I Rise

At my wedding, my dad noticed a group of 9 beautiful, independent women that were all dressed similarly and asked one of them why they were all dressed alike, Jill’s response? “We’re Andrea’s bitches.” Now, mind you if I’ve ever called them bitches it was said as a term of endearment or with regard to them being “boss bitches” handling their shit without relying on someone to handle it for them. In fact, these women, my tribe, are some of the most incredible, intelligent, successful, fun loving, hard hitting, take-no-shit, kind, generous and loving women I have ever met. Some of these relationships go back decades and some within the past few years, but all of them add such value to my life, I can’t imagine going through it without them. Now, before you think I only have 9 friends, that’s not the case. I have a lot of female friends that I enjoy spending time with, learning from, being silly with and just enjoying life with; at least from my perspective I do, they may say otherwise! However, there was a time when I wasn’t so certain about the quality and authenticity of the friendships I have with other women.

A few months ago a male friend and I were chatting about friendships and he made an observation that I had known for a long time, but hadn’t really put into words or even spent much time thinking about. He said, “most women act like they like other women, but the really don’t do they?” At first I was like, “Hell no, women aren’t like that…” and then I actually thought about a lot of the women I know. There are tons of women out there that talk about empowering other women, that make motivational posts, talk about how we need to lift each other up, but their actions speak volumes more than their empty words. Why, when another women succeeds do some women feel the need to attack her? Why do they come up with excuses as to why she’s succeeded or provide examples of when she’s not? It’s because she’s good on her back or she’s related to so-and-so or she just fell into that role…these are all things I’ve heard women say about other women that have had successes. Why? Why do some women feel that one woman’s success is a threat to another’s or their own? Why is there an issue with genuinely celebrating the accomplishments and wins of one woman without having to make excuses for it. This saddens me.

Now, before you get all, “not every woman is like this” with me, I am well aware of that fact. In fact, my tribe is full of women that genuinely celebrate the successes of others without feeling the need to explain it away. They know that when one of us succeeds it increases the likelihood that more of us will succeed. But, I’ve not always been so lucky, I’ve spent many years in relationships that didn’t add to my life in a positive way, attempting to nurture relationships that may have run their course, no longer give and take relationships but increasingly becoming take and take and take and take relationships. Relationships with people that when you see it’s them calling, you immediately let it go to voicemail because you can see what the person needs from you before you actually have to expend the energy talking to them. Now, I know every relationship shifts in balance from time to time, sometimes you take more, sometimes you give it. What I’m referring to are those friends that you’re finding yourself constantly giving to. They’re exhausting and after you’ve given all that you have to give; emotionally, mentally, financially, whatever, and you’re left wondering what value that person brings to your life. If you have to think about what you’re getting out of the relationship, maybe you need to be getting out of the relationship.

When I got divorced, I realized that I didn’t have many “Andrea” friends, I had “Andrea and Scott” friends, but only one or two that were just for me. I’m so grateful that to this day one of those friends remains one of my dearest and closest friends. That one person that no matter how much time goes by, the instant we’re in the same room together, it’s laughs and giggles, hugs and love, encouragement and praise…a friendship that will undoubtedly live on, for as long as we do! I digress, I was so starved for female friendships, because I had, like many women, had been so focused on tending to my family, my house, my job, my blah, blah, blah…that I’d forgotten to tend the garden that produces the most, my friendship garden. I’d let the weeds of being someone’s wife, mother, employee, student, whatever, choke out the true friendships that we all need. Here I was, 37 years old, and without the types of friends that I could call to just say hi to, no one to go grab a drink with, to bounce ideas and professional questions off of…I’d allowed myself to be completely consumed with being someone’s something, that I’d completely lost sight of me as an individual.

Slowly I began letting women into my life, it actually started with the gym. I started going to the gym as a way of dealing with the stress of divorce and in an attempt to not kill my teenage children…it definitely helped, they’re both still alive and well today! The gym provided me an opportunity to meet other women in the community and to feed off their power, the power to do for oneself. It was an almost foreign concept for me. Up to this point I had always been someone else’s something. This was the first time I was truly doing something for me. I’ve made lots of female friends through the gym, even switching gyms, and some are just as strong today as they were 10 years ago, some stronger and some have fallen away…and while those were difficult to accept then, I know now that it’s ok. What I’ve come to learn is that just as we evolve as people, I know I’m not the same person I was 10 years ago, my relationships evolve and sometimes we outgrow some friends.

So, if I’m so happy with my friendships and the tribe that I have, why bother bringing up those women that find it difficult to cheerlead for other women? I brought that up because just as our relationships need to grow and evolve, it’s through personal growth and evolution that we can identify and nurture the truly valuable relationships. Think about this, if you struggle with celebrating the wins of other women, ask yourself why. Why does it bother you to be able to cheer on another woman? If you find yourself questioning another woman’s successes, are you afraid that people won’t notice yours? Are you worried that others will think you haven’t earned your success? If you’ve ever had to call out someone’s failures to minimize their success is it because you think others are doing this when you succeed? I am so very fortunate to be at a place in my life where I can confidently and comfortably remove myself from the friendships where I see others doing this. I used to worry that if I stopped putting energy into these types of relationships that it made me a bad friend, or that I would become the next target. What I’ve come to recognize is that it makes me a better friend, to my true friends, but more importantly to myself. And don’t get me wrong, I’m far from the perfect friend; I often let too much time pass between check-ins with friends, I don’t always remember birthdays, I forget plans that I’ve made…but rest assured, if you win, I’ll be cheering for you. If you lose, I’ll be cheering even louder, whether you’re my friend or not.

Build your tribe, surround yourself with those that encourage you, push you, challenge you, support you and love you. Don’t waste time with those that suck the energy from you, that use you, that don’t encourage you or speak ill of you when you’re not around. Don’t bother with those that can’t celebrate your wins or the wins of women they don’t know. As women, we should all be celebrating each other’s successes and when you celebrate other women, especially those you don’t really know, you’ll find the tribe that you build enriches your life in ways you could never before imagine. So, virtually high-five all the women out there, send them some mental “atta girls” and the next time you hear someone tear down another woman for her success, whether you know her or not, just walk away…there’s a good chance you won’t be the only bitch (boss bitch) walking away…and you could be walking straight into your tribe.

(Oh, and for those keeping score, I know it’s been more than a week since my last blog…you know, where I promised to write once a week…at least it’s not 2 years…)

I Rise ~ Andrea

April of 2019…that’s the last time I blogged and when I wrote then, I wrote about how a young woman’s desire to lose weight inspired me to write. So, what’s changed and why has it taken me this long to write again? Well, a lot is the answers. A lot has happened to me and with me and that’s why it’s been almost 2 years since I’ve written. But that’s not the REAL reason WHY I haven’t written. I haven’t written for fear of being harshly judged for my words, for my thoughts and for my feelings. I’ve feared that my written words would become ammunition for those that don’t have my best interests, or those of my loved ones, at heart. I worried that expressing my thoughts and emotions would be used to fuel petty conversations and create fodder for those looking to take cheap shots at me and my family. Then I had the most insightful conversation with Brittany, a friend from many years ago, this weekend.

Brittany and I talked about how I used to blog often and she asked why I hadn’t in so long as it’s clearly something I’m passionate about. At first I began with, “I don’t really have anything to say” which we all know is bullshit because if there’s one thing I’m not its being at a loss for words, and then I was honest with her. I told her I was tired of having to worry about my words being used against me or my husband (yep, after almost 5 months, I’m finally getting used to calling him that). Her response was so simple and perfect, I’m not sure why I’d never thought of it before. She asked me if that was already happening, to which I responded that it was. She asked if that was the case than what difference did it make if I blogged or not. Obviously, there would always be those that would say what they wanted, regardless if I was pursing my passion for blogging or not. And she’s right, it doesn’t matter if I keep my words to myself or if I put them in print, there will always be someone, or someones, that will say what they want to regardless if there was any truth or substance to their words. I promised her that I’d start blogging again…so if you get tired of it, you can blame Brittany. (Seriously lady, I appreciate that conversation more than you will ever know….I just hope you read this!)

