The Purple Fig2013-06-19T13:58:17-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.ca/author/index.php?author=the-purple-figCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for The Purple FigGood old fashioned elbow grease.My Summer Tan Wasn't Worth it - I Got Melanomatag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34601862013-06-19T08:13:02-04:002013-06-19T08:13:12-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I sat there in a little hospital gown with my toes dangling in mid-air as she told me it didn't look good. "It might be serious," she said. "Do you have someone to take you home or are you by yourself?" she asked. Of course I was by myself. I'm an adult, I thought.
After leaving her office, I sat alone on the subway, listening to my music and studying the people around me. I thought about what it would be like to have cancer. I panicked and then decided that would be the last time I'd think about it.
A few days later I found out that the mole on my back was indeed melanoma. It was stage 2. I was scheduled in for surgery to remove a large section on my back and under my arm to test lymph nodes. Results would take two weeks.
Before the surgery, I was to meet with an oncologist. My dad happened to be in Toronto, so he came with me to the Oncology appointment. I hadn't been to a doctor's appointment with a parent since I was 14 years old. We sat there dumbfounded as the doctor laid out the plan.
"Melanoma is the only skin cancer that can travel inside of your body. If this has happened, we will have to either do chemotherapy or radiation and as you were told previously, definitely the surgery. I have to tell you, this could be a fatal disease." His voice was stale and bleak.
All I could think about was how sorry I felt for my dad. He'd sat in offices like that hearing words like metastasized and malignant for years with my mom.
We drove home in silence. I couldn't believe this was all from an ugly ass mole.
I had never been one to bake in the sun. Although I have always loved how a tan looks, I would get so cagey in such heat that I could never stay long enough to get a fabulous glow. So how could I have gotten melanoma? I can't say for sure, but I often refer to that one time in the south of France. Yes, that one time.
I had been traveling with a friend who was beach lover. She had beautiful olive skin that tanned perfectly, and I remember how fresh and healthy she looked after the beach in a dimly lit bar. I wanted some of that.
Apart from the few times I had entered a tanning bed in the early '90s, this was one of the very rare times I actually spent 'baking' my skin. After falling asleep on the beach one afternoon I burnt my back badly, and when my skin grew back after blistering, I didn't think about it again. That was of course until I heard the word melanoma and chemotherapy and surgery all in the same sentence. As it turns out, it can take one time, as explained in the powerful "Dear 16 year old me" video from DCMF. If you burn before the age of 18, this can double your chances of getting melanoma.
When they tested my lymph nodes they found that there wasn't any cancer present in those nodes. I was one of the very lucky ones. They sent me home with strict instructions to never go in the sun again without protection and to see my dermatologist on a regular basis. I was to watch my moles carefully. But like trying to feel a lump in your breast, it's pretty hard not to freak yourself out every time you see an odd-looking mole. Still, I look at those little brown blobs every day and remember that I was much luckier than some others and to respect that by protecting my skin.
As it turns out, that dark glow one gets from hours in the sun becomes embarrassingly meaningless when you're sitting under a florescent light being told you have cancer.
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
To help spread awareness about this aggressive type of skin cancer and how to protect against it, the David Cornfield Melanoma Fund (DCMF) released a poignant viral video targeting teenagers and young adults.
]]>Father's Day: Fathers Love Differentlytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34431482013-06-17T11:10:38-04:002013-06-17T11:10:57-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
When I first really got to know my dad I was sixteen. My mom had died in August, my brother was starting University out East in September, and my sister was soon leaving for Australia. It was like someone introduced us as father daughter and then ran away giggling, leaving us there staring in wonderment at one another.
There we were, grief stricken: me with an infinite need for love and affection, and him having just lost the love of his life and now being called on to parent.
His first order of business was to draw up a contract stating when my curfew was, certain grades I was to attain, and how I was going to prepare for my future. He was doing the best he could.
But as a hormonal teenage girl, I saw it as a lack and I just wanted him to scoop me up and tell me everything would be okay. I had pictured that we would give each other everything that was missing emotionally from no longer having a wife, mother, other kids in the house. I dreamed he'd say he was proud of me, just like my mom used to, and he'd congratulate me for even going to school during such a hard time. I needed him to validate, understand and be proud.
A few years later, after leaving my hometown for good, I found myself alone with him. This was a rare occurrence. We were driving up to my sister's cottage and along the stretch of winding road I felt a question brewing. There was still a little girl inside of me looking for validation. It was the perfect opportunity to express myself as I was the one driving and there was no escape for him.
In my early twenties, I rejected the idea of University. I wanted to be a student of the world and the combination of my personality and the loss I'd experienced, had created somewhat of a free-spiritedness in me. I wanted to do anything and everything, and nothing by the book. I was the total opposite of what I perceived my dad would accept.
After a few years of chasing dreams and traveling, I was at a point where I hadn't achieved nearly as much as I wanted to by that time. In fact, I felt like an utter failure. I was twenty-three.
It was incredibly hard for me to admit, especially to him, but it was imperative that I told him how I felt. I spent a few minutes preparing the monologue in my head and then nervously launched into it. "I thought I would be much further in a career by now. I just thought I'd be somewhere else in my life," I'd said wistfully.
He'd nodded, looking straight ahead to the long stretch of highway. "I'm very ambitious you know. I want to do big things in life!" The tears welled up and the question that had been burning a hole in my head for years came tumbling out: "Do you think I'm a failure?" I asked.
And as a long pause ensued and I held my breath, his head cocked to the side and he exclaimed, "They sell corn on the side of the street?! I didn't know that!"
I let out a sigh and playfully slapped his arm. "Dad, focus. Did you hear what I said?" He turned to me with a warm smile and said, "I never really thought about it."
He'd never thought about it. It's not that he wasn't proud of me. He just hadn't thought about it. Something that I had built up, like a bridge holding the weight of the world, was nothing. It was nothing, because it didn't exist. He loved me and that was it.
After he'd said it, I laughed. I kept laughing after he asked me what in the world I was laughing at and then I realized something.
We assume because we feel something, it must be reality. But really, this is not the case. My dad's 'way' of showing love and affection was simply not the way I had expected or envisioned in my head all those years. The guy was dealing with his own pain and I believe his wish was that life would carry on and I would just be okay.
Suddenly, after so many years of expecting and feeling rejected, this epiphany shifted my whole way of receiving his love. What he had actually given me during those years was indeed incredibly valuable.
A cascade of new memories replaced the old ones with new sub texts and warm feelings attached.
