roll it up

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To our healing,

the tapping solution

 
I am also excited to announce that today, Nick Ortner’s highly anticipated first book, The Tapping Solution, is finally out! (If for some reason, embedding the book trailer to this post is not working, you can see it here.)

I received an advance copy to review, since I’m such an avid Tapping Solution fan, and I have to tell you, the book is packed with the history and science behind EFT that we’ve been wondering about forever. He explains it so much better than I do, so please visit here to grab your copy of the book. (And 100% of profits go to either funding a Sandy Hook trauma relief effort or the Tapping Solution Foundation -- don’t remember if I told you but the Ortners are originally from Newtown, CT. The next video explains their charity work.)

 
Read the book, but don’t just read it. DO the tapping, and watch as your life transforms to your amazement.

Another awesome thing they’re doing? If you go out and grab a copy at a bookstore (I’m writing this from Barnes & Noble!), they will reward you with bonuses!! (I don’t know about you, but I LOVE free goodies. Maybe because I am an information hoarder -- haha -- but I can attest that the Ortners are an incredibly generous, beautiful family with so much heart to give the world.)

To our healing, 

anger management

My mom told me this story one day, and at the time it really upset me. I thought I’d share it with you so that if it ever happens to you (and it very well may -- because it definitely manifests in many forms), you might see it differently than you otherwise would.

My mother had spinal cord surgery back in 2001 (yup, just a couple years before I had brain surgery if you can believe it), and it was not a successful operation. She had had some work done to the top two vertebrae in her neck, the C1 and C2, in hopes of fixing a pinched nerve issue she was having in her arms, which were frequently experiencing bouts of numbness. Because of her unsuccessful operation, her physical condition has deteriorated over time, resulting in all four limbs going numb sometimes now, which leads to dropping things or becoming very fatigued very easily.

If you pay attention to the way she carries herself, you’ll notice that she is unable to turn her head, so she turns her entire torso to look left or right rather than what the rest of us do. But apart from this, she appears to be a completely functional, if just a slight, woman. (She’s tiny: At just five feet and something like 90 pounds, it’s sometimes hard to believe she’s carried and raised two children!)

Anyway, one day, she was in a rush to pick something up for her restaurant at a local supermarket. She parked in a handicap spot (her license plates carry the handicap symbol so she doesn’t need a placard) and ran into the store, trailed by a stranger who repeatedly asked her, “Are you handicapped? Are you handicapped? Are you handicapped?”

If your first response to this is anger, I’ll admit that mine was too. My mother felt it, but took a second before she responded.

But she had a moment of enlightenment and it occurred to her that this very rude and angry stranger was probably upset by all the people out there who take advantage of handicap parking spots illegally (apparently there are a lot in the city of Chicago), and didn’t know any other way to confront someone who he suspected was committing that crime.

Calmly, my mother explained her condition and gently told him, “My disability isn’t apparent to the eye, but it’s very much there and getting worse with time. Not everybody who has a disability is in a wheelchair, but it’s still a reality.”

I remember a guy I knew, too, had a mother who was deaf in one ear. It greatly upset him that people would frequently treat her as though she were stupid simply because they couldn’t see that she had a disability, regardless of how she appeared.

Let this be a reminder for all of us that everyone has their own reasons for what they do, and never to make assumptions about anybody that we meet. And if the criticism is coming from someone you know well and hold close, remember that sometimes they can forget what it means to be in recovery. Be gentle.

To our healing,

[anecdote] no contest

I had the WEIRDEST exchange on Saturday. Anthony and I had had an amazing day of pre-St. Patrick’s Day adventures wandering the city and people watching -- originally, we’d planned to go to the parade, but due to extremely poor time management that morning, we did’t manage to leave the suburbs till around 3pm.

I wanted the opportunity to take some interesting photos (and believe me, I did!), so I insisted we go anyway and do some people watching and check out the river, which the city of Chicago dyes bright green each year in honor of the holiday.