Here’s the thing that REALLY bugs me, more than me staying silent (relatively speaking) for the past, almost, 2 years. I would be the first person to say to someone else, “don’t let others’ insecurities be the reason you stay quiet. Who cares what other people think, you do you and to hell with anyone else.” And yet, I’d never thought to utter those words to myself. I’d never thought to give myself my own advice. As I’m writing this, I can think of so many other scenarios where this is the case. I tell people often that they need to take care of themselves and before you know it I’m going on 4 days with very little sleep, over promising to everyone and not worrying about refilling my own tank. Yet if I see someone else doing this, I’m so ready to remind them that they need to fill that tank because running on empty is a breakdown waiting to happen. Risk taking; I’m great with bolstering the confidence of others when faced with a risk yet get so much anxiety when it’s me facing these risks that I will break out, lose sleep, turn into super-bitch because the anxiety is eating me alive. More often than I can count the reality of the risk is very minor in comparison to what I make it in my head…and yet when faced with another risk, its the same cycle.

Why do we do that? Why do I do that? Why am I so good at giving other people advice and giving them confidence to believe in themselves and yet I can’t give myself that same boost? I don’t know if it stems from being bullied when I was younger, if it’s because I’ve always been in supportive roles in many relationships rather than someone that asks for support, or if society has something to do with it – you know the whole, toot your own horn thing. I do know that I have something to offer others, even if it’s just an opportunity for you to take a peak into my twisted mind (just a peak though, I don’t want to scare you) for entertainment purposes or to give an alternate opinion on things, get you to exercise your own noggin. And I shouldn’t care what others think, my thoughts are my thoughts, right? So, at the risk of the meat grinder in my belly switching to overdrive, I am going to make 3 promises right now.

1. I WILL blog once a week – even if I have absolutely nothing of substance to say, which could happen quite often. I am committed to spending time each week reflecting, processing and sharing my thoughts with anyone that wants to read them.
2. I WILL NOT sensor my thoughts to feed the worry I may have about how my words may be used and by whom. When I am tempted to, I’ll remind myself of what I’d tell others, “Fuck em! You do you boo!”
3. I will remind myself as often as I can that just because there are shitty insecure people in this world that need to spend time talking about, making fun of and worrying about others’ lives that the issue is theirs alone and not mine. That I will continue to live my life for me, my husband (see used it again), my family and those that I love; to be better for them, to take more risks for them and to take care of me for them.

Initially, I had no intention of making this blog all about my insecurities, it was simply going to be an introduction into why it’s been so long since my last blog. Apparently though, my subconscious had other plans, not an unusual thing. Maybe I needed to get it all out like a purging of the bad juju so I can continue forward working on the good. Maybe this entry was like a session with my therapist, although cheaper, forcing me to look at why I do and say things for others that I don’t do or say for myself. Maybe I thought there are others out there that aren’t saying what they want to say or doing what they want to do because of the same fears that I have…or maybe it’s a combination of all of these things. Whatever the reason, I obviously needed to make this an entire post in itself.

Thank you for taking the time to read my rambling thoughts and words, remember that no one should keep you from pursuing your passions, from censoring your thoughts and words and from sharing your gifts with the world. If you need a reminder, just ask, I’ve got you!

I Rise ~ Andrea

I was notified yesterday that it had been an entire year since I last logged in on this page and more than a year since my last post. Things have been a bit hectic, but I also felt like I didn’t really have anything worth writing about. That is until I saw someone’s post on Facebook today.

I saw a post today from a young woman, not someone that I’m friends with on Facebook, but someone that tagged a friend of mine so I was able to read her post. She talked about how tomorrow was the beginning of a new lifestyle for her – one of health and wellness. She posted a picture from years ago when she was obviously smaller and one from when she was obviously very pregnant and stated it was her motivational post. A post to help her get back to what she thought was ideal, then stated that she’s not proud of who she had become. It made me very, very sad. When I look at her picture from her pregnancy, I see a very happy, glowing new mom and her partner, smiling from ear to ear in anticipation of the birth of their baby. And I realized that I’ve been shaming myself on who I’ve become (physically) over the past few years without taking stock of all of the wonderful reasons why.

No, I haven’t had a baby – not something I’d really look forward to at this stage of my life, but I have had a number of life altering things that have happened that have contributed to my weight gain. Over the past 5 years, I have gained almost 40 pounds. I know many of you still think I work out a lot, and compared to some people, I do. But, the intensity isn’t there and neither is the consistency. Over the past 5 years I’ve become more disheartened by my own appearance, often saying some pretty mean things to myself when I am getting dressed or catch a glimpse of myself when I’m getting out of the shower…things I would give my friends shit about if I ever heard them say it to themselves. Yet, I do it.

I’m not unhealthy – my diet consists mainly of good foods; lean proteins, fruits, veggies, whole grains…I drink a boat load of water every day, and I try to get a workout in at least 4 times a week. Some weeks its 2 and some weeks its 6…so why have I gained so much weight in the past 5 years? I’m happy….that’s it…nothing more complicated than that. I’m not talking about the temporary giddy, infectious happy that is evident when you score a pair of tickets to a Pink concert (I’d be SO giddy) or the happy that lasts for 5 minutes when you’re eating a cupcake made by your favorite baker. I’m talking about the “my life is good, I’m healthy, I’m paying my bills (most of the time), I have a roof over my head, I get to go on vacation occasionally, my kids are doing well, I have friends that I can count on and a partner that gets me” kind of happy that makes you fat. LOL – ok, it doesn’t make you fat, but happiness should come with a nutritional warning label. Something like: Being happy in life can cause intermittent laziness, occasional couch potatoness, consumption of high fat, big flavor foods while watching “A Star is Born” snuggled under a comfy blanket, dinners out and nights in, a decreased desire to workout at stupid hours, and the attitude of not really giving a shit what others think.”

Work is one area of my life that’s changed dramatically. Yes, work stresses me out, but it’s because I’m passionate about what I do, the people I can help, the team I work with and doing whatever I can to ensure we’re all successful.  I used to stress about work because I was very unhappy in it. I dreaded going to work every day – I’d leave at lunch time to workout simply to break up the monotony of a job that I hated. That’s not the case now, in fact, I spend way too many days eating lunch at my desk. Not good, I know. Traveling also doesn’t do much for the waistline – some times I fly in too late and fly out too early to utilize the gym I insist on having in any hotel I book. And yes, some very focused, very disciplined people can eat healthy while traveling…I’m not that person. I love to take in everything about where I’m traveling. I love to try the local beer and eat at the restaurants the locals eat at. There are many times that events I’m attending don’t get done until most restaurants stop serving so I’m stuck with whatever the hotel has – last week it was a Cup O Noodles (so gross, so much sodium, but at 1am, so good!) or whatever the gas station nearby has in it’s cooler. Yes, I know some people prep food for road trips…I do from time to time, but do I want to spend an hour the night before cutting carrots or smooching my love that I won’t see for a couple of days? Not going with the carrots people…

I used to be a 5am exerciser every day. Every. Damn. Day. Ask me when the last time I got up to work out at 5am was? Probably the last time I subbed teaching a class for someone else’s 5am class. The change occurred slowly – when I started working at the brewery and I was working until 8, 9, 10 at night, it slowly went away. Working that late in the day makes a 4:30 alarm an unlikely occurrence. Do I miss it? Sure, I miss the regularity of it but I don’t miss crawling out of bed when Adam is still sleeping and driving through unplowed roads to get to the gym. It’s a much more attractive option to snuggle a bit closer and enjoy the additional body heat and the extra hour of sleep. My days aren’t like they were when I did the 5am workouts, I can break away, and often do, during the day to go to the gym or a class, but the consistency just isn’t there anymore. And I see it, not only in the weight but in the endurance I have. I don’t work at the same intensity level as I used to…still feels like I’m gonna die, I just can’t get as many reps in as I used to. Pushups, burpees, pull ups, etc…I still love (hate) them, I just can’t do as many.