Within these new memories, I saw him coming to visit me, arriving in his casual clothes, looking for a hot dog joint and the two of us sitting down for a beer.
I can see him in a guitar store when I was ten years old, handing me the box that contained my very first acoustic. I can hear him fourteen years ago on the phone from thousands of miles away asking me if I was eating enough and not drinking too much. I can see him doing magic tricks for my gaggle of girls, not once or twice, but several times over the span of decades.
I now see him picking lemons from a lemon tree with my son. I hear him giggle into the phone when I tell him I'm going to California with twelve of my girls. I feel his warm embrace when he comes to visit and a whisper in my ear, "I love ya."
All these memories may not be ones laden with I'm proud of you's and pats on the back and affectionate words, but they symbolize something that I wish I would have appreciated more a long time ago: Fatherly Love. It may not look the same as mama love, but it sure is made from the same ingredients.
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
Visit The Purple Fig On Facebook On Twitter]]>Am I Teacher or a Discriminator?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34287602013-06-12T16:28:19-04:002013-06-12T17:12:55-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I have taught in both the United States and now Canada. In my eleven years of teaching high school, I have witnessed heated arguments, separated fists as a result of underlying race issues and even provoked loud debates as a way to indulge some critical thinking around social issues. And yet, this one paper, this common and often neutralized topic that one of my girls brings to her writing, I am terrified of opening up to discussion.
A few weeks before I read this particular essay, another student of mine politely asked if he could be excused five minutes before the end of each class so he could pray. I said no. I also went home fearful that I could lose my job as a result of saying no, or worse, confront some angry parents due to my lack of "compassion or tolerance."
As an experienced teacher I have always prided myself on being able to handle the situation, whatever the situation might be. I have challenged, provoked, pacified, neutralized and written about issues that unfold in classrooms, essentially smaller examples of our world at large. Still, recently, I am again muted.
The difference between being unable to use my voice when I first started, and now, is that I feel I am making a choice. I am silenced into listening. I am listening to the rants of irresponsible media outlets. I am listening to the more insightful and sophisticated comments of more reputable news sources. I watch in horror with the rest of the world at seemingly frequent terrorist threats, and actualizations. And then I sit in my classroom and listen to my increasingly divergent student body speak their minds.
I have no response. I am conflicted by my own personal, cultural, religious and even gender bias. I can't figure out if the female student who lived in Afghanistan is speaking truth or speaking from the heart of terror. I can't reconcile allowing students to leave class to pray, just as I can't reconcile others who choose to sit during the Canadian anthem because it goes against their religious beliefs. I can't seem to separate my own logical reasoning from my own judgments and prejudice and because of which, results in my own silence.
The questions at the heart of the media, governments around the world and at dinner tables in more countries than simply Canada, are the same questions being silenced in classrooms around the world, due to their very nature. And still, this begs yet even another question, a perhaps more important question: Are the very classrooms that form our Westernized educational system as a whole, still safe places to work out our differences and reach understandings and worldly insight, or have the questions themselves become too difficult to tackle for even the most astute of teachers?
If the answer is yes, what then, are we teaching our students?
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
Visit The Purple Fig On Facebook On Twitter]]>The Bachelorette Recap Episode 3tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34203112013-06-11T10:49:15-04:002013-06-11T10:49:29-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
The first group date sees the men play Dodge ball. First there was some practice sessions against a team from the National Dodge ball League, before the group of ten split off into two teams, the winners getting more time with Des in the evening. The Blue team wins, Desiree seems thrilled they are trying so hard. Brooks ends up in hospital with a broken finger, passing out at the hospital and does the best he can to get through this traumatic situation.
In the evening, rugged Brad announces he wants to share some of his past with Des. He doesn't hold back, first telling her of his 3 year old son before dropping the bombshell of a domestic violence charge he was accused of against his former partner, and also putting it out there his son's mother has alcohol problems. Des appreciates the candid approach and he looks set to stay another week.
A while later, Brooks is released from hospital and gets a passionate kiss from Des after some solid schmoozing. The winner in the evening section however is Chris, who finds a spot on the roof to steer Desiree too and the pair exchange an intimate, comfortable conversation. Chris is given the rose, offering hope to balding geeks everywhere.
Next up, Desiree is seen receiving an alarming call from Chris Harrison (not at all staged). He tells her he has received some alarming news about financial advisor Brian. Soon after, we see a plastic-breasted, rubber -faced broad enter the mansion to confront Brian about alleged cheating. She claims Brian is a 'lying, cheating, deceitful pig' amongst other insults. Brian attempts to deny it before finally conceding that he penetrated her two days before the show started. Des has seen enough and sends him on his away. The remaining contestants suitably condemn Brian's actions, judging him as they snigger.
Hearing that Brian's girlfriend is a single mother proves too much for emotional Brandon, who weeps into the camera about various father figures who have come in and then left his life all too quickly growing up.
Following this, Kasey and Des have a one on one date dancing on the side of a building, The dancing on the side of a building goes well enough, but as they head into the evening the viewer is hit with a whirlwind of awkwardness. Following high winds on the roof top, a very lame kiss in the pool, and shivering bodies the two seem to make peace with the fact the date was pretty rubbish before finally handing him a rose for being an all round nice guy and a 'good sport'.
The episode moves on to the group date, a movie stunt themed affair where the men dress up as cowboys and partake in movie style fistfights. Des is happy with the enthusiasm the guys demonstrate, not to mention their rugged cowboy good looks. After kissing almost everyone, Des gives the rose to James who plays the insecure, needing-reassurance card to perfection.
Next, Chris Harrison informs the group that the rose party is cancelled, Des is opting for a pool party instead. Before she can even step foot in the door, evil Ben whisks her away for a secret drive in her Bentley. Offering up smooth lyrics about how girls perceive him as a father figure too often rather than a romanticist, Des swoons at this 'humble, sweet man' and the two make out in the car. Mikey T and Michael G quiz Ben on whether he has spent time with Des this evening. He says he has not. All over Ben like a cheap suit, the two tell him that they don't appreciate being lied to, that they will never trust him, and Mikey T tells the camera Ben needs a punch in the face.
Brandon, only ever a conversation away from tears, tells Des that along with the fact that he will never hurt her, he is falling in love with her. She laughs at him. He tells the camera that he doesn't contemplate anything other than 'how perfect and meant to be they really are'. We can't contemplate anything other than an early exit for you, Brandon.