As you can imagine, we walked for miles. I was wearing my finally-broken-in Doc Martens, which have heavyass rubber soles. I’d finally learned to wear long, thick socks with them, so for a change blisters were not an issue. But after wandering for so long in such heavy soles, muscles I guess I haven’t activated in a long time (e.g., hip flexors) started complaining. A lot.

And although it’s been nearly a decade that my right side has been compensating for my left side, on intense days of incessant walking, my right knee begins to bother me. This wasn’t the worst case of such an ailment (I remember once returning to Italy and feeling a shooting pain with every step with that leg), but it was pretty bad.

Following our city adventures, Anthony treated me to a surprisingly delicious dinner at a grill that more resembled a diner, and then we planned to see Oz the Great and Powerful at a cinema by his house. (Great movie, by the way. I cannot take James Franco seriously, but it was very well done.)

The movie theater we went to is large, supercommercial, and accessible only through a giant parking garage. We got confused by the layout of the garage and because the entire world was apparently going to the movies that night, we parked way up on the fourth level. The elevators were also unclear as to which level to get off on to access the cinema, so after much confusion leaving the elevator and getting back on and off again, we ended up outside an entirely different elevator only one floor above the entrance to the theater.

“You wanna take the elevator or the stairs?” Anthony asked, and he pressed the down button.

“I’d like to take the stairs, but my leg is bothering me so much [especially going down stairs] that I’m gonna opt for the elevator,” I said.

A minute later, a lady joined us. “Oh, you’re going down . . . I have to go up!”

“Yeah, don’t judge us,” I said with a smile. “I know it’s only one floor, but we’ve been walking all day long and we’re exhausted and sooo sore.”

“I can beat you,” she said. “I have stage four lung cancer.”

. . .

I was so dumbfounded by this response that I was at a complete loss for words.

Then Anthony asked, “Do you have a rebuttal, honey?”

So I replied, “I’m not competing with you . . . we’re just too tired to go down a flight of stairs.”

And then the elevator arrived. Once we left, I had a moment to process what had just happened.

“Why didn’t you tell her about your condition?” Anthony asked.

Because it’s not a competition. I’m not going to duke it out in a round of Who’s Got it Worse with a lady who’s feeling sorry for herself. Besides, there’s no such thing as comparisons when it comes to human suffering. (And to be quite frank, I have no desire to win that game, anyway!)

Make no mistake; I feel sorry that this lady has such an ailment, and at the same time I feel pretty offended. By attempting to one-up a total stranger who has as much a right to be too exhausted to go down a flight a stairs as anybody else, she has made assumptions about me. Whether she thought I was just being a brat or that I didn’t know what suffering was doesn’t matter. That is not a debate I’m interested in taking part in.

My point is simply this, and I’ve said it a million times before: Never compare yourself to other people. You never know what any given person has been through to get them wherever they are today.

To our healing,

if at first you don't succeed

Well, it’s safe to say at this point is that my intention last week to start writing 1000 words a day for my memoir failed. Epically.

From http://maccomputerlessons.com

On the plus side, I did start regularly writing on my pamelahsieh.com blog, which I’d neglected for ages. (By tomorrow, there will only be something like 10 posts on it, total, and I’ve had it for a couple years now. By comparison, this blog, which I’ve had since 2010, has nearly 200.) Now that I have determined what subject matter to cover on that one, it should grow considerably. (Hooray!) 

But let’s go back to my memoir. In order to finish it in about a month (a tiny bit more), I’ll have to work on it a little every day. It’s kinda like those pesky taxes (which I also have to do . . .), except more fun. But the tricky part is that because it’s my craft, my art, it’s a part of me. I deeply feel that my soul is tightly intertwined with the quality of this work, so it becomes difficult to tackle.

My mantra for 2013 is “love over fear.” (You can read more about this here.) In order to get over the resistance in my way of finishing my book, I’ll have to choose love for my art over the fear of it failing or being too imperfect. So I can start again.