So – why am I sharing (maybe over-sharing?) all of this? Because I recognized myself in that young lady’s post. The negative things I say to myself, sometimes just internally but often times out loud. I recognize that I’m not the same person physically that I was 5 years ago…but I’m also not the same person emotionally. Would I trade my size 12 jeans and a happy home life to go back to size 8s and questioning my relationships and career? Nope…do I want to remain this size? Of course not, but not because I need people to perceive me as attractive, there’s only one person’s perspective there that matters and he tells me I’m beautiful, but I would like to lose the weight so that I can perform like I did before. I refuse to trade who I am now for it though. I refuse to trade the life I have now for being able to run a sub 8 minute mile or 80 pushups in a minute. (Ya, I used to be able to do that…lol) My last post, over a year ago, was about finding balance. Trying to find my work/life/workout balance…I don’t know that I’m any more balanced than I was last year, I do know that I’m much more content with the way my life is. I may still work too many hours, travel more than what is healthy, and indulge in things that make me smile more than I should…but it all makes me happy. So if I never get back to a size 8, if I never climb an 8 foot wall without help from a teammate, never complete another half marathon in under 2 hours, I’m still going to have a job that I love, a home life that I enjoy coming back to each day, a partner that thinks I’m beautiful regardless of my dress size, and a fitness community that still embraces me whether I can do 80 pushups in a minute or 18.

I don’t know that young lady that sparked my desire to write again today, but if I did, I’d tell her that her pregnancy photo was beautiful. That wanting to be healthy is great goal, but to remember that she’s amazing regardless the size. She created a life…and because of that her hips will be a little wider and her skin may never look like it did before and that’s ok. Don’t be ashamed of the size of your jeans, don’t say things to yourself you’d never allow someone you love to say to themselves, embrace your life as it is. It’s wonderful to have weight loss goals, to want a healthier lifestyle and yes, smaller clothing…but remember that being healthy AND happy don’t always translate to a size on a tag or a number on a scale. Appreciate all that you have done, be proud of who you are now…and at every stage in your journey. And perhaps I needed to see her post to remember all of those things about myself.  I don’t know her, but I thank her for the reminder – perhaps tomorrow morning when I get dressed, I’ll remember to thank myself for where I’m at now rather than to berate myself for no longer being where I was. Maybe I’ll remember the words that I say to everyone else are really words I need to be telling myself.

I Rise ~ Andrea

One month ago I posted on social media about the need to find some work/life balance. I talked about how the past three years have seen a decline in my physical fitness level and that I missed being able to crush workouts the way that I had before my career with the brewery began. I also posted a cheesecake recipe a few days later that garnered me a bunch of crap from people not realizing balance means in all things…including indulgences. Regardless, I thought it would be a good idea to recap what the past 30 days have been like, the changes I’ve made, some realizations about my lifestyle and just how much balance I’m finding currently.

I love my job, anyone that knows me knows that I love the challenges every day bring me at work. It’s a place I get to flex my problem solving muscles, it’s a place I get to help people in our community, it’s a place I get to educate and socialize with others, its a place where I get to work with some of the smartest, most talented people I have ever met. More than anything though, it’s a place where I get to learn every day of every week of every year. These past 30 days have been no exception. I’ve learned that the people I have hired to do things are more than capable of doing the things they were hired to do…and that when I work on finding the balance between my work and personal life, they’re given the freedom to show me just how much they can excel. While it’s difficult for me to not know every single thing that’s happening within the brewery, I hate when people ask me about something and I don’t have the immediate answer, it’s easier for me to leave at a decent hour to go to the gym or go home and cook when I leave the every day responsibilities where they belong; with the people hired to do them.  And not only do they meet their expectations, but they so often exceed them. Makes it easier to continue to empower them to do what they do best…succeed!

In the past month, I have only brought my laptop home for business reasons twice. 2 out of 30…not bad! Yes, I may still respond to an email here or there by my phone, but I can’t get into involved issues without my computer. And speaking of my phone, if you send me an email after 7pm, don’t expect an answer until the next day unless it’s urgent. I see them, but unless there’s an immediate need for me to respond, I don’t. This is such a huge change for me, it was almost like I couldn’t let an email sit overnight, regardless of how mundane or harmless. Nights when my boyfriend and I haven’t seen each other for a few days, I’ll even turn it on airplane mode so people can’t text me either. I’m reclaiming my evenings…well, unless I have a business or board meeting.

Enough of what I’m no longer doing, there are lots of things I AM doing. I am back at the gym a  minimum of 5 times a week. No less and I’m often times working out 8 or 9 times a week. I do cardio 5 days a week (spinning and running) and weight training/bootcamps 3 or 4 times a week. I’ve missed the push, I’ve missed feeling like I have physically given every ounce of effort I possibly could. And you know what? I’m beginning to feel like I used to; like I can provide some of the intensity I used to, that I can do the types of workouts I used to do. I’m not there yet…5 and a half years ago I ran the Spartan Beast, am I ready to do that yet? Not quite…but I’m approaching my workouts with the same determination that I used to. Doing two classes back to back still take it out of me, but working through them without losing intensity is now possible. Workouts are now as much as a priority as my business and charity board meetings. If I have to miss one, I reschedule it rather than forgetting it. I sometimes have to remind myself that it’s just as important to me as my work is.

I began following my 90/10 eating habits again. This has always worked for me in the past. I’m not the kind of person that does well when I don’t get to indulge from time to time. However, if I make myself eat healthy, raw and lean 90% of the time, I’ll be much more successful than when I try to eliminate things from my diet. Nothing makes me resist more than telling me I can’t do something, that includes my diet. I’m not always perfect – sometimes it’s closer to 80/20, other times closer to 99/1. I am now tracking again, putting it down on paper (or the app in my phone) what I’m taking in and what I’m expending in calories makes it so much easier for me to make the right choices. Is it time consuming? Not hugely, but it does take some discipline to remember to do it several times a day. But, the way I see it is that it’s as time consuming as checking my email or posting on social media. If I make the time for that, why wouldn’t I want to take the time to make my life healthier.  And if it has helped me to be successful in the past, it makes no sense to not use the same tools again.

I also need to be cognizant of what I’m eating and why I’m eating it. I’m an emotional eater, however, it’s not tied to one emotion over another. If I’m pissed, I eat; if I’m sad, I eat; happy, yep, I eat. Some people that get stressed out lose weight…I get stressed and find comfort in food. Being in a conscious state of mind when I put something in my mouth, and why I’m putting it there, are things I need to do when I eat. Sometimes I think I’m hungry and am just thirsty, other times, I’m just bored.  Knowing what my emotional state is helps me to determine if I really am hungry.

I’m working to make my time, my time. Rather than hanging around the brewery when I don’t need to be there, I leave. I still enjoy going when not working from time to time, to see the regulars I enjoy seeing, to hear the different musical groups, to meet new people and people there for the first time, to just get out. What I want to avoid though is using work as an excuse for me to be at the brewery every evening, which leads to having a beer or two or three. I love the beer that we make, we make really good friggin beer, but I need to not use the excuse that it’s for work and overdo it.

