been described as a giddy woman, but I was then.  I was done for. 

The first time I saw my son’s face is another.  The first time those little eyes opened and stared at me, little button nose and rosebud mouth peering out at me from the blanket burrito he was swaddled in melted every hard edge of me that existed for a little while.

We need to remember - *I*need to remember to hold onto happy.  Grasp it with both hands and don’t let go.  Cling to those memories when life seems at its darkest.  Live those moments, be present in them.  Put the camera down.  Turn off the computer.  Raise the blinds.  Remove your blinders. 

Live these moments we’re given.  Because we only get to live this life once.

Saying Goodbye


I’m in eighth grade and I’m sitting in my last class of the day.  My seat is to the front of the room near the wall, so I can lean back and look out the windows into the courtyard when I’m supposed to be paying attention.  Summer is starting to get close and there’s an air of restlessness creeping into everyone around me. Maybe I’m dozing off, maybe I’m about to have one of those moments that make you rethink how you see the world.

In the middle of the courtyard I see him, just standing there with that warm and infectious smile on his face. It’s my grandfather, and he’s waving at me. I sit up in my seat and he fades away. The whole thing took maybe 15 seconds and then was over.

I finish the day and spend the bus ride home quietly. Somewhere before I reach my house a thought enters my mind. “I’ve never been to the funeral of a relative and I wonder how I’d handle that.” It’s a strange and morose thought that I immediately push to the back of my head. Who wants to think about stuff like that? I get off of the bus and make my way up the driveway. As I round the turn, I see that my mom is home. This is completely out of the norm. I get this sense of unease, something has to be wrong. I walk into the house and both of my parents are sitting in the living room. Mom looks upset, this doesn’t faze me right away. I look over at dad, he’s been crying, now I understand what’s going on. She tells me to sit down, that they have something to tell me. I shake my head no and tell them to just go ahead and say it. “Your grandfather died this morning.” The air leaves the room for a minute and I do what can only be described as maybe the strangest thing I’ve ever done. I smile and let out a half laugh. It didn’t dawn on me for a few minutes why exactly I had that reaction. He’d come to say goodbye to me. He stood in that courtyard and waved goodbye to me.

The next couple of days are filled with somber family get togethers. I haven’t cried yet, not a single drop. You’d think I was about ready to burst, but I held it together for my mom and dad. I needed to be strong for them. I sat in the funeral home, in the back, by myself. I’m still holding it together, but the whole concept of a wake is foreign to me and to be honest, I hate them. A good friend of my dad’s comes over and sits by me. He looks at me and very plainly says, “I know he didn’t say it very often, but your grandfather always spoke very highly of you and he loved you with all his heart,” Ladies and gentlemen, Niagara Falls. There was no holding back any more. I got it out and sat in the back collecting myself again. My best friend’s father comes and sits down by me. He’s not an overly demonstrative man but he’s always felt like a second father to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “He may not be here anymore, but you can always talk to him. He’s always listening and he’s always with you.”

In the years since then, and there have been many, I haven’t seen my grandfather again. I’ve talked to him plenty, but there hasn’t been a response. At least not one that I’ve noticed. I’m going to see a medium in a couple weeks for the first time. Skeptically. If there’s any legitimacy to it, I’m hoping to hear from him again. Even if it’s just another wave.

-A

Monday, July 29, 2013

Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes


Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes

When a dear friend of mine wrote and asked me to be a part of this, the first thing I did was question whether or not he had been hacked. I know my dear friend to be a man of few words. Not that he doesn’t speak at all or lacks any sort of social skills, but he, for as long as I’ve known him, has always tended to be more of an observer. Not that he wouldn’t converse; we have had several great discussions. I just have never known him as being very verbose. When I explained the reasons behind my questioning of this blog’s authenticity, he simply stated, “I decided I was tired of being quiet.”


It occurred to me that this simple action of being quiet is the same action I have been trying to fight my way through for years, it seems. I have been called everything from introverted to anti-social all because I do not share my life easily. Not one person, outside of my significant other, knows a lot about me, knows my daily routine, or knows my ins and outs. People may say that that’s normal; in a relationship, partners generally know more about one another than anyone else would. It’s all true. However, it has been pointed out to me that I have a problem sharing the smallest detail, even with those closest to me. For example, I don’t just randomly call a friend and tell them about my day or that I got my hair done or where I went for dinner the previous evening. If I do end up sharing those details, it’s only because I am already on the phone with a friend and I have a story related to whatever my friend is speaking of or the friend has asked for specifics of my day. Even then, nine times out of ten, if someone asks me what I’ve been up to, they are usually treated to the big reveal of, “Nothing.” I, of course, am great at turning this back around on someone.


A typical conversation with me often goes like this:


Friend: “How are you?”


Me: “Good. How are you?”


Friend: “Good.” (Friend quickly gives me a brief synopsis of what “good” entails.)


Friend follows up with, “What have you been up to?”


Me: “Nothing. You?”


I have now been successful in throwing the responsibility of the conversation back on said friend and have completely diverted the attention away from myself. So, then why do I feel so alone sometimes?


I don’t really wonder why I am this way. Between living in a household where, with one parent, no secret was sacred and another parent who taught me when I was young that no one really cared what I had to say; that I shouldn’t talk about my life because people aren’t truly interested in the details, I get why I am so closed off. Alas, those stories of my youth are best left for another time. The point to this rant is that, over the years, I have become notoriously private. This is sometimes why friends may not hear from me for days or weeks at a time. It’s not that I don’t love them. I would be there in a second for any one of them if they needed me. I hope they know that. I would spend hours on the phone with them if they needed me to, and I have done just that when the occasion has arisen. I just don’t feel like anything I have to say is worthy of saying. And maybe I just feel like the person on the other end wouldn’t be interested, or even more so that they are busy and I don’t want my troubles to be a bother to them.


I have been trying, though. I recently got back in touch with a friend from Junior High. We have been chatting here and there and meeting up for the occasional lunch, movie or visit. I truly enjoy her company and I am trying very hard to open up, but sometimes when I do, I feel like a stumbling, mumbling idiot and that my story should have stayed in my head, where it sounded 10x better.


Answering someone’s question of, “What have you been up to” with “Oh, I painted my toenails blue” just seems so silly to me. But it was also recently pointed out to me that that’s what sharing your life is; keeping people in the loop as to your activities, even the most mundane ones. I’m still figuring it out, I guess.


I agree with my friend, who originated this blog, though. I am tired of being quiet and I am attempting to ready myself for the vulnerable feeling of opening up. Will my friends still love me when they see that the friend, who is usually their rock in their times of need, actually has a gooey marshmallow-y center? Will they still think I’m an awesome person when I’m crying on their shoulder or will they be bored when I haven’t had much going on in my day where the most fantastic thing I’ve done is re-organize my kitchen pantry?


Maybe it’s just that the quiet people such as me just need to feel that the person we want to reveal ourselves to, honestly and truly wants to hear what we have to say. Perhaps once we can trust that our words are wanted to be heard, we’ll feel like saying them.


The point to all this, I guess, is that next time you notice someone you might suspect of being anti-social,  maybe make it more of a point to let them know that you’re  open to whatever they have to say, regardless of how menial it may seem. It might be a bigger deal to them than you think.