Wrapping up this week's third episode, we move onto the rose ceremony where tension is rife. The camera cuts to this week's peripheral figures, Ben, Mikey T, Brandon and Dan. Two of them will soon be discarded like used sanitary towels. The camera fleetingly pans to Brad, wondering if his domestic violence admission did him any favors. It did, he is safe. Dan and Brandon are the two left over without being given a rose. Dan takes it in his stride. Brandon does not. "Once again, someone left me. I can't even cry," he says, crying. Wrong show for you, Brandon. Wrong show.
Let's hope to see a few less tears next week. Okay?!
By Robert James
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
Visit The Purple Fig On Facebook On Twitter]]>'The Bachelorette' Recap Episode 2: Kisses and Liestag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33830262013-06-04T13:10:30-04:002013-06-04T13:10:41-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/The Bachelorette gets serious. The first whisperings of eternal love are mustered, the exchanges of saliva occur with a frivolous regularity, and a federal prosecutor from New York is almost brought to tears about being lied to and interrupted by another male contestant.
The week kicks off with a handsome, if rather elf-looking guy named Brooks being taken on a date to shop for wedding dresses. The couple takes it in good spirit and provides an opportunity for Brooks to show a playful side. After the gentle lubricant of an enjoyable session of trying on wedding dresses, the couple head up to the Hollywood Sign to sit atop the letter L, where they both gush about how special the moment is and share easy flowing conversation. The first kiss is a tidy, mostly closed-mouthed affair and with that Desiree declares herself open for business.
The couple then head to a bridge that's been closed off, where Brooks seems nervous he has entered a ghetto area, despite the presence of an entourage of about 20 camera crew filming them. Over dinner, he opens up to Desiree about his parent's divorce and years of resentment towards his father, and the ongoing work still happening today to rebuild their relationship. This openness is enough for Desiree to give him the rose, and they cement a successful date with some playful dancing at a specially laid on Andy Grammer concert. Brooks, despite his somewhat wimpish demeanour, is definitely a contender this season.
The first group date of the season sees the guys shooting a rap video with the assistance of Soulja Boy, a U.S. rapper. The boys are keen to show they have a sense of humour and identify that Des is first and foremost a very fun, easygoing girl. Everyone shows themselves to be a good sport here, even Brandon, who fluffed his lines wearing skimpy underwear hovering near Desiree's face while he rapped.
The episode comes alive in this group date. Mikey T, a stocky, fiery Italian confronted this season's villain, single dad Ben. Livid at being interrupted by Ben mid-conversation with Desiree, Mikey T takes Ben to one side and tells him that he is coming across as insincere, and is giving off a bad impression to the rest of the house. Ben attempts to smooth it over, but doesn't seem to really mean it.
Brandon tells her the story of how his dad left the family when he was five years old, how he doesn't have family money or a flash job, but how he yearns for kids and wants to give his children the life he didn't have. She nods and thanks him for his candidness, but it isn't enough to secure the final rose, which goes to Ben, further souring the mood of the other men. Brandon in particular seems close to the point of claiming undying love, who despite his sweet nature seems too naïve to make it to the latter stages of the show.
The next one-on-one date sees Desiree driving Iraq War Veteran Bryden to the L.A. coast in an open top Bentley. "I haven't laughed so much in forever," she says as the two giggle away about nothing much in particular. Over dinner, he tells her of how a near fatal car crash that he survived has taught him to have as much fun as possible as "you never know what the next week, the next day, even the next hour will bring." It is enough to persuade Desiree to hand him the rose. Later, in the pool, Bryden appears awkward and reluctant to make a romantic move, which prompts Des to say, "Kiss me already." He then dives in with all tongue and little grace.
The focus of the final rose ceremony is on the fallout between Ben the Villain and Michael G, a federal prosecutor. Michael G gets halfway through telling Desiree he has type 1 diabetes, one of the weaker sob stories of the series. Just as he approaches the crescendo of the story, the need for daily injections and sugar level regulation etc, Ben interrupts and whisks her away for a chat. Absolutely crestfallen, Michael G seeks comfort in telling the rest of the group of his outrage before confronting Ben about it. Dissatisfied with Ben's explanation, Michael rages at the screen "He lied to the wrong guy!" and lambastes Ben for continually bringing up his son as a means to win Desiree's affections.
At the rose ceremony, Des hands out her final roses and sends home a few mediocre, under-the-radars Nick M, Will and Robert. They are shocked, but they needn't be. "I put myself too much in the friend zone," bleats Will, who heads back to Chicago to continue high-fiving the general public for no apparent reason as we saw him do in episode 1. In reality, these three men had no business trying to compete for the affections of Desiree Hartsock. Next week will no doubt see more drama, more first kisses, and perhaps provide more clues as to who eventually will be proposing to Des.
By Robert James
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>Is There Anything I Can Eat Without a Side of Guilt?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33796602013-06-03T17:02:03-04:002013-06-03T17:13:50-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I order 2 hamburgers and then see the large sign for their Teriyaki Chicken salad. I ask the girl what's in the salad and she needs to say no more than "edamame beans", and I add to my order. Edamame beans are in everything right now so this salad has to be good for me, right?
As I am driving to my destination I find myself ravenously scarfing down the first burger so fast that I don't even notice I've eaten paper with the first three bites. This might classify as an all time low. But in all honesty I could care less because this little burger that looks like someone sat on it, is utterly delicious. I get to my destination having now downed both of my burgers and stare at the bag on my passenger seat that contains "the salad". I scoff at it and get out of the car leaving said salad behind. The salad represents the part of me that felt guilty about ordering something that contained gluten, white flour, meat, grease, etc etc etc.
Why does it seem that everything we consume these days is surrounded with guilt or stigma. Everything I go to eat lately makes me think a bit harder about what I am putting into my body. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, it just has me thinking.
We seem to be getting inundated with what to eat and not eat as the days go by, and now there are full sections in the grocery stores dedicated to diet restrictions. There are also upscale grocery stores popping up everywhere and just being in them somehow makes us feel like we are eating healthier because even the cardboard boxes are somehow "organic".
Over the course of the last 18-24 months, I have attempted the following, and not all at once of course: I've gone gluten free: I've stopped "doing" dairy because I heard it is hard to digest; I've stopped eating meat because I feel bad for the animals; I've contemplated and genuinely tried not eating soy because it's the most genetically modified bean out there and there is too much estrogen in it; I've tried not to consume as much fish because of the amount of mercury in it (save for Japan, I live in likely the best sushi city); I've tried to eat only organic veggies, but then worried that the food was coming from across the Continent and the environmental impact of that; and lastly, half heartedly, tried to do the Paleo diet (the not so distant cousin from a boulevard of broken dreams of a diet, called Atkins).