So, what’s the outcome? I’ve lost some weight, although that’s not my main focus, it doesn’t suck. I feel better in my own skin, and that alone is worth the efforts I’ve undertaken. Physically, I’m keeping up with workouts I haven’t been able to for a few years. I’m physically able to push myself harder each week and know that when the Beast hits in September, I’ll not only complete it, but I’ll know that I put the work in. I’m sleeping so much better now. I’m that person that when they eat crap and don’t workout, they don’t sleep. I’ll wake up at 2am and not be able to go back to sleep for hours…and have no real reason why. When I’m not eating processed crap and I’m getting a good sweat, I sleep like the dead; 7 hours of good, hard sleep. All of these things help to contribute to a more even keeled, emotionally healthy individual. Handling stress isn’t as difficult, I can take care of business without losing my shit. (Well, maybe not 100% of the time, but I’m a work in progress.)

I’ll never be a professional athlete (totally fine with that) and I’ll never be a Victoria’s Secret Model (I’m ok with that too). I will, however, succeed at meeting my goals of the VT Unplugged half in April, the Spartan Beast in September, and a bunch of other smaller goals along the way. The biggest goal is finding that balance between succeeding at work while  still succeeding at life. Enjoying the growth in my career AND enjoying the growth in my personal life…no need to settle for one over the other.

I Rise ~ Andrea

 

With all of the high profile men being accused of sexual harassment & assault, I’m compelled to talk about a much less obvious, but still morally inexcusable behavior; passive sexism. As a female in a male dominated industry, it’s something I deal with every single day. I’m sure I’m not the only one. I still get irritated when people find out I’m not just the “festival girl” for the brewery, when people (not always men) are surprised to learn I run the brewery, and when people assume I need to ask permission from my brother to make decisions for the company. As infuriating as it is, because it happens so frequently, we accept it as just how things are…and now that I see all of this happening in the news, I wonder how much of our accepting this passive sexism contributes to the sexually inappropriate behavior these men have been exhibiting. Have we made it ok for men to think calling a female coworker “sweet cheeks” acceptable? Is it our willingness to accept this treatment as females being viewed as permission to treat us as sexual objects, and inferior humans, rather than the incredibly capable, equally accomplished creatures that we are?

Here’s a great example of passive sexism: I recently had some business dealings that caused me to come to a decision that wasn’t favorable to one of our vendors. His response was to copy my brother on an email to me explaining why he thought I was making the wrong decision. I’ve done business with this individual for 3 years…during this time he’s had no brewery business contact with my brother. However, he felt compelled to copy him on an email about a decision I made in the best interest of our company, saving us thousands of dollars, and one that I have 100% authority to make.  Lets just say the scenario didn’t work out well for him…

Another: my boyfriend accompanies me to a brewfest where he’s there to spend time with me and he helps me lug shit in and out of the festival. People are there to sample beers and ask questions about the company and it’s products. It’s not unusual, actually it’s the norm, to have someone ask a question about the beer and when I answer, they look to him for confirmation. He’s a smart dude, but he doesn’t work in the industry…why, when given an intelligent, well thought out response, would they look to him for confirmation? Because I’m a chick in a man’s world…and it’s not just male patrons that do this, females do as well, and that is what makes me the most angry. It’s become so commonplace that even we, as women, practice passive sexism.

I encourage you, male or female, to pick your head up and look around when you’re out in public. You’ll see it everywhere. At restaurants, the check is often handed to the male diner first; at the mechanic’s shop, questions about the vehicle get directed to the male; in almost any store if a male and female walk up to the counter to purchase something together, the clerk will almost always look at the male for payment; in the grocery store though, completely different story! In the grocery store, the deli person always looks to the female to see what they need…hmmmm….

And I’m not male-bashing, not by any stretch, because it’s not always males perpetrating this issue. We all do it, women do it, hell I do it. When we were younger there were roles that were defined as male and female and while many of the roles are now interchangeable, our mindset about them has yet to catch up. We still, often, hand the keys over to the male partner to drive, many women still consider the role of cook as theirs and while the number of stay at home dads has increased in the past 20 years, it’s still usually considered the female’s responsibility to rear children.

So, how do we fix this? We pay attention, demonstrate equality and demand it from others. We can’t make it ok to assume that because a male is present he has all the answers, he makes the important decisions, or that he is responsible for handling the money. We also can’t make it acceptable for women to feel like they have to be the housekeeper, the child rearer, the cook, so they feel like a failure if they’re not.  We need to stop associating jobs with femininity or masculinity; no job is more masculine or feminine than any other, they’re just jobs that aren’t assigned based on genitalia. A penis doesn’t make you smarter when it comes to beer any more than a vagina makes you a better chef. The next time you’re interacting with someone, make the conscious effort to NOT assign their role based on their gender, and the next time someone assigns one to you based on yours, call them on it. I guarantee you, most don’t even know they’re doing it….make sure they do.

I Rise ~ Andrea

 

 

 

We’ve all heard the saying the bigger the risk, the greater the reward. Makes sense, shouldn’t those ventures that give you the greatest amount of anxiety produce the greatest amounts of joy and satisfaction? Isn’t that the payout for sleepless nights, stress riddled trips to the shrink, and all those self doubts? If it makes such good sense, why is it so difficult to take those risks? Change sucks, change is hard, and making changes without knowing the ultimate outcome can be debilitating…but it can also be exhilarating.

Throughout my life there have been periods of risk taking and periods of remaining static and while remaining static for some periods of time can produce feelings of stability, I’ve often found it to also produce feelings of, well, going nowhere. I’m not just talking about my professional life, my personal life has suffered from periods of inactivity as well, but as with my professional life, I can only remain in that state for so long. I’ve found that what makes me tick is the consistent need to move forward. Sometimes I make the right decision in my quest for continued growth, sometimes, not so much….but can’t make the right decision if you never make any decision. Was it Michael Jordan that said something about missing 100% of the shots you never take? Pretty sure, but regardless, I’m not much of an athlete, but even I get lucky once in a while and can sink a free throw or hit the jump shot (and have now exhausted all of my basketball vocabulary).

I’m not going to rehash every decision I ever made and whether I succeeded for failed, mostly because I’d bore the shit out of you but also because you’d see that I have failed many times and would likely not trust my decision making abilities any further…however, there are a few biggies that have been hard, have provided a great deal of stress for me and have ultimately brought me to where I am today.

10 years ago I made the first of some hard, painful, stressful decisions. The decision to end a relationship is never easy, it is never done (or shouldn’t be done) on a whim and was a decision I questioned more than a few times. However, looking back on it now, and I think he’ll agree, remaining static would have not only created more resentment it would have been more painful for much, much longer than the pain we dealt with in the divorce. He’s moved on, and seems far happier, that in itself tells me that the reward far outweighed the risk.

After the divorce I went through a time of transition…figuring out who I was, what I liked, what I didn’t, what I wanted to pursue and what pursuits were totally wrong for me. I gained a tribe that accepted me for who I was and who I wasn’t…I’d never felt more comfortable in my own skin, making decisions based on what I wanted and what was best for me.  I ended relationships that were no longer working for me, some easily, some not so. I stopped dating all together because I just didn’t want to go through the motions for the sake of trying to find someone that I wasn’t sure was out there, and I jumped into a graduate degree program with both feet. But, after a number of years in transition, I was no longer in transition…I was just doing a bunch of different things hoping that something would stick. It’s just like being static, there’s no risk to just do a bunch of random shit…

What I really needed to change was my job. But, I’d worked for the same company for 12 years…was super unhappy in my job, another static period in my life, and was just going through the motions. No longer was I going above and beyond to show the powers that be that I was worth the risk of being granted a new opportunity. I’d stuck my neck out before, applied for other positions, obtained the degrees I was told I needed…and had my head promptly chopped off. So, I stopped giving a shit. I stopped caring if I did anything more than the bare minimum required of me. And I fucking HATED it…I struggled every day going to work. I think of it very much like a road race that just sucks….putting one foot in front of the other, cramps and all, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Eventually you’ll get to the finish…whatever that looks like. For me that finish came in the opportunity to jump ship for a chance to work with my brother.