Similarly, when it comes to taking care of your physical body and healing it from whatever it’s been through, you have to make the same choice, to love your body and take care of it -- not be fazed by the fear of being judged at the gym or the fear of comparison against others. Yes, it’s taxing, but you never regret a workout. Choose to love your body, and don’t let your “false evidence appearing real” trip you up. And remember, everyone has those days. Just shake it off and start again.

Hip Hop Abs posted this to Facebook today! Perfect timing, right??
Also -- if you need your Rehab Revolution fix and I haven't updated for the day,
you can always visit my fanpage for some inspiration :)

To our healing,

write on

Remember when I started working out first thing in the morning? I still think it’s a great way to start my day -- but I’m not so married to it that it I do it on complete autopilot quite yet. This is partially because it is still such a new regimen that I can’t exactly say it comes as naturally as brushing my teeth or washing my face, and also because so much else vies for that first-thing-in-the-morning time slot.

I’ve begun practicing some new spiritual steps per Gabrielle Bernstein’s (the self-proclaimed Spiritual Junkie) book May Cause Miracles, which begins each day with a different affirmation and subsequent meditation. (For example, today, “my only attitude is gratitude.”)

As I also mentioned back in December, I recently attended a Millionaire Mind Intensive which sent us home with a 90-day program. This is also to be performed at the start of the day.

Admittedly, not all three things happen every morning (or even every day, for that matter), but I have been good about making sure the workout occurs daily. I find that generally speaking, planning to pound out that workout first thing (or sort-of first thing) keeps it on the radar and still gives me that feeling of accomplishment I so enjoyed the first week I started doing it.

Now, although I’ve called myself a writer since roughly 1990, I find it nearly impossible to write as soon as I get up. Even at my most prolific, I would reserve writing for the afternoon, as soon as I got home from high school. (This, incidentally, was the time I wrote my first -- and only -- complete novel. Which is crap, of course, but I love it because it proves I can do it.) But it doesn’t mean I can’t start.

Last year, I attended a three-day industry conference called the Writers’ Institute. It was amazing! Not only were the workshops current and relevant, but they educated me in the business end of writing -- i.e., publishing, which, despite what my B.A. in creative writing might suggest, I had never really learned much about. I even met and spoke extensively to an agent who specializes in memoir!

After that conference, I vowed to myself to finish my memoir by April of this year. True to the tortured artist’s nature as well as a quivering fear of failure, I have barely touched my memoir since. *Cringe*

This is about to change. As of this week, I am officially back in session. And not only in the writing part -- but also outlining the basic format and flow of my stories, which I anticipate will be the most labor-intensive, draggy part. But even if I don’t feel it is ready for pitching this year, I know that the sooner I do this, the sooner my dream of publishing can come to fruition. I have to remind myself sometimes that the visualization part of goals -- while important -- does not actually count as action.

From http://imgfave.com

Screw fear of failure. Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever does -- failure is just an ugly word for the blips on the way to success. You only fail if you never try again . . . and this is what fuels me to not give up on my body the way that would be so easy to.

What do you think? Will you keep me accountable? How’s this -- every day, I’d like to write 1000 words. On the 27th (tomorrow), I’ll post the 27th sentence and report whether I’ve written my 1000 words for the day, and so on.

This practice will probably be accompanied daily by a steaming cup of cappuccino or fresh smoothie, before I work out. Double points if I work out immediately after I write.

And with a little bit of discipline and resolve, I ought to be able to complete my manuscript by the time I head to Madison again this April. (If you, too, are headed that way, let me know!)

Let me know what you think of this new declaration in the comments below!

To our healing,

passion for fashion

On the off-chance that you follow me on both this blog and my Premier Pamela blog, you will know that since Monday I’ve been posting fashion boards for Valentine’s Day ensembles of clothing and jewelry every day. Technically, I’m still doing it today and tomorrow (to make it a full Valentine’s Week), but because I got up earlier today than usual, I figured I owed you an explanation here as to why I’ve been MIA.

