Saturday, February 29, 2020
Examine
Let’s pick things
apart, instead of picking ourselves apart.
How’s that for a
concept?
If we live long enough
with this thing called life, hopefully, inevitably, some wisdom and insight
will start creeping in. We can choose to examine the mistaken thoughts and
beliefs we may have absorbed, without question, earlier in our lives. Critical
thinking offers us the challenge and the adventure to examine why we believe
what we believe. And then, we are at a position to make changes. It’s not as
daunting as it looks. Change can occur in any amount: small, medium or large.
But taking one baby step of a change shifts us.
An old adage asserts
that when we cannot change something in our lives, we can change how we look at
it.
Hmmm. Let’s try that
out!
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Friday, February 28, 2020
Distort
Inevitably, in life, a
warped image comes into our field of vision.
And, if we are
spiritually, emotionally or mentally nearsighted, distortion can be our world
view. It is the proverbial funhouse mirror, exaggerating the image reflected
back at us. What we see looks grotesque and ugly. It looks wrong, and, if we’re
not aware of the distortion, we can quickly jump to the conclusion WE are wrong
as well.
And that colors our
lives.
We are inherently
beautiful and wonderful. That’s the reality, not the funhouse mirror.
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Thursday, February 27, 2020
In Bad Spirits
“She’s in good spirits.”
How often have we heard that expression? It reminds me of the
scene in “The Wizard of Oz” in which Glinda, floats in on her bubble, asking Dorothy
a blunt question, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”
Those of us who are diagnosed are often met with the
expectation we will be “in good spirits.”
We hear so much about a positive outlook, about how joy and
laughter are healing for any recovery. We are shown countless stories of
individuals who had such sunny perspectives, even though they were end stage
this or that disease. We see heartwarming testimonies of how a person is
determined to “beat the odds,” “to never give up,” and “to be an inspiration
for the rest of us.”
Then, there’s usually some chronicling of this individual doing
something impactful, to help others, to make people smile. Noble. Inspiring.
Worthy of being labelled “in good spirits.” And, perhaps, making things ten
times more difficult for the rest of
us diagnosed, as the rest of us are
struggling, feeling angry and depressed. We feel like we’re only draining
people, not helping them, because of our circumstances. We, by comparison, are
“in bad spirits.”
As part of my “Cancer Care,” I have regularly been in
doctor’s offices and exam rooms. Part of my treatment and monitoring involves
me filling out something called a distress test. It’s the add-on feature after
answering a slew of questions about any new symptoms, like unusual pain and difficulty
breathing. You know, fun things to think about. The distress test gets right to
the anxiety and depression questions, probing about suicidal thoughts, feeling
isolated, even getting into one’s own spirituality.
Indeed, like clockwork, I get flagged as I respond honestly
to the question, “Are you experiencing anxiety or depression?”
“Yes, I’m scared; I’m depressed.”
And then I have to encounter a further interview from that nurse about my mental state.
“Do you feel like you are struggling with your spirituality?”
“Yes, I have faith and I pray about my situation, but I’m
still scared and depressed.”
The nurse’s brow furrows a bit.
“Do you feel like people would be better off without you?”
And here’s where I’m expected to respond with something like…
“Oh, no, of course not. My loved ones are there
for me and are supporting me. Everything’s great. I’m blessed!”
But most of the time, I just respond with, “No,” and leave it
at that.
“What kind of support do you have in your life?”
Get ready for some cliché responses, everyone…
“Well, I have a wonderful, loving husband, some great friends
and I am in therapy.”
The nurse nods, conveying a sigh of relief.
I guess I answered correctly. Maybe I even passed the
distress test with flying colors.
But, make no mistake about it, I’m still distressed.
I’m not ragging on the medical community for sheer ragging
sake. I know everyone is just trying to do their jobs. Saving lives. But there
still seems to be this built-in discomfort surrounding my diagnosed reality.
They get uncomfortable with my uncomfortable truth. They want me to be
Pollyanna Optimism when it comes to how I view “my cancer,” my life and my
attitudes about mortality. They want me to “beat the disease” and “be a
warrior.” Here’s a Breast cancer pink ribbon for you to wear and get more life-
affirming for wearing it.
Medical community, your heart may be in a good place, but
it’s still misguided.