I know there are people that are going to say that there really wasn’t any risk involved or that not everyone will get that same opportunity, and to that I say Bullshit. That’s an excuse…and I know because I’ve used them all. My opportunity happened to have come from my brother, however, the risk was real. If not for my brother, the opportunity could have come from any other small start up, I still would have been faced with having to figure out how to keep the lights on, the raw materials coming in, ensure employees can buy groceries, making sure there’s a market for our product and that people know if they buy it that they’re buying a quality product. Beers or widgits…same problems. There were no policies in place, no handbooks to go by and there was no indication that within a few short years we’d go from a team of 3 to a team of 22.

Has it been scary? Still is…I’ve lost more sleep than most people have gotten in the past 3 years. I have anxiety attacks, most are mild but a couple have been whoppers and I worry regularly if I’m doing a good enough job to ensure the lights stay on, the raw materials get ordered and the employees can buy groceries. But, the rewards far outweigh the stress I deal with. I get to work with incredibly talented, passionate and intelligent people…every. single. day. I get to be part of a collaborative industry that celebrates the success of it’s competitors. I get to participate in the betterment of our community, meeting incredible people that inspire the hell out of me. AND, as if that wasn’t enough, I get to drink beer…..really great, well crafted, inspired, quality beer, not just our own, but from all over the world. How freaking great is that??? Every day is still a risk, not sure that will ever change, but for every risk I take at work, there seem to be 5 rewards to remind me it’s worth it.

Six months ago I took another risk, this time in my personal life…I did something I typically wouldn’t. I put myself out there, allowed myself to be vulnerable again, when I didn’t really know if I could be ever again. I was done, disappointed and disgruntled with the quality of options out there, so why bother? Turns out, that was a pretty solid decision as well. I wasn’t expecting anything, no risk and no expectation means you can’t be broken again, right? It also means you could potentially miss out on something great. You’ve all seen the posts on Facebook, you all know that the risk I took has resulted in some pretty happy posts, bright smiles and wonderful adventures. Don’t know if it’ll last or if it’ll end, that’s where the risk is…but I do know that right now, the reward is huge….matches the smiles…and that’s really all I need.

I don’t enjoy the anxiety and uncertainty that comes from taking risks, but I’ve taken enough of them to know that when it works, it works big time. I’ve also had risks that sucked, BIG TIME….but I’ve always learned something from those failures, once the pain and suckiness is gone, it seems less like a risk taken and failed as it does a life lesson, so is it really failure? I’m sure some people see it that way and allow those “failures” to keep them from taking additional risk. Perhaps I’m a little more stubborn or naïve or stupid…I like to think that I’ve had enough examples in my life to validate the risk/reward scale that I can’t imagine letting those failures to keep me from taking risks in the future. Regardless if its naivety or stupidity, I guess I’ll keep taking those risks….and thanks to social media, I’m sure you’ll all be aware of their successes or failures…maybe because of those, you’ll take a risk too. I hope you do, and I hope you see huge returns!

I Rise ~ Andrea

 

A few years ago I was approached by a group of VT State Troopers looking to do an event that would serve dual purposes. They wanted to honor the life of a fellow trooper, gone to soon. Trooper Kyle Young died during a training exercise, due to heat exhaustion. Not only did they want to honor Kyle, but they wanted to create a fund to help his 3 small children with future education expenses. I had never met these troopers before but was eager to help. Little did I know just a year later, I’d be asked to help with fundraising for one of these troopers himself. Yesterday, the State of Vermont, and the nation, lost a hero. Corporal Dan Marcellus passed away yesterday after a courageous battle with brain cancer.

I didn’t know Dan well, compared to some of the other Troopers, but I liked him immensely. He was kind, he was quiet, and he was the very picture of what an American hero should look like. Dan was not only a police officer, but he was also an Army Veteran. A man dedicated to serving others, running toward danger, rather than away. He was a loving husband and so proud to be the father of a beautiful baby boy. He touched lives before his diagnosis and even more after. He knew early on that his disease would likely take him young, but didn’t allow that to be an excuse to hide, to be bitter or to curse his lot in life. He chose to live and that was probably the most important thing he taught so many of us.

This blog will be much shorter than others in the past because I only wanted to convey a few things that meeting Dan has taught me. The first is to spend time loving your life. We don’t always have good days but we’re lucky we get days. Our families have us for one more day, we have one more day to make an impact in others lives, and we have one more day to love those that mean the most to us. Regardless if you’re having a bad day…you got a day, that in itself is still a blessing.

Don’t hate is as important as loving your life. Don’t look for things to hate in others, or yourself. We have enough, more than enough, hate in the world already, that the only way to combat that, is love. Be courageous in your love, because when you’re no longer given any more days, would you rather be remembered as the one that fostered hate or that overcame other’s hate with love? I choose love.

Don’t settle. Never accept good enough as enough. Whether in your personal life, professional life, or any other life you have…if it is just good enough, it’s not enough.

Finally, make time…for whatever sets your hair on fire. If it’s climbing mountains, make a date to climb a mountain; if it’s spending time with your family, schedule a family get together; if doing for others is where your passion is, do something kind and charitable and tell no one.  Remember that the number of days you have is guaranteed to no one, all that is guaranteed is today.  Today, I’ll make time to go to the gym, I’ll make it a point to spend some time with people I love, and I’ll not settle for a day of just good enough. I’ll do whatever I can to ensure that if I’m not here tomorrow, people will know that I lived today.

Rest in Peace Dan, thank you for the opportunity to know you and to learn from you.

 

 

 

 

 

Crying seems to be my thing…Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just break down in tears for no reason. You won’t find me sitting at my computer and with no cause suddenly find me sobbing. You will, however, find that tears come to my eyes easily if the feels hit me, and hit me hard.

I’ve done a bit of research into why people cry. As children we’re told that we shouldn’t cry, lest we be given something to cry for. People that cry are often seen as weak, emotionally unstable or out of control. Some people believe those that cry easily use crying to manipulate someone into doing or believing something, and others think that those that cry often can’t cope with everyday life. From what I’ve been able to find, none of these is true.

When am I most likely to cry? Obviously, I cry when I’m sad as do most people. When someone that I care for passes away, I cry. When someone I don’t know, but that is loved by someone I care about passes, I may cry. I’ve been to a number of wakes and funerals for people I have never met, but that were connected to people that I cared about and it brought me to tears. I’m not crying because I’ll miss that person, I never knew them to miss them, but the thought of someone I care about feeling that sense of loss in their lives easily brings on the waterfalls. At times like that, it also reminds me of how important the people in my life are to me and how lost I’d be if just one of them were lost to me. I cry when atrocities are committed against people that I have never met nor know anyone that knows them. The thought that human beings can hurt others in such horrific ways leaves me with a deep sadness that will often reduce me to tears.

