Marrying George Clooney

Time to air some laundry.
Hollye & I decided to share our “shame stories” with the hope that maybe, just maybe, anyone & everyone who is feeling … yes, shame … will feel that a) they’re not alone, and b) they can share their stories.

everyone is invited to this prom.

we’re calling it tada:

THE SHAME PROM.
so here is our (amy & hollye) first dance:

(Amy’s)

Shame, shame, shame. (Sounds just like an Aretha Franklin song doesn’t it?)

I’m wearing it on my sleeve, right next to my lovely floral corsage.

I am carrying inside of me the shame of believing, “It’s all my fault, I did something wrong, so I deserve this sadness and pain and suffering. And I have to make it better. And I need to apologize for whatever it is I did that made someone angry, bitter, hateful, mean.”

THIS IS MY DEEP SHAME.

This (incorrect) belief system originated many, many years ago, when I would come home from a friend’s house, or school and I would be crying because my friend and I had a fight, or something happened in school, and I would be sobbing and my mother would say: “Amy, what did YOU do?” And of course, I would immediately feel smaller, sadder, less than. Invisible. Unimportant. Discarded. I would feel god awful because I was made to feel and believe it was my fault. And of course I would feel as if nothing I did was good enough or worthy. So i was always trying to fix the problem, make something better, mend it, repair it. Apologize. And I would do whatever I could to make it better, to make it right, because I truly deeply believed it was my fault.

And, I never, ever felt better. I just felt more invisible and powerless. I felt completely and utterly unimportant. And good god, if I didn’t do something to make it better, I would be alone. That scared me to death. Not being included, being forgotten. Holy shit, did that scare me. Wow. That scared me.

And now that feeling, that “OH MY GOD WHAT DID I DO?”, is rearing it’s god awful, guilty, fearful ugly head again. It has a lot to do with the loss of my relationship with my brother, and the loss of the spiritual, or more truthfully, “Religious” organization i belonged to for many, many, many (35) years. The feeling of I need to do something, fix something, mend something, make it better. Repair it. MAKE. IT. WORK. MAKE. IT. BETTER. MAKE. IT. RIGHT.

But the other much more enlightened piece of me, another part of me says: STOP IT. Not your fault. There are many sides. You don’t need to own someone else’s shit. And yeah… you were mistreated, betrayed, treated badly. Discarded. STOP IT. YOU DON’T NEED TO FIX THIS, OR MAKE THIS BETTER. You don’t need this person’s love, approval, acceptance.

It’s hard – excruciating – for me to see that, accept that, to understand and believe that ‘truth.’

And so there in lies the battle.

And trust me, it is a huge battle. An internal battle. I can feel it right in my soul, in my solar plexis. I can. And in that battle is a whole lot of shit: guilt, fear, self-doubt, retreating, self-criticism, pain.
SHAME. SHAME. SHAME.

But… I’m pretty sure this is the moment where i get to let go of that god awful misguided pain and incorrect belief system that began in that little girl, (and grew up in this woman) who believed that everything bad that happened was her doing, her fault, her problem to solve.

The old me: the one who feels that she has to make it better, APOLOGIZE, shrink. Ask for forgiveness. It’s all her fault. The one who seeks approval, needs permission.

The new me: the one who feels it’s time to move on, let go, FORGIVE MYSELF, be big, release the guilt and doubt and self-defeat. To save my own life. To take responsibility for my life. To take charge. To stop looking for permission.

And yes, it’s easier said than done. Much fucking easier. After all, it took years to get here.

But I know it’s the right time to be here. At this place. At this ‘Shame Prom,’ it’s time to stop the self-slander, the self doubt. The self-loathing, and yes, it’s time to let the flower on the corsage bloom, and let the “shame bud” die out.

(Hollye’s)

Shame is a ball and chain around your soul that keeps you from living an authentic life. When you keep it buried deep inside you, it saps your energy, steals your joy.

Amy and I have been talking a lot about this, and decided this is the year we release ours. We decided it would be a bit less scary to write about it together, you know- hold hands and jump off the cliff Thelma and Louise style (but we expect a much better outcome). She said “What if we call it our shame prom?” I knew right where she was going.
Yes, I said, a shame prom. Let’s parade it out in public, dance it around on our arm. Let’s take awkward pictures with it. But afterward, let’s not roll around in the backseat making out with it any more. Let’s break up with it.

So here is my shame: Inside, I feel like a colossal failure. A total loser.
Where this affects me the most is in my career.

There were many years I worked in the corporate world, and earned good money. I even carried the financial burden while Troy built up his music career. But after that …it’s a joke. Not that I haven’t been doing things, or having a career. I ran my own nonprofit organization for seven years, and it was successful. But I didn’t get paid. I’ve worked as a singer for almost 20 years, but if I lived on that income alone I’d be on welfare. My albums were a total loss. I had a clothing business that built up to some national success, but… it burned down and I went bankrupt.