You want me to respond a certain way because it makes you less uncomfortable. Yeah, sure, you
want to save my life, but you’d rather not hear about my scary, two o’clock in
the morning death thoughts as I lie awake in the dark. I have heard from you nurses
just how inspiring my fight is, how courageous I am. But you’re not as inspired to know that, before my
routine appointment with you, I cried for an hour, gauging exactly, when I should put on my makeup, so that
I wouldn’t cry all of it off before I showed my face in public. How courageous
am I now? How inspired are you by me now?
I am not “in good spirits.”
It feels like no one knows what to do with me, other than
give me some more cliché responses like, “you’re a fighter,” “you’re a
trooper,” “you are going to beat this!”
Are you sure? How can you be so sure?
You may be reading this and assert I’m choosing to think and feel negatively. I’m whining. I should make the choice to be positive
about my plight. I should embrace
life and focus less on death. I should
count my blessings, be thankful for all of the good that surrounds me. I hear
all of that, partly because its messages come from within, not just from other
people’s suggestions. All of the “should’s”- yep they’re here for roll call.
But how, exactly, is all of this “shoulding” supposed to help
me “beat cancer,” anyway?
How is not being
honest with my real, true feelings, sublimating them under an inspirational
script of stock answers, supposed to help
me? Truth reveals itself, regardless.
Do you really want
me to lie that much about my diagnosis, prognosis, life and death
circumstances? And, if so, why? Is it
because you feel better about the lies instead of the truth?
Most of us do, if we’re honest. Lies are comforting; truth is
less so.
If I were Dorothy, responding to Glinda’s question, I guess,
nine times out of ten, I’d have to honestly answer her with, “I’m a bad witch.
Go ahead and drop a house on me.”
My diagnosis has taught me a lot about who I really am,
cliché as it sounds. I know who I am not.
I am not optimistic. Realistic, at best. I can go full-on pessimistic in the
blink of an irritated eye. I have spent much of my life trying to override
that, believing I was wrong, immoral, sinning, all because my feelings weren’t
the stuff of “get well” cards. And, even though, as the medical community likes
to say, “we don’t know why a person gets cancer,” what if, just what if, suppressing my less-than-inspirational
emotions helped to create the
disease? What if that suppression was carcinogenic? It’s possible, right?
So, couldn’t it, likewise, be possible that “getting real”
about all of the fear and ugliness could help me feel better, even if it didn’t
cure me? Healing is different than
curing. Healing is deeper. And that’s what I’m about these days. I’m doing a
deeper dive.
And, if it takes me being “in bad spirits” to do so, then, so
be it.
Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse
Squint
Nearsightedness has
many of us doing this maneuver. We have difficulty reading words and images
from far away. Glasses and contact lenses can help, but we need to wear them
for any difference to be made. Otherwise, as a feeble attempt to see, you and I
can resort to squinting. We might be able to see something better, but it’s
still inaccurate. It’s not 20/20 vision, by a longshot.
How are you squinting
at yourself? Your body? Your weight? Your issues? Are you looking at them
clearly?
Or, are you attempting
to see, all through your own devices, devices that aren’t working for you
anyway?
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Narcissistic Abuse: The Playground Edition
“Narcissistic Abuse:
The Playground Edition” explores the childhood origins of this personality
disorder.
Witness
Here’s a little more of
an in-depth approach.
“a person who sees an event, typically
a crime or accident, take place.
"police are appealing for witnesses to
the accident" ·
evidence; proof”
What participation have we given
concerning the witness concept?
Were we a person who saw
something harmful?
Did we witness someone who,
knowingly or unknowing, taught us mistaken messages about body image, food and
weight?
What proof do we believe we
possess to believe what we believe about image?
What proof do we believe we
possess to believe what we believe ourselves and our value?
We don’t believe what we
believe, in and of ourselves alone. We had assistance; someone TAUGHT us:
family, peers, media, etc.
What IS our witnessing role?
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
View
When we hear this word,
a landscape can often first come to mind, right?
Yet, reality,
especially concerning disordered eating and image behavior is far less pretty.
For us, here, there is judgment in the view. And it’s almost never a kind
judgment, is it?
What is your view right
now? Of yourself? Of your life? Of the world?
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Monday, February 24, 2020
What Do You See? (2020 NEDA Week)
What Do You
See?
The National Eating
Disorder Awareness Week is February 24th through March 1st,
2020.
And, this year, the
phrase, “Hindsight is 20/20” is uttered often.
So, let’s check out
some words that deal with sight, hindsight or any other kind of sight.
Look
When you look at
yourself, what do you see? “Look” is the first