I cry when I’m scared. When I say scared, I don’t mean the horror movie, afraid to turn the lights off at night, kind of scared. The scared I speak of relates to being worried about those I love. In a previous blog I spoke about my daughter’s battle with addiction. The fear of what may happen to her when she’s using is more than enough to see me wiping away the tears. Even in sobriety, when discussing where she’s been and the fear that existed when thinking about what could have happened to her will make me cry. My son, he produces a whole new set of fears that will induce the sniffles as well. He’s enlisted in the VT National Guard, and while we’re not currently deploying our VT troops, given the frantic state of our government at the moment, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that he’ll be sent to the front lines of combat. Speaking of our current governmental climate, I fear for what the future holds for my granddaughter. What type of world will she experience? Given the current state of affairs, it’s enough to start the tears welling in the corners of my eyes. While I don’t dwell on these fears, they’re there and if the topic of conversation comes up, you’ll likely find me trying to salvage my mascara.

When someone has hurt me, I cry. The hurt that brings forth tears is not the physical pain one associates with an injury. I have a fairly high pain tolerance, so it’ll have to be a pretty rugged injury for me to cry. Hurt my soul, however, and that’s entirely a different matter.  I struggle to understand why people who claim to care for one another can do things, or say things, that they know will hurt another. For instance, when couples, that pledge their eternal love and lives to each other, resort to calling each other hurtful and emotionally harmful names, how does one not cry? There’s an emotional pain so deep when the person you love above all others treats strangers on the street with more care and compassion than they do you. That pain has to go somewhere, with me, it’s out my eyes.

I cry when I’m relieved. There are times when I worry, warranted or not, about things that I may or may not have any control over. I know, I know, why worry about things I have no control over? That’s a discussion for another blog…When I worry, almost without fail, it’s for nothing. Things become far bigger in my brain than they usually ever are, discussions much more difficult in theory than in reality. That intense exhale of relief will sometimes spring forth a tear or two. Being wound so tightly, like a spring, when unwound, the forces squeeze the liquid from my lids…whether I want it to or not.

I cry when I’m angry. It’s not often that I get so angry that it reduces me to tears, but it happens. There were times when my kids were teenagers that I’d be so angry with actions or words coming from them that I’d not be able to express that anger in any other way, than in tears. We tend to think that young children are the only ones that don’t posses the verbal skills to accurately relay their emotions, however a 35 year old mom of a 13 year old teenage daughter often lacks sufficient language to relay the sheer depth of the emotion she’s feeling…that’s when the hot tears come.

And yes, I cry when I’m happy. I often cry at weddings when I see two people, so completely in love, professing that love to each other in front of all of the people that are most important in their lives. The feeling of hope, love and extreme happiness radiates all around them and it’s difficult to contain those tears. When my children, and then my granddaughter, were born, the tears were almost impossible to stop for hours. The joy of seeing those perfect, sweet, beautiful babies, born out of love, was so all consuming that if I didn’t cry, I’d burst. When people that I love do amazing things, graduate from school (congratulations Steve and Jess!), obtain a sought after job or promotion, do charitable works for others, even when it was as simple as watching my children during school concerts, I’d cry. The pride I feel for those that I love, doing what they love, boils up and over my eye lids quickly and without reservation.

So, if I cry when the feels hit, does it make me weak? I don’t think so, I think it means when I feel, I feel intensely, regardless of the emotion. Research actually suggests that those that cry when feeling intense emotion are more cooperative and vulnerable. Tears are a signal that someone does not wish to fight, and that with that signal they are saying they’d rather figure things out, discuss and agree, rather than fight. A vulnerable person is someone that allows and invites intimate relationships in their lives. Vulnerability is a signal that one is willing to open themselves up to hurt in order to create deep and emotional connections with others…is that really a weakness? I don’t think so, I believe a significant amount of strength is needed to allow people to see all of you, not just the good stuff, but everything, and trust that they’ll not turn you away because of what they see.

Tears are a stress reliever. While it’s believed that stress hormones are cried out through tears, there is proof that the neurotransmitter leucineenkephalin is released in the brain when people cry. Leucineenkephalin is an opiate like pain killer. So while crying we’re ridding our bodies of the toxins that stress creates in the body, we’re also able to create a hormone that provides a natural high. Researchers have also found that the act of crying assists our nervous system in returning our bodies into emotional equilibrium. This can be witnessed by those that are rocks during a difficult time but that “fall apart” after it’s over. Those tears can’t possibly be a weakness, can they?

Do I like the fact that I cry at the drop of a hat? No, there are certainly times when I wish I could shut off the emotions humming through my body, but, I can’t. At the same time though, would I wish to give up feeling as intensely as I do just to avoid crying when it’s not “convenient” for me? No, absolutely not. Part of what makes me unique is that I feel so deeply. I love, I hurt, I get angry, I get sad, I feel for others, and I get scared….and I do all of these things intensely. Sometimes so, that the intensity has no choice to but burst out through my eyes….and while in some peoples’ opinions it may be a sign of weakness, a signal that I’m just a stupid emotional girl, it’s also why I do for others as much as I do. It’s why I connect with people, why I push myself to do more than I think I can do, its why I still believe in true love, why I think there’s a solution to every problem and why when I see someone else crying I’m compelled to find out why.

So, if you’re a crier like me, don’t despair, there are far more crybabies like us out there. And while we may never escape the ridicule of those that don’t feel crying is an acceptable outlet for emotion, we can have compassion for them. We can feel better about the amount of money we’ll spend on Kleenex because our nervous systems are working to return to equilibrium, we’re putting ourselves out there for all to see and we’re the ones looking for solutions to finding peace in our lives. Did I cry today? Absolutely, a couple of times…once when I was angry, once when love and admiration hit me in the heart, and once while I was writing this blog…because it’s hard not to feel the feels when you’re talking about them, and I’m totally okay with that.

I Rise ~ Andrea

-Information taken from “Tears and Emotions” by Karyn Hall, PhD

I read an article this morning that a mother had written about the fact that her daughter was a heroin addict. She talked about how she had always had an idea in her head of what an addict looked like…and that her daughter was the furthest thing from that image. I know exactly how that feels. Until addiction touched my family, the stereotypical image of a “junkie” is what I saw when I pictured a drug addict. I pictured a scary looking man, dirty and disheveled, living behind a garbage dumpster, never in a million years did I think that the picture would be of my daughter.

My daughter was one of the most beautiful babies I’d ever seen. In fact, I used to ask people; friends, relatives, strangers even, if she was really as beautiful as I thought she was or did I think she was simply because she was my daughter. In reality it wouldn’t have mattered either way. She could have looked like a toad and I’d have thought her the most beautiful baby….lucky for her, she didn’t. I used to think she was a colicky baby, but in hindsight I think it was my inexperience as a mom that led to awake nights and tummy-ache filled days. I didn’t know how to read the signs she was giving me. How could I? This really was my first rodeo. After a few months and a little practice at reading those adorable facial expressions and being able to differentiate between her different cries (and she had a few), we both got our shit together and she was an easy baby. From the get-go, she was a performer. She loved to recite lines from movies that would delight her grandparents, “Tut-tut, looks like rain” and she’d engage in “this little piggy” for hours and hours. Not once when trying to comb through the mangle of beautiful blonde curls or wiping of crocodile tears coming from those blue-gray eyes did I ever think that she might one day grow up to be a drug addict.