So there it is. I am a total trend and fad follower. But, I truly think there is merit behind some of the dietary concerns that we are being faced with. I am just finding myself full of anxiety and guilt about what I am choosing.
My husband recently became a vegetarian after reading two books and watching one movie. This has all happened much to my annoyance because he does most of the cooking in the house, and one can only consume so much quinoa and kale without longing for a meal riddled with bacon and chicken. Having not given something up for Lent since I was 8 and in Catholic school, I decided I would give up meat and appease my husband to at least try it.
After almost passing out on my spinning bike 2 weeks into my "challenge", I caved and ate half a flank steak. I didn't bother going back to a non-meat diet, because I had crossed over; I was going to Hell anyway because I didn't have the will power to last the 40 days until Easter. I will, however, continue eating some meals without meat.
I do think we need to start thinking more and more about where our food comes from because there has to be a reason that there are so many options that are gluten free, dairy free, soy free, meat free, organic, grain fed or wild. But have we gone too far? Is it necessary that we pay $4 more for a box of crackers because they are organic? Is buying organic more of a status symbol to some? What is the impact to our environment if we are buying out of season, organic produce that has to travel from another country or continent to get to us? What is the better choice, looking after our environment or looking after our body?
I live on the west coast and if I was reading the above I might automatically think that the person writing it is a hippy who wears hemp clothing that they made themselves. But that's not me, not even close. I have just been trying to be more aware of what I am consuming as of late, because I think it's important. But, what is the right mix? Who should we be listening to? I think if we are all just a hair more conscious of where our food is coming from, it's a start.
Unfortunately I don't have all the answers; I just have anxiety, which I tend to curtail with red wine and Old Dutch Ketchup chips.
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>I Don't Want Kids. Am I Selfish?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32796272013-05-30T17:38:42-04:002013-05-30T17:38:45-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I had always assumed that children were in the cards for me. It's what you do. DH and I, when we met in 2006, were definitely having children. Yes, of course! Why wouldn't we? But it never really sat right with me. The thing is, I have never liked babies.
When my cousins were born I hated holding them for fear I would drop them. I have never known what to say to anyone under the age of 16, and even then I find it hard to relate. But I never really faced these facts until DH and I moved to a new town in 2008, and I started making friends with women who were all wanting/having/had children.
I never questioned my feelings about not wanting kids because my friends back in the U.K (where I am originally from) are single partiers with no interest in children, except only one who has had a baby. But after I moved, most of my new friends were planning for them.
As I started to make these new friendships I learned more about pregnancy and childbirth -- shudder. I spent more and more time around young children, and when our two closest friends decided that they were going to have their first child, DH and I realized that this was not something we were remotely interested in doing.
We see certain friends once a week every week and have done since we met them in 2009. Every Saturday for four years, we have been involved in baby discussions and have been delighted to watch their son grow from a pudgy baby into an adorable two-year-old who is just learning to call me Aunty. However, our enjoyment of this little ray of sunshine ends almost immediately when he throws a fit.
When friends of mine in the wanting/planning/having stage, see a baby or get on to that subject, I find there is an expectation that I will want to join them. Something I openly, but politely point out is not going to happen. I can empathize with my friends wanting to talk endlessly about it. Having children is an enormous decision and I am happy for them and will buy many cute outfits, usually Disney related.
But I know that this is not for me, and of all the women I know in this city, I am the only one that feels this way. The only other couple I know who have not had children, could not have children, and I see heartbreak in her eyes every time she holds a friend's baby. I feel for her. This choice was made already for her. I can't imagine how hard that must be.
Those who know me best have stopped telling me that I am young and will change my mind when I hit 30 (next year). My MIL broached the subject once, and DH put her in her place so fast that she has not approached it since, although, I'm sure she thinks I will change my mind when I hit 30 too.
I work in an office with a wonderful group of women, (most of whom are 50+) and if a baby comes through our office, all work stops for at least half an hour. There is only me and another woman in the office who is "at that age", and she is considering getting pregnant this summer. She staunchly refuses to accept my decision. Since I started working there, the rest of the ladies in the office have learned that I mean what I say about having kids. This took quite a while, and to be honest I am sure they are all waiting until I hit the big 3-0. Apparently this magical switch will flip when the clock strikes midnight on the morning of the 5th of January 2014, and I will wake up demanding that my husband impregnate me.
I have never experienced pressure like this before. Since my friend had her son in 2011, I have noticed a gap that has developed in our friendship. There is a whole area of her life that I cannot relate to, and a decision on my part that she cannot understand.
My Aunt and Uncle never had children, and I think seeing their lives and talking to them about this has really helped. Now in their 40s and 50s, they are happy and firm in their decision. But, even though they warned us, the comments and absolute lack of regard for the opinions of my DH and me has been a surprise.
For those of you in this position: how often are you told that you will change your mind? Do they say that you're being selfish?
By Sophie York
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
Visit The Purple Fig On Facebook On Twitter]]>One Morning I Decided to Save My Lifetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33470772013-05-29T07:47:10-04:002013-05-29T08:02:55-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I turned to food as a form of comfort and as a way to control my otherwise uncontrollable life. Every time something went wrong I would eat -- a lot. And of course I became overweight, very overweight, and then eventually obese.
Even with all those feelings of self-hatred I eventually managed to find a great group of friends and even fell in love with an amazing man who, to my amazement, loved me back. I remember talking at length with him about my weight and how unhappy I was; how I couldn't understand how or why anyone could love me. He would say, "Well if you are unhappy with your life, change it." I thought, "Oh he is crazy, he doesn't understand. He is thin and always has been, I can't just change, that's ridiculous."
I stubbornly kept that mindset for years.
Meanwhile, society told me I should love myself the way I am, that I don't need to change because I am perfect, and that everyone should just accept themselves. This confused me because I never wanted to accept myself as overweight and unhealthy, and I certainly didn't feel perfect. I wanted to change, but I was scared.
I'm not sure exactly what made me decide to change. I think it was a combination of my impending 30th birthday and the man I love telling me he was scared I was going to die. At my biggest I was too fearful to weigh myself, but I had gotten to a staggering 250+ pounds, which was a lot on my little 5'3" frame.