So why am I such a terrible earner?

I had a realization the other day, talking to my neighbor. She makes beautiful handmade quilts, and now that she’s out of a job, she was thinking of selling them but felt kind of awkward about it, at which point I gave her this advice:
“Why should you feel bad about selling them? Money is just a symbol of gratitude, one that says I value your work. Why shouldn’t you let others value the work you do?”
And of course I caught myself. Hellooooo??? Look who’s talkin’!

I realized that, dammit, no matter how much work I’ve done on myself, there is this message so deeply imprinted in me that I am not valuable. It started with the fact that I was an unwanted pregnancy and without going into detail let’s just say my childhood experiences continued to validate that feeling. I absorbed and believed it before I was old enough to even understand it. I know better now. I know I have value to add to the world, but I haven’t been able to shake that tattoo on my soul-“Unwanted”.

So no, I am not surprised that my book hasn’t sold, that I have no gigs booked for this year. If I don’t see myself as valuable, how will anyone else? I am truly embarrassed that I am this way. I want to be better.

It’s time for me to redesign that soul tattoo. I have no idea how, but I thought admitting this defect would help me to see that maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe we can all figure this out together.

The love from my husband, children and friends has healed me in so many ways, but I still have much work to do on myself. It will most likely be a lifelong project, correcting what was broken in my foundation. I’m going to start by praying about it, and reaffirming the good things in my life, and giving myself some credit for the valuable things I’ve done. That’s a start.

Like my real prom, I’d like to leave the Shame prom in my rearview mirror.

i am in awe of my girlfriends. i am. why lie about it, it just comes back to bite you on the ass.
these women, my friends, every single day they hang their laundry out and share it and in the process, give another woman HOPE. COURAGE. the ability to look right smack in the mirror and say, “Okay, today i’m gonna try one more time…” these women slay me.
i have been depressed, sad, overwhelmed for a good part of the past few weeks. ken turned 70, and truthfully, that was and is hard for me. i watch as he navigates some aches and pains and memory lapses, and my heart hurts. he is the love of my life. there is no second. no runner up. i got lucky. it has also been two years (to the day) since i last saw my mom before she passed, and while ours was a difficult at best relationship, there was much about her i enjoyed. i loved when she hung up on me, slamming the phone for extra added ummmph, and refused to answer the phone for what felt like 102 girl hours. she was always in some punishment mode. but the thing is, when she calmed down and my valium kicked in, we met half way. she had me bawling when she said, “you’re my best friend, i missed you so.” i was – at that point in her life – one of a handful of ‘best’ friends, so best wasn’t a big announcement. although i would wager my sister in law was also her friend, and a good friend at that. theirs was a strained yet lovely relationship like most relationships my mother engaged in. but my mom being my mom had a hard time sharing the love. she came from the “all or nothing” school of generosity. no wonder we all got the short end.

so, yeah these are challenging times. financially, emotionally, creatively, sexually, psychologically. they feel thick with worry and heavy with responsibility. some days, honest to god, all i can do is pray that i will embrace, envelope, meditate, and learn. it feels like a gigantic learning opportunity, one i have had many times, but this one seems the final installment and yes, a challenge, and a good one.

i have this passion – actually hollye & i have this grand passion & need – this desire to pool all women together, from all walks of life, FROM EVERY WHICH WHERE – sort of like a WOMEN’S COLLECTIVE. write, embrace, share, talk about our issues, all issues, how best to help our children, the elderly, how best to galvanzie this country into a UNITED STATES. hear our differences, be open hearted about our individual stuggles, honor our choices, let it loose, ramble on. we ALL each of us, have something vital to say.

like i said, i am in awe of all my women friends.
they do truly deeply slay me.

i really would like to be funny right now, but i gotta say, i’m not really feeling it. i spent a week in mexico, and while the first 5 days were delightful, my kindle broke the minute i got there (god only knows) and so i was without my favorite past time – reading. trust me, it was fucking excruciating. i love reading, it’s like breathing but better. i get to inhale and exhale and imagine and create and make believe, like the rest of the reading tribe. so, yes, my kindle broke, and i was stuck with a “ta-da” kripalu catalogue. ken was smarter, he bought a book at the airport. i of course, was blushing arrogantly as he tossed his thick book onto the seat of the plane and announced: a vacation, a book, “ah hah, i thought, gotcha.” i downloaded 3 books, and i have 40 some odd hidden away in this tiny sexy object, so there.

well, ken won.