As a child she was fun-loving. She got a long well with her classmates, made friends easily and was a peace keeper among her peers. It wasn’t uncommon for her to allow her friends to take advantage of her rather than to cause a fight. Her teachers loved her, even if she talked a little too much in class, an affliction that is in her DNA. For all intents and purposes, she was a happy, well adjusted, good kid. Again, no signs of this awful disease rearing its ugly head to give me, her father, her friends or the other hundreds of people that adore her any sign of what was to come.  By junior high though, things were changing, in her life and her life at home.  She began to keep to herself more, a product of being a tween, or so I thought. Then we discovered she was cutting herself. That was one of the worst days of my life. Laying in bed, crying, wondering how I could have not known that my daughter was struggling so much that she’d find comfort in physically harming herself. Wondering what the demons in her head were caused from? Hoping beyond all hope that the counselor she was working with could help her. Things got better, or so I assumed, as she stopped cutting herself. But, things between her father and I were deteriorating and being my daughter, my first born, and someone I considered as my best friend, she probably heard more of what was happening than the child of separating parents should, from both sides. I can only imagine how difficult our divorce was for her, her brother too but she was the older one, the one that we both expected would help us out with her brother. She worked her way through high school, not really putting a whole lot of effort into it, but who was I to talk? In high school all of my report cards and parent/teacher reports said the same thing, year after year, “Andrea is a bright student that just doesn’t apply herself.” It would appear my daughter inherited that from me as well.

Shortly before she graduated, she found out she was pregnant and chose to reveal this to me in the middle of Walmart – apparently she felt I’d take the news better in a public place. I was devastated for her, and I won’t lie, mortified that at the age of 40, I’d be a grandmother (I still struggle with the G word), but it didn’t keep her from finishing high school and the beautiful, amazing, intelligent, loving, sweet child that came from it, well, lets just say I’d sooner die than not have her in my life.  After high school she drifted between a few jobs, not really sure what she wanted to do with her life.  She separated from the baby’s father and moved back home with me. I didn’t notice anything off for a few months, but when I did notice, things were bad. Unfortunately, they were about to get way worse.

Let me just say, before I decided to write this blog I asked my daughter if she was ok with me sharing part of her story as it is very much intertwined with mine. She gave me that permission, as a recovering addict now it’s part of her mission to tell her story in an effort to help others, not just other addicts but others that love addicts. I don’t really need to get into all of the details of where her addiction took her or what drugs she used (too many to list), but what I do want to do is accurately portray how heinous this disease is not just on the addict, but those that love them. And now I’m going to say if you have comments about whether or not addiction is a disease, kindly keep them to yourself. I’ve seen far too many comments on social media about people’s ideas about addiction, and quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you think, especially if you’ve never had to experience what I have. It is only those that have been touched by addiction that can truly know not only what an addict goes through but also what someone that loves an addict goes through. So, if you have a differing opinion, good for you, it’s not my place to change that, however, I don’t need to listen to it either. So – if you wish to post it on your social media, feel free to do so, but keep it off mine. Thank you.

I digress….

My daughter’s addiction started the way most do, a pill here, a pill there…our pharmaceutical industry does an amazing job of ensuring that anyone that does not want to feel pain, never has to. I went to a doctors appointment for a sinus infection and was told they didn’t want to prescribe me an antibiotic because they were afraid I’d become immune to them, but if I needed something for the pain, so I could sleep, they could help me out with that. I left there with a prescription for an antibiotic and not for a painkiller, but I also was left wondering just which drug had the higher kickback to doctors? That’s likely the topic of another post. So, she started with pills, and it progressed within a very, very short period of time. Within 6 months she was relying on me, my parents, her other grandparents and her daughter’s father’s family to do the brunt of the childcare for her daughter.  We argued, she lied, I believed, we argued more. As I think back now on some of the lies she told me I’m amazed at the shit I believed. If anyone else had told me their child had said those things to them I’d tell them they were crazy to believe it….yet I did, hook, line and sinker. I would believe almost anything so that I didn’t have to admit that my child was a drug addict, until it got to the point that I couldn’t deny it any longer. She was given an ultimatum, rehab or the streets. The hardest thing I have ever done to date is to tell my daughter that if she didn’t go to rehab she couldn’t live with me, knowing full well that it meant she’d be homeless. Thank God she chose rehab.

I’d love to tell you that this one trip was all it took, that she got and stayed clean, unfortunately, that didn’t happen. She left against medical advice, in fact I picked her up, again, if someone else had told me they did this, I’d tell them how stupid they were, yet I did it. And within 24 hours, she was off and running again. She did one more stint in rehab before it got really, really bad. Bad to the point that she felt she was doing more harm being in her daughter’s life than good, so rather than screw her up any more, she was better off just leaving. Which is what she did. She left the state and followed a fellow addict to Florida. To this point watching her addiction had taken such a toll on me. I couldn’t concentrate at work, I had very little left to give her brother in terms of parenting. My world was consumed with her addiction…I knew I needed help. I returned to counseling and I attended Al-Anon and CoDa meetings. These 3 things saved my sanity. Learning the act of self care, understanding the meaning of detaching with love and figuring out how to continue to live my life without it meaning I didn’t care about her and what was happening to her were not only essential to creating healthy boundaries with her, but I also found recovery from my codependent ways with her.

When my daughter left the state, I would go for weeks without hearing from her. I was terrified that something horrible would happen to her, that she’d end up dead and I’d never even know it. Through my own recovery though, I was able to keep working, I was able to grow a healthy and loving relationship with my granddaughter, I was able to enjoy life on a day to day basis. I continued my friendships, I nurtured my relationship and I developed a spiritual center that helped me stay grounded in what I could control in life, her life was not one of those things. As I continued to focus on creating a healthier me, I began to sleep at night, I wasn’t all consumed with the worry that I’d never hear from her again…a fear that never went away, but it didn’t paralyze me any longer. Then one day, 6 months after she left, a miracle happened; she called me. She was finally sick and tired of being sick and tired. She’d called before asking me to send her money for a bus ticket home – something I learned very quickly was a ploy for money, not a call for help. This time was different. This time I could hear the defeat in her voice, the willingness to do whatever she needed to do to not keep doing what she was doing. She boarded a bus to the airport, had to sleep overnight in the airport, and got on a flight the next day home.

Picking her up at the airport was one of the best and most terrifying experiences of my life. Seeing her was wonderful but seeing her was awful. She was pale, she was sick, she was a shell of the kid I once knew. Gone was the light in those blue-gray eyes I remembered so vividly from her childhood, she looked like she hadn’t slept in days and seemed just as scared to be home as we were when she was gone. But, there she was and she was ready. The next two weeks were tough while we awaited a bed for her in a facility. I watched the physical affects of withdrawal ravage her body, leave her begging for relief and make her tired to the point that she couldn’t drive for fear of falling asleep. The day that I brought her to that same facility she’d been at twice before I knew something would be different this time, I prayed it would be different and I vowed that if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t let things get to where they had before, not this time.

Things were different; this time she worked hard, this time she looked at events that took place in her childhood that caused the pain she so desperately wanted to numb, she looked at issues within our family that she wanted to escape from and she looked at her…seeing herself for the very first time as an individual that deserved love, first from herself and then from others. She graduated from the facility after 35 days and she glowed. I often tell people that she looked like she was lit from within, and she truly did.

As her mom, after all these years of experience, I can so easily tell when she’s caring for herself and working on her disease and can just as easily tell the moment it stops. When she’s clean and working on herself we can talk about her disease, we can talk about how it hurt others, we can talk about how she looked, the lies she told, the pain it caused. We are truly friends when she’s clean, we enjoy spending time together, we’re silly, we’re affectionate, we’re inappropriate, we’re like sisters, goofy sisters…and the first thing she does when she’s using is stays as far away from me as possible. When she’s using she’s distant, she’s angry, usually at me, and she’s deceptive. I don’t love her any less when she’s using, but I really don’t like her. I’m thankful that she’s in recovery, I won’t say that it’s all smooth sailing for her, it’s not. Each and every day she has to work on her disease or it too easily rears it’s ugly head, but she knows this and for at least today, she’s working on it. That’s really how recovering addicts and their loved ones have to look at life – just today. As long as she’s clean and sober today, that’s all that matters. To worry about tomorrow before it gets here just creates worry for nothing. If tomorrow she decides to pick back up, then I’ll deal with it tomorrow, but for today, I’ll take today.