I woke up one morning and said, "Enough is enough! I cannot live like this, I don't want to get to 30 and be obese." I realized I needed to make a change and I needed to make it right then and there. I wanted to live a long healthy life, to run and play sports, and to not be out of breath every time I walked up a flight of stairs. That was two and a half years and over 100lbs ago.
Over the years I had tried everything. I even had a doctor prescribe me diet pills (speed). I was only 18 years old. That worked great until I stopped taking them and gained all the weight back and then some (and some brand spanking new stretch marks too). I decided to do it right this time. I jumped on Google and started researching. I looked up things specific to me and discovered a wealth of knowledge. I found websites and blogs, books and videos.
I started doing little 20-minute workouts in my bedroom every day. I'd found some dance aerobics online with the tag lines 'fun and sexy', and claiming that you don't even feel like you are working out. It was an obvious choice. It was indeed fun and once I started to see changes, I knew I was on the right track.
I changed my diet completely. I decided to cut down on all the delicious things I loved so dearly, like refined sugar, white flour and pre packaged goodies. I started to eat lean proteins and lots and lots of fresh fruit and veg. They called it "clean eating," and I found it not only made more sense than any diet I'd tried, it made more of a difference to my energy, my health and my weight.
After a while I noticed big changes. I was no longer out of breath when I climbed the two flights of stairs to my apartment. My feet stopped hurting when I stood for longer than 30 minutes. My knees and back pain went away. One day I missed my bus and was able to run a block and a half to the next stop and make it before the bus did. This was a feat I often enjoyed bragging about. I felt happier and more confident. My friends started to notice the changes too, commenting on how much happier I seemed, and how I had all this positive energy. I got compliments about my looks from strangers, and guys started to hit on me when I rode the subway.
I discovered the joys of short skirts, and no longer felt anger towards girls who wore leggings as pants. I was, in fact, now one of those girls. I had stopped comparing myself to other women and instead of hating on them for being prettier or thinner than me, I was inspired by their beauty to work harder on myself. In turn, I started to appreciate how beautiful we all are.
Now I'm not saying the road was easy. It was paved with tiny Lego blocks, and I had bare feet. It took a strength I didn't know I had, with lots of tears and so much sweat. It was crying in front of an open fridge at 2 a.m. It was yelling at my alarm clock when it told me to wake up and do a workout. It was a lot of sore muscles, which led to a new appreciation for a supplement called Glucosamine. It was a lot of love, for myself.
Each day is still an uphill climb. This is my life now. I choose to workout, I choose to watch what I eat. I choose to be happy.
The last two and a half years have been the most eye opening years of my life. I look back on the old me and I don't even identify her as me. She was so angry and sad. She was so unhealthy, both physically and mentally. She wasn't very awesome.
The new me? Now she is awesome. She is confident and feels pretty. She likes who she is and doesn't mind catching a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface. She is everything I wished I were back then. She is me and I love her.
By Verity Fiction
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>The Bachelorette Recap: Will Desiree Find Love?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33453042013-05-28T12:17:25-04:002013-05-28T12:17:31-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
Fresh from the heartbreak of being discarded by Sean Lowe, Desiree has regrouped and is now ready to try and find love again, this time making the decisions rather than chasing the prize. As a 31 year-old married male with a poorly hidden crush on her, I am emotionally invested in seeing her find Mr. Right.
Recent seasons of the Bachelorette have given us a real spread of female contestants. In Ashley Herbert, we saw a woman so insecure that she spent most of the series in absolute disbelief that another man could find her attractive. In Emily Maynard, we saw a strong, Southern Belle, a persona so perfect that it couldn't possibly be true. And so, as it turned out, many tabloid stories have now surfaced of her cheating, power tripping and gold digging.
When Sean Lowe sent Desiree home a few months back, she held him tightly, sobbing and pleading 'Please don't let me go'. If past behaviour is an accurate indicator of the future, it is clear that Desiree will spend much of this season in tears. We'll see tears of joy; tears of pain; tears of rage, and perhaps even tears of tiredness or hunger. But without a doubt, the tears will flow.
On last night's show, as contestant Ben Scott brought with him his 4 year-old son Brody, in the limo, Desiree's eyes welled up. And sure enough, he was the first person to be given a rose.
Des cried last night within the first few minutes of the show, telling the audience of how she sees herself as a 'modern day Cinderella'. Brought up in relative poverty, the opportunity to live in a house with a swimming pool and wireless on this show proved too mind blowing to keep the tears at bay. "Family and love," she says, in a flood of more tears, "are the most important things, and I need someone to share that with."
Last night, 25 hopeful men entered the mansion to being their quest to win her heart. Desiree handled herself well, with some of the entrances ranging from the bizarre to the inappropriate.
Diogo, awkward and clearly shy, decided to handicap himself by wearing a suit of amour for his entrance. He seemed as mortified by the choice as she did. It was no surprise to see him sent home, and then giving an interview full of embarrassed regret.
Jonathan, torn between what seemed like a risqué sense of humor and genuine psychotic tendencies, attempted to entice Desiree into the Fantasy Suite three times before she sent him home prematurely; a move rarely seen on the first night.
Away from the idiocy, there were some potential husbands, content with themselves and letting their words rather than gimmicks do the talking. Bryden, an Iraq War Veteran, came across particularly well. Strong, composed, but yet, in touch with his emotions, he emerges as an early contender.
One of the strongest moves a man can ever make on the Bachelorette is to tell a sob story. Last night was no different. Alcoholic parents, divorced parents, handicapped siblings; if anything slightly tragic has ever happened to you, then the opening night of 'The Bachelorette' on national TV is the place to talk about it. More dying dogs, teenage zits and every other conceivable adversity will certainly find their way to our screens in the coming weeks.
As a man, the best seasons are not always the ones where a perfect love story ensues. The most memorable seasons are full of drama, betrayal and sheer animosity. I am hoping for a season chocked and packed with it, but ultimately I hope Desiree can quit her somewhat ironic vocation as a wedding dress designer and try one on for herself.
By Robert James
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>Tips for a Healthy, Natural Pregnancytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33130582013-05-22T11:31:16-04:002013-05-22T12:14:06-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/ Clean with Homemade Cleaners
Household cleaners can easily be made with ingredients like vinegar and baking soda. This not only prevents exposing your baby to harsh chemicals during your pregnancy, but it can save you some grief as well. These homemade cleaning agents are much more gentle on your skin and breathing passages when you're cleaning. They also are less likely to upset you when you're feeling queasy. As a bonus, making your own cleaners usually saves you money.