his one book proved to be his life saver. mine was reading and re-reading and re-reading to the point of memorization the entire kripalu catalogue (with a few recipes thrown in) to the point of nausea. do you have any idea how many workshops there are for women who are having breakdowns – nervous, physical, emotional, sexually and otherwise? it appears, and rightfully so, that women in their late 40′s and early 50′s and beyond, are truly deeply searching for a more joyful, purposeful life. we’re not looking for work, we’re searching for our life’s calling, we’re not seeking a mate, we’re truly searching for a companion. we aren’t settling any longer for toxic friends, were looking for equality in our daily lives and boy oh fucking boy do we deserve it. we have settled for mediocrity for as long as our mothers have told us that children should be seen AND NOT HEARD, seen and not heard. wow. be pretty, stand still. keep to yourself. don’t say a word. wait to be seated. go play with karen. don’t leave the house, no you can’t speak now. you are not in pain. i will tell you when you’re in pain. be a good girl. don’t make trouble.

which brings me to:

sarah palin & gabby giffords.
two extremely different women.

one woman has what appears to be a gorgeous, genuine selfless calling. a woman who truly, undoubtedly believes that her purpose on this earth is to unite, create value, help bring a country together, heal all wounds, and give hope a chance. and boy oh boy, talk abut fulfilling one’s mission: she has brought and continues to bring this country together piece by piece, on our knees, through her most unbearable courage. she wields a sword of dignity and grace and humanity. an example for each and every one of us to engrave and carry. a husband who truly honors her, loves her desperately, who stands shoulder to shoulder with her. she is a feminine soul. a woman with grand intention. her heart and spirit it seems is right on par with the hatred and violent act that was witnessed on saturday. i am always in awe and often reminded that an act of evil is often met head on with equal weight in it’s stunning heart stopping heroism and courage. powerful is not a big enough word.

faith and fear. flip sides of a coin.

and then the other woman, strong, and forceful. a gust of mighty wind that seems to rattle the very foundation we stand on. she is not a woman who comes from a place of calm and comfort and ease. she is a woman armed with ego, the need to be shine brightly. to be a star, she is a fighter, a beauty, with a strong sense of her own entitlement. she will not go away quietly. she is a force of nature. good bad, indifferent, she will stir the pot. she is not a selfless woman, she is masculine fighter. she goes for the jugular.

these past five days, the emotion, the fear, the worry, the unease, the pain … this was about civility. america. healing. wounds. this was about putting the I CAN back in AMERICAN. this was and is about the divide we have in this country that is palpable at best, in your face at worst. and i for one find it remarkable, that at this time, THIS TIME IN HISTORY we have two women, two passions. two power houses that are as opposite as opposite can be.

we cried & cry – deeply – for gabby giffords, her recovery. we root for her. for her soul & spirit, for her to wake up, be strong and mend and HELP US HEAL. we need her to heal to heal us. she has a huge mission. she is a bright star. she will not dim, because she will not fade away. she must not fade away, she is what we woman need. an example of grace and humanity. a soul-sister. we call on women like gabby to mentor us. to lead us.

we were angered – rightfully so – when ms. palin put on her own 8 minute ‘presidential pilot script (with hope for a full 4 season pick up, no doubt)’ reprimanding journalists and pundits for manufacturing a blood libel that serves only to incite the very hatred and violence they purport to condemn. a blood libel. poorly chosen words. thoughtless words. nothing mentioned, not a word, about gabby, or dorothy morris, or judge john m. toll, or phyllis schneck, or dorwin stoddard, or gabe zimmerman. not a mention about husbands and wives and partners, spouses, or the suffering endured. not a word about comforting, all geared to conflict and confrontation. she is every siblings nightmare sister. not a word mentioned about christina taylor green. one would think and hope and believe as a mother that ms. palin would honor this child. acknowledge her, comfort the grieving parents within that 8 minute “woo is me” speech.

but that’s the point.
these are two entirely different women.

we’re at a crossroads, a turning point in history, as hollye dexter so brilliantly pointed out today: these are OUR opportunities, folks, our chances. they are right here now. in front of us.

we women have a massive role to play. HUGE. MASSIVE. we play it everyday. we are peacemakers, lovers, friends, comrades, we are spiritual advisors, we are mothers, daughters, wives, sisters. we have the ability to stand up and stand tall, to rise above the bullshit. if we see a woman leading us astray, it is our obligation to stop them from going down the wrong road. nothing wrong with a little political GPS training.

because after all these years, the one thing we oughta know with our eyes closed:
a good mother, a kind mother, a smart mother will offer everyone food and have them sit around a table, and laugh and joke and say: at this house, you are my child.