These fashion boards don’t take that long to start -- the boards themselves of outfits take perhaps 10 minutes, but then to add the jewelry from my business is a whole other issue. One completed, fully accessorized fashion board alone could take an entire hour, I’ve discovered, if I’m working with the wrong photo of a piece of jewelry, so like any other creative endeavor, they have been time intensive (and as a result I’ve posted some of them quite late at night). To cut time a little shorter, I’ve begun putting the base of the boards (i.e., the outfits) together before bed each night so that the next day I can concentrate solely on the jewelry.

But I do come back with plenty to share with you besides my newfound habit of publicly putting outfits together! It does kind of inspire me to share some suggestions with the ladies in my audience, too -- because being able to break back into my old flare for fashion was a tremendous challenge back in the day -- so it could help some of you as well!

I will warn you now that what’s to follow, in the grand scheme of things, may seem shallow and insignificant, but I believe it’s all to do with the ever-important issue of self-image, which means the world to each of us.

I remember for the first year after the hospital, I was forced to wear gym shoes every day because I had been fit for an ankle-foot orthotic (or AFO), and it was safest for me to walk with it. This meant I wasn’t supposed to ever wear a shoe that didn’t have laces that was also not large enough to fit the orthotic. I was pretty bummed -- forget the prospect of heels! Or anything open-toed. Even boots were a no-no, and being this restricted in footwear meant, subsequently, that I was also limited to what clothes I could wear. An AFO meant no skirts, no dresses.

(As a reminder I used to be -- and still am now -- the type of girl who never wore gym shoes outside of the gym or during sports.)

So to me, the only outfits appropriate for my designated footwear now were sporty pantsuits (I had a pink velour one: This was when Juicy Couture first became huge), jeans, sweatshirts. Not to mention the embarrassment of needing to ask people if they could tie my shoes for me. 

In short, I was forced to almost entirely suppress my fashion sense. As time has gone on, as you know, I was able to wean myself off the AFO. Some people think this was a poor safety choice, but it was a necessary improvement for me. Now, when I walk, at least I know I am activating my own muscles to propel myself forward and/or prevent myself from falling. Not to mention, being able to dress the way I would like to boosted my confidence considerably, allowing me to express myself through style as I found integral to my daily existence prior to my condition. (Some traits just stay with you no matter what.)

I remember my first fashion breakthrough: It was during my year abroad in Florence, and I discovered legwarmers!

From http://bit.ly/12usNQg (not me)

This was HUGE for me. I could wear skirts again, and they didn’t look absolutely ridiculous with sneakers -- a legwarmer hid my AFO just enough so that you couldn’t really see it, and I rejoiced! 

Of course, my high was then brought to a crash when a roommate of mine, the one who never understood compassion. (This was the same girl who sneered as she peeled a cucumber for me and asked, “Is this actually hard for you?” -- among many other slights.) I don’t remember exactly what she said when I announced my discovery, but I remember feeling infuriated at her complete lack of enthusiasm. Crushed, even, that she didn’t care or appreciate how huge this was.

As a sidenote, I just want to say -- there are people out there who have and haven’t been closely exposed to disabilities. In my near-decade of experience, people have ranged from crying at the news to barely even registering what any of it means, to anything in between, and though it can be extremely frustrating to handle certain people’s reactions, you have to remember that everyone perceives different things in their own way. Just as he or she doesn’t know your experience, you don’t know theirs either. We all live our own realities, and nothing someone else says or does to you is actually about you.

It has actually taken me a long time to learn to forgive this ex-roommate of mine, and while I’m still not eager to strike up a new relationship with her, I have at least reached the point where I am no longer angry with her. And that is a big step!

Anyway, the point is, I’m more than happy to help you find your own versions of legwarmers and lay out fashion boards for you. (The ones I do for my jewelry business are certainly not all outfits I personally could wear. I’m still working on the heel thing!)

To our healing,