Enter to win Oopsie Loopsie waistband extenders for when you're wearing your pre-preg jeans (beginning of pregnancy or post baby) but just can't quite get that button done up!
Eat Natural, Organic Food
Eating natural food is great for your baby and it's easy to do. Most grocery stores have an organic section that sells organic food and produce. Eating natural, organic food is also a great way to stay healthy and ensure that you gain a healthy amount of weight during pregnancy. With an increased appetite, it can be easy to go overboard with junk food and high-calorie meals. Sticking to fresh fruit and vegetables and healthy meats can help you to stay healthy during your pregnancy.
Use Natural Remedies Instead of Medication
I found that I was plagued with headaches throughout my pregnancy. To my dismay, my doctor recommended I shouldn't take Advil, which is usually my go-to for pain relief. My doctor suggested that I try drinking more water because many headaches are caused by dehydration. I made sure I drank water often and found that my headaches disappeared entirely. On that note -- make sure to talk to your doctor about any major changes you make throughout your pregnancy. I was fortunate enough to have a doctor who helped me make decisions about my health, birthing plan, cord blood banking options, swaddling and so much more!
I also came down with a nasty cold during my pregnancy. Before becoming pregnant, I had always relied on medicated nasal spray to deal with colds or nasal pressure. Since use of medicated nasal spray is not suggested during pregnancy, I invested in a Neti-Pot and some saline packets. Using the Neti-Pot I was able to clear my nasal passages naturally. I continue to do this now whenever I get a stuffy nose since it's much less harsh on my nasal passages and just as effective.
These are some simple things you can do to have a natural and healthy pregnancy. Avoiding harsh chemicals and ingredients can help you and your baby to stay comfortable and in good health!
By Katie Moore
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>I Called Off My Wedding and I'm Happier Than Evertag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32808012013-05-16T08:24:16-04:002013-05-16T08:24:24-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
Being from an Italian background, and him Portuguese, we had been "living in sin" together for a year. Our parents were very vocal about their distaste for us not being married.
My grandparents' voices still haunt me: "Christina, you getting more older, you needa keep a nice boy (keep in mind here I'm 26). When you married Christina?"
My grandfather, who was 83 years old at the time, had said to me, "I wanna you make famiglia proud." He had such a despairing look in his eyes, with his hands raised up in the air.
You see, both my mom and my aunt were victims of the 'hush hush rush to city hall' to be married, as both of them had buns in the oven. All the pressure for a legit BIG FAT Italian wedding was all on me. How could I disappoint?
So, my vision of a long engagement and travel turned out to be a 'let's get to it' event. Planning my family's wedding, turned into a full-time job, signed, sealed and almost delivered in a mere eight months.
The plans for the wedding didn't feel warm, exciting or anything like ME. I remember standing in my chiffon, taffeta, satin (it's all the same to me) cupcake wedding dress. Of course it was off-white! I obviously wasn't a virgin, and only virgins could wear white with a tiara bigger than Princess Di's. I stood there looking at myself, crying, not because I thought, "I'm so beautiful, this is so perfect," but because I was so horrified that this fluffy sparkly monster I was looking at was ME!
I had lost sight of what I was doing, and who I was doing it for. In fact, at month six of Wedding Boot Camp, I wasn't even sure I wanted to marry my boyfriend.
From the tacky wood-panelled hall, that of course every family member had been married in; to the moth ball smelling church that, yup that's right, every family member had been married in; to the 300 strangers I knew I would have to kiss -- all of it was just not me, and the whole thing had to stop.
We had been having problems in our relationship throughout this whole process, and even before the engagement. I have to wonder if his proposal, aside from family pressure, was also an attempt to keep us from drifting apart.
I thought that things would change between us if I accepted his proposal. I didn't know that there would be so much pressure attached to it. All the stress of the wedding didn't bring us closer; it pushed us even further apart.
Two weeks prior to D-day, I had gone out of town for a friend's wedding. The whole time I felt full of anxiety, inner turmoil and conflict. It was a good break to leave the city, turn off my phone for the weekend, and reflect.
I called my fiancée on the Sunday I was to return home to tell him I was about to head back to the city. As I was talking to him, there seemed to be a sense of disconnect between us. There was something off.
Instantly, I felt relieved. What I had realized being away from it all was that we were pushed into getting married, and neither of us was ready, nor wanted to marry one another.
We had been so caught up in making everyone around us content and proud that we lost sight of what made us happy. In the end, the mutual feeling was that we didn't make each other happy; we just weren't meant to be together. So we both contacted our families and called the whole thing off.
We continued living together for four months after the break-up. We didn't sleep in the same bed, nor did we talk. We didn't fight, as it seemed to be a decision we made together. I was just the first one to say it out loud.
I made a promise to myself back then that I was going to live my life for me. So, I put all of my belongings into storage; I moved out, and started to travel the world, just like I had always wanted.
We lost contact a year after I left because he said he still loved me, and it was too hard to be friends. He was my best friend, and I still have a deep love for him. I just knew he wasn't the one. I never looked back.
I constantly remind myself to only make choices based on what I want, and how I feel. I also tattooed a heart on my wedding finger. I love my life, and I often look down at my hand and feel the warm reminder that life is too short to live for others. My heart tattoo is the symbol of that courage.
By Christina Lee O'Brien
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>We Are All More Than Just Momstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32317042013-05-08T07:52:58-04:002013-05-08T10:19:26-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
Later that day, after the kids have gone to sleep, she has a moment to herself. She cries a little bit because the pressure of it all makes it difficult to breathe, and her heart seems to beat so damn fast all the time. She closes her eyes and shuts it all out. She tells herself that tomorrow will be a little bit easier. I can't handle all of this though, she thinks. I can handle this, she says out loud.
I walk up the main strip in my hood and see a mom breastfeeding her baby in a sling. She's chatting with her bud outside of a coffee shop, laughing and using hand gestures as if there were no baby there at all. She loves her baby so much. You can tell. She just looks like the type of woman who loves her baby more than herself. She is an Earth Mother, happily working around the clock for others. How does she give everything and not go crazy?
But the night before, she was up every hour feeding and shushing. She stroked the baby's head while singing softly to the screaming infant. At this moment, in front of the coffee shop, with her friend, she is talking about sleep schedules. This is her sanity right now; both the friend and the hope for sleep later, the plan of action. It's not that she loves talking about baby sleep and there's nothing else going on; it's that she is so tired she feels like she's going to snap. And she is not one to lose it. If she could just sleep, she could feel normal again, and her baby could have the care she wants to give.