sarah palin is a self-promoting power hungry beauty queen. she often plays dirty. school yard bully dirty. she and her gang of four, walking and talking around this country throwing second amendment rights in the middle of shopping mall conversations, using language and tough talk as if it’s sexy. It isn’t sexy sarah. sexy is soft power. anyone ever tell you that? sexy and smart and funny hold there own. she asks us to restore the American precept that each individual is accountable for his/her actions. well, ms. buttercup, what about you? what’s you game-plan? Break some hearts, win ‘em back? bad, bad strategy.

gabby giffords is a star. She is all mighty, holding her own. Fighting for her life. Without any warning, she set the bar much, much higher. She knew – SHE KNEW – we needed to stop this bullshit, become united, fight for this country, our country. the diversity, the beauty, the passion.

i for one would rather jump as high as I can, than play “how low can you go” with a limbo (or should i say LIMBAUGH) stick.

that’s so, you know … junior high.

WORDS…
can heal.
can hurt.
can sting.
can linger.
create peace.
cause war.
mend broken hearts.
lift a spirit.
create a hell.
stir up heaven.
offer kindness.
insight hate.
cloud your head.
fill your soul.
create chaos.
change your life.
change your mind.

words.
words.
words.
words.
one. many. alone. together. in a sentence. a paragraph. on the page. on a screen. in your head. on a napkin. in a book. a journal. scribbled down. etched in stone. as a note. in a letter. in an email. in the sky.

power. words are power.

the most powerful.
never underestimate the power & importance of words.

it begins with a word.

it does. when you read;
a newspaper, or a daily post about a heinous, horrible tragedy it makes you want to cry, crawl into a ball, be fearful, scared, worried. shut down, run away. and yes, oh, yes, hide.
a letter that comes from a friend or lover or child you feel safe and warm, and your heart skips. oh, yes, a beat or two.
a dear john/jane letter makes you sad, lonely, wondering what you said, did, didn’t do. didn’t say. a word.
a monthly phone/electric/mortgage/credit card bill that arrives in the mail maybe, oh just maybe you fill up with all the fear, worry, and helplessness that arrives with it.
a funny book or short story can make you laugh, smile, and fill you with joy.
a great blog will make you wish you knew the person.
a thank you note often fills you with gratitude & appreciation for having thought of someone, given to someone, made someone’s day.
an obituary of a loved one, or liked one, or an acquaintance can fill you with wishing, wishing you could have said one more word. just one more word.

WORDS JUST WORDS stay with us, live with us, haunt us, cure us, remind us, lift us, tear us down, build us up, replenish us, redeem us, give us hope, fill us with courage, make us feel small, insignificant, useless, powerful, mighty. useful. strong. that all and everything is possible.

they are often misconstrued, misspelled, misinterpreted, misleading.

words.

they live in our hearts, in our heads, in our souls, in our lives.

they are us.

okay, it’s been a rough few days, but my sista’s in faith & life: monica, hollye & linda have gotten me through. we all seem to be walking through the fire. and boy oh fucking boy, we are not only walking through the fire of self doubt & fear & worry, but…. smoke & ash, we’re coming out on the other side full force. bravo to us, BRAVO.

i’m here in mexico. ken as you all know by now, is turning the big SEVEN OH. i’ve had a few panic attacks, and due to my complete ability to be both a hot sexy compassionate soul while screaming at the top of my lungs at yes the very same time, he felt awfully confused by my personality rig set up these past few weeks. wondering who the heck he was married to all these years. i explained it was menopause, ” the last throws.” for the record, he is so fucking sick of menopause. men-o-shit he says.
so…
mexico.
for starters, tits and ass. oh let me write this correctly: tits & ass. unbelievable. we’re in an area where cleavage has it’s own stop sign. i feel inadequate, but for the first time in my life, i am embracing my body fully. i too have tits and an ass, but not quite as toned, or sculpted, or even dare i say, re-shaped. i have the original body parts. and tonight when we were walking down some busy street and someone who looked just like snooki ran over to a guy and draped her legs around him and kissed him so hard my lips were starting to pucker…i turned to ken who seemed somewhat comatose, and said, “hon…would you like that? is that kinda girl your dream girl?” and he looked at me, and looked at her, and said the best thing ever:
“good god no, she couldn’t make me laugh and love life the way you do. nah, i’d take you any day.”
“really? even with the tight firm perfect ass, and long, long, legs and perfect breasts? really”
“don’t push it.”

so here’s to us women.
the real deal.
no pulling & tucking & stretching & pulling and turning ourselves into retroactive trout. here’s to THE REAL WOMEN OF DINGMANS FERRY, PA. we’re “BOWLING TROPHY WIVES.”
and this blog is for my great friend kathy bumball, who makes living in DF a whole lot better.
thanks ms. bumball.
for the friendship, the candy, the humor, and the laughter, and for proving that double D’s are really snow tires.