There was a time when I worried that I could have done something different to prevent this addiction from taking hold of her. I wondered if people viewed me as a bad parent because I didn’t do something right. I hated to think that they viewed her as less than because of her addiction. The thought of people looking at my daughter and thinking negative thoughts broke my heart. It took a lot of counseling, lots of discussions with other parents and a whole lot of self-reassurance that I did the best that I could as a parent and that people would judge her and me regardless. That the only way that judgement would have power was if I allowed it to. I knew my daughter, I knew what type of person she was or was not and in the end, that’s all that really mattered.

My goal for writing about this is not to shame her, in fact I celebrate her. I celebrate each and every day she faces these awful demons and decides to fight them rather then letting them win. I have told her on more than one occasion that she is the strongest person I know. I’m not sure that having faced all that she’s faced; assault, shame, ridicule, blame, abandonment, and many more trials, that I’d have the fortitude to pull myself from the depths of what she’s seen. To have been to hell and back, with Satan still licking at your heels and to be present, to be an active parent, a loving daughter, a dependable employee and a kind human being takes a special kind of person. In the same way that I couldn’t foresee my daughter being an addict all those years ago when she was born, I also had no idea of the warrior she’d turn out to be. Am I ashamed of her for where’s she’s been? Nope…as hard as it was to see and to live through, it’s all part of her story…and it’s part of mine. I’m a healthier person today because I had to face what I did with her addiction. She is this amazing warrior princess today because of all she’s seen and done.  I will continue to pray that she stays clean and sober and will support her in that process. While there are no guarantees that she’ll stay clean, I can continue to celebrate her each and every day that she is….and no matter what tomorrow brings, I will always love her regardless.

I Rise ~ Andrea

How often, while traveling by airplane, do you pay attention to the safety instructions the flight attendants give prior to take off? I rarely do, in fact, I hesitate to make eye contact with any of them while they’re doing their thing because I know they know no one pays attention to them. But, they give one little piece of advice that I try to remember every day, advice that I pass on to others every chance I get.

When the flight attendant is doing their “bit” and they talk about oxygen bags deploying in the case of emergency, they instruct passengers to place the oxygen mask first on themselves before turning to help other passengers. It would seem like the common sense thing to do, wouldn’t it? You obviously can’t help fellow passengers if you’ve passed out because of your lack of oxygen. Then why, in our regular day-to-day lives, do we feel it’s perfectly fine to give of ourselves to others and not give to ourselves.

So, it’s a metaphor, you’re not really walking around throwing air bags over random peoples’ faces. But what you are doing, what I find myself doing, is spending so much time doing for others that I have very little, if anything, left for me. I know I’m not alone; I know many people that spend their entire lives doing for others and then one day realize that not only did those people not do in return (which should never be the reason you do for others) but that they have very little energy or resources left to do for themselves. Moms are really good for this….not to say that Dads don’t do this as well. In fact, if I step back and look at how roles have changed over the past 20 years, I’d have to say that the lines between what is typically known as a “mom job” and that of the dad have all but disappeared. I’m willing to bet a great many dads out there will read this (well, if any of them actually read this) and identify with what I’m talking about.

How often has someone asked for your help and you said yes and then instantly regretted it? How many times have you promised time to someone that you’d much rather spend doing something else? How often have you missed out on going to the gym, hanging with your friends, even just chilling out at home, all you really wanted to do, because someone asked, or demonstrated that they needed, your help? If you’re anything like me, the answer is, “too many times to count.” Why do we do this? My theory is because we’ve been taught that to put ourselves first is selfish. If we take the time that we could have used to help someone else and use it to do something for ourselves, we only think of ourselves. Why does that make us selfish? Why does taking care of oneself, even if that means the mental downtime you get from something as mind numbing as, oh I don’t know, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?  (I may have seen an episode or two.)

I spent a number of years working with a therapist…yes, really. Now you’re trying to imagine just how fucked up I was before that, aren’t you? Regardless, she helped me to see just how essential it is for each of us to practice a level of self care that equates to putting that oxygen mask on ourselves first. I still struggle with saying no to people, but not nearly as much as I once did. I thought that every request was an opportunity to help others and that I should take it because that’s what good and decent people did. You know what it really did? Made me wish I’d never answered the phone, made me wonder why I didn’t come up with an excuse why I couldn’t help, and it made me start to resent the person because obviously they should have known how terribly busy I was and was rude enough to ask anyway. Sounds a tad crazy, doesn’t it? How the hell would anyone know how much shit I had already been unable to say no to if I don’t tell them?

My therapist, she’s a god-send (if anyone wants her contact info, just ask), who taught me it was ok to say no. She taught me that I didn’t have to do everything everyone asked of me. She taught me that putting me first showed other people that I’m a priority too. I’ve seen a meme that says something to the affect of “If you’re constantly putting others before yourself, you’re showing them your place” and it’s true. If we’re constantly telling other people that their priorities are more important than our own, they’ll believe it. Not that people intentionally take advantage of others, well, some do, but for the most part people ask when they have a need and expect that the person they’re asking will be straightforward with their answer. Or, if you’re offering something up to help someone else out, they’re not expecting that it’s putting you in a bad spot when you offer it.

I’ve been in situations in the past that by helping someone else out, it put me in a bad position, sometimes with other individuals and sometimes financially.  I’m sure if the individuals knew that by helping them out I was creating a difficult situation for myself, they’d think I was nuts. I wouldn’t want someone to do that in order to help me, so why would I do that for someone else? Another wonderful thing she taught me was that by taking care of me, I’m modeling for others; my children, my friends, coworkers, that taking care of ourselves should be a priority. Taking care of our needs should come first because if it doesn’t, they don’t get taken care of. Who wouldn’t want their children to know that their needs and wants are just as important as anyone else’s. So why do we show them that ours aren’t?

It was a long and difficult process to change those behaviors for me, a process that on some days I still manage to step backward in. It began with my gym time, I made my time at the gym a priority. Sometimes people had to wait for me because I was determined to get to the gym, sometimes they were even frustrated because they couldn’t do exactly what they wanted to do exactly when they wanted to do it….but they still did it….and I still went to the gym. Then I began to make time with my friends, something I never really made a priority. I’d make dates with my friends and unless someone needed stitches or there was a horrific circumstance, I didn’t change those plans. There is nothing more therapeutic than an evening with your best friends, a few drinks, a little bit of bitching and a whole lot of laughter. Everyone deserves that, even moms and dads. And even though my work schedule is much more hectic than it used to be, I still make time for those nights out…and usually pay with a headache the next day!

The funny thing is, when I take these steps to take care of me, I find that I can do so much more for others. I am more energized to help others, I have much more creative ideas and the genuine desire to do for others is intense. Must be all that oxygen flowing into my system because I put that mask on first. It’s not too late for you…you can always learn to say no, you can always schedule a girls (or boys) night out and stick with it, you can always tell someone that you need to take care of you. How much of a jackass would someone be if they formed a resentment around you wanting to care for yourself? They won’t…and who knows, perhaps that’ll start to rub off on them as well. As I travel back home on Friday I’m still not likely to listen to the safety talk…still won’t make eye contact, but I will probably crack a smile when they break out that goofy looking oxygen mask and slip it over their perfectly coiffed hair. I’ll smile knowing that if those masks deploy, I’ve learned that I can only help others when I put that oxygen mask on myself first. (Right Gina? <3)

I Rise ~ Andrea