As I walk, I see another woman with her two kids. She is always smiling. I love that she's always smiling. I sense that it is indeed an authentic smile; she does, in fact, feel happy, maybe even content. I surmise that she's probably really good at being in relationships, her marriage solid and unwavering.
As she walks with her children she's thinking, Should I go to the gym? I'm too tired to go the gym. It's boring there anyway. Maybe I'll give up bread for a few weeks to trim down my belly.Maybe buy some lingerie. She has been married a long time and wonders how she can keep things with her husband from going stale. She questions if he really still finds her attractive.
Later that night, her husband comes up behind her and plants a kiss on her neck. Right then, she forgets all about giving up bread and remembers that love is and was never about a flat stomach and a tight ass.
As I arrive at the park, I see all the mamas there. It's this melting pot of business owners; writers; painters; financiers; lawyers; domestic goddesses. With feet buried in the sand, they chat away, all the while trailing the toddler on the other side of the sand box. There are all kinds of individual style too. From bohemian, to plain, to comfortable, to straight up stylish. I'm struck by how beautiful they all look. There are conversations about partners, work, sex, new ventures, home renovations, schools, sushi delivery in the area, etc. They are all so different, yet the same in the sense that they are not only mothers. They are women.
I can't spot a single one-dimensional woman for miles. They don't exist. This woman, who lives and breathes only for her kids, who is defined by the existence of her children, doesn't exist. The only women I see today are women who slip in and out of being a friend, a partner, a professional, a creative, the house CEO; all the while being the best mothers they can.
These women remember what it was like before the baby arrived. They call their single friends to see how they are doing. They send a message to their little brother to ask how his job is going. They leave their kids for a weekend with the girlfriends they've had for 20 years. They get drunk and have sex with their husbands in peculiar places and precarious positions. They sit up with a girlfriend wiping away her tears, telling her it's going to be OK. They have ideas and think big and fantasize about things they think they shouldn't.
It's easy, and even natural for us to place people we see from afar into little categories, especially mothers. We view moms from the '50s as these one-dimensional caregivers, but in reality they never were. It was just society's perception of them that kept them boxed up in this depthless identity.
I seriously want to throw a party for all the mothers today because even though mothers have always possessed these layers, women today just seem to own them more.
At the party, I'd raise my glass to these ladies and say, "You are my heroes. Thank you for being more than just a mom."
And so, to all of you mothers out there today: Thank you for being more than just a mom.
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>A Day in the Life of a Momtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32317372013-05-07T17:26:16-04:002013-05-07T17:26:29-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/and you won't have gotten a work-out in. Get up. Whatever you do, remember the passport forms today.
Drive. Push it push it, spin, spin, spin. Do you want to waste away in your seventies? Look flabby in that "hot" one-piecer you just picked up? Then push it.
Drive home. Have you sent those thank you cards? I wonder how my friends are. How long has it been since I talked to Jen? Later.
Coffee, coffee, thank the Good Lord for coffee.
Kids in the house. Warm, sleepy, hugs. Delicious.
"Sorry, no yogurt today."
"I know you eat yogurt each and every day, but there's none today, and there's no toast either. There are some perfectly good Cheerios. Yes I am a failure as a mother, thank you very much."
Laundry, laundry, there's always laundry.
Exactly six more minutes until they need to be in school. If there's no food in their stomachs by then I'm a bad mother.
"EAT!!!! I DON'T CARE, PUDDING, CHICKEN LEGS, JUST GET SOME FOOD IN!" Was that the demon me?
"What is on your feet?" Still too cold for sandals, but sandals it is, what will her teacher say? Two minutes left. "Get those sandals on your feet. Where is your homework? WHERE IS YOUR HOMEWORK!?" Bad mother. Socks might help. No time for socks. Aren't I capable than more than these thoughts? But I love them. I love them to the ends of the earth, and I'm their mother, and that's the truth.
Work, work. Perpetually behind. What on earth did I do with my time before? Are my kid's feet freezing? Was it my turn for snack? What's on for the weekend? Birthday party. Present, card, dinner. Google recipes. Healthy, of course, and fabulous. List. I need a hot grocery list.
Imagine he had to do a monstrosity like Christmas? There's my fun thought for the day.
Present, done. Too much money, but fit the time window, all good. Groceries. How in the hell did this just cost $130, when it will only last two days? And I know I missed something. I hereby resolve to use every leftover that exists in my fridge from this day forward. I throw out too much. Guilt. Starving children. But what to do when my kids don't EAT anything? I hereby resolve to force my kids to eat something.
Pick-up. Greatest smiles and reunion ever. "How was school?" Nothing. Does that mean something? What are those moms looking at? What exactly are those moms looking at?
Old. So old. Lines, wrinkles, folds. Botox? Gym. I need new clothes. I shouldn't care.
Wine, wine, thank the Good Lord for wine.
"Eat, eat, for the love of God will you eat? And if anyone on this earth loves me, let what you eat be green."
I clean up. And now...
"Get clean." When I so expeditiously signed up for this role, did I realize two kids would mean I would have to shampoo hair and brush teeth every day for eight years? And they still somehow get cavities. Bad mother.
Stories, I do love stories. I'm two lines ahead, so I can read two lines well.
Snuggles, I do love snuggles.
I love your warm little body, but not necessarily your wide, open eyes, at this moment specifically. Would you just. Please. Fall. Asleep.
Husband time. Really? Bed time. I had the biggest plans. I would have solved the world's problems if I could have made it past 11 pm. Written the best novel. Sold my house on Kijiji. But I failed. Shocker, because it happened yesterday too. The passport forms! The thank-you cards! Bad mother.
Can't sleep, although I'm exhausted. Today's worries: Should I be doing more? Contributing more to society? Volunteering? I watch The News. I can talk politics. I have a few degrees. How do people find the time? Damn, I didn't call Jen.
It's 12:30 am: I'm awake, I'm awake. Noises. Puking? Run, you can save it, run, run, dangle him, dangle him, well, at least you got half of it. Wash bed or wash him? Need help, but he has to work, I can zombie. He helps! Shower sleepy, sick boy, Febreeze the bed. Throw out the pillow? Food poisoning? Fever? Hospital? No fever of 104 so they'll politely tell me I'm an idiot. Sleep half-awake and monitor, that will do. I hope to God that will do. Is he okay?
Are they okay?
Until the day I die: Are. They. Okay?
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I kind-of get it now. It's hard, but I wouldn't trade it for anything either.
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
Visit The Purple Fig On Facebook On Twitter]]>I Lost All My Hair, But I Feel More Beautiful Than Evertag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.31864262013-05-01T12:24:49-04:002013-05-01T12:24:58-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
It always shocks people when I tell them I'm bald. They typically don't believe it until I show them pictures of me without a wig on. It hasn't always been this easy for me to talk about it though.
Three years ago I was diagnosed with Lupus and three other diseases. I couldn't believe that at the age of 27, a single mother, working and going to college full-time, I was being told that I had these incurable diseases. I didn't even know what Lupus was. I then learned that Lupus is an autoimmune disease in which the body's immune system begins to attack itself. One of the first places Lupus attacked me was my hair follicles. It caused me to lose all of the hair in the middle of my head.
While Lupus also attacked my heart, my brain, and caused seizures, I'll be honest, as a woman, the thing that bothered me most was losing my hair. Going out into the world was hard, because of course people would stare. People either thought I was trying to be super edgy or they pitied me because they knew I was sick. It wasn't until after about six months that I finally got to the point where I saw my newfound look as something cool. I realized I had options. I could wear hair if I wanted to, or I could shave my head and look like a "model." I could look however I wanted to, rather than be tied to covering my baldness with a wig or a weave.
Prior to finding out I had Lupus, I had thick shoulder length hair. The hardest part about the hair loss for me was the fact that I only lost my hair in the middle. Once I finally decided to go bald, I actually had to cut my hair in the back to finish shaving it. It's ironic because when I had hair, I was a very insecure person. Our society bases so much of our self esteem on how we look, but once how you "look" is taken away from you, you have to learn a new ideal of what self esteem is.
I now use my bald head as a walking billboard to educate people about Lupus.
In October of 2010 I started a non profit foundation called The Purple Rose Foundation to educate people about the disease and empower them. I want to let them know that whether it is hair loss, or crazy face rashes or scars, it doesn't stop them from being beautiful. I'm passionate about spreading Lupus awareness because even though almost 2-million Americans are diagnosed every year, most people don't even know what it is.
Just the other day I met a little 10-year-old girl who was diagnosed with Lupus three years ago. She was very insecure because Lupus meds had stunted her growth. I lifted up my wig and I showed her my bald head. I told her that no matter what this disease does to her, as long as she feels beautiful, she is beautiful. I love that what used to make me feel ashamed, I can now use to help empower other people as they battle this disease. I may have Lupus but Lupus does not have me. Hair or no hair, I am me and I love it!
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.
]]>It Is Impossible For Me To Say "I'm Sorry"tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.31566852013-04-26T18:10:11-04:002013-04-26T18:10:29-04:00The Purple Fighttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-purple-fig/
I'm sorry, but this I know be the truth.
The root of my problem is this misguided notion that apologizing is a sign of weakness. I am self-prejudicial in this belief -- that is, I don't think it makes others look weak, only me.
I had a difficult childhood. I know that everyone has a sad story to tell and mine isn't particularly unique in that regard. Like many children who grow up in instability and dysfunction, there comes a very clear (and very cliché) fork in the road where a decision has to be made: you either succumb to the life you are living or you take control of it. And so, there it was. I was no longer going to be a victim and that meant that I wasn't going to apologize for who I was or what I did.
I didn't expect that my decision to be unapologetic would result in an inability to apologize. The prospect of having to make an apology is absolutely agonizing for me. Often I muster the courage to make an apology, then wimp out, convincing myself that the issue was no big deal or the apology would not make a big difference. Other times, I retreat to the safety of an email apology or an apology gift.
I also didn't think that so many facets of my adult life would be impacted as they have. Issues linger unnecessarily, relationships suffer and misperceptions of my character are created. I see the frustration on my partner's face as he shakes his head and says, "You are never wrong; it is never your fault." I recognize the resentment in my sister's voice when she makes comments about "my perfect life, my perfect house, my perfect family and my perfect bank account."
The problem is that I look back at myself as a scared and helpless child, and I don't want to risk going back there. So, I have also found other ways to rationalize my unapologetic nature.
I don't want to be on apology autopilot. You know, those people who say sorry with no intention of ever rectifying their behavior or truly being remorseful. For example, the friend who is always late, the dinner guest who always flakes, or the partner who always cheats. They always apologize, but they are repeat offenders. The way I see it, an apology without action is worse than no apology at all. I guess the question is: what is action without an apology?
Also, I don't need to apologize just because I am a woman. It may be a broad an over-sweeping generalization that women apologize more than men, but one that I think of nonetheless. What is really going on here? Do I believe women are more grateful, polite, and aim to keep the peace more than men? Are we culturally superior and strive for harmony? Or, are we socialized to be self-deprecating and detrimentally apologetic even when we are not at fault?
Both. I would like to think that women are more aware, conscientious and therefore, are quicker to show remorse or express gratitude. However, I cannot deny that I also believe that there are adverse consequences of apologizing or suggesting fragility, including impacts on self-esteem, confidence and image.
And sometimes I am sorry and not sorry at all, both at the same time. I know there are times when my words have been hurtful. Had I known this would be the result, I wouldn't have said the things I said. For this I am often truly and deeply sorry, as there was no malicious intent behind the words. While I know that I should have kept my mouth shut, I also feel that I have a right to my opinion and to share my thoughts, especially when they are solicited. I don't think I should feel sorry for that.
When I look at the world around me and the people I respect, I know that apologizing builds character; it does not break it down. Feeling regret and remorse makes you empathetic, relatable and sincere, and most importantly, not delusional about your perfection. When others make heartfelt apologies, I don't scoff at how pathetic they look, but regard this self-awareness with admiration.
When I take a good look at myself and see the problem I have with saying sorry, I know deep down inside that I will never change, at least not in the profound way that I am expected to. I may take baby steps but I won't be able to throw apologies around freely, often or even when needed.
The truth is that I have been unapologetic for longer than I have been apologetic, and now that is part of who I am. Sure, sometimes this part of me is a total asshole. Sometimes this part of me is just a scared little girl who doesn't want to look back. Most of the time however, this is the part of me that is steadfast, strong and independent. I won't apologize for that.
By Amana Manori
The Purple Fig is a community where women share personal and relatable stories; no ego, no shame. We're about life, love and all of the stuff that makes us yearn, squirm, and giggle. These stories make up the authentic and intriguing journey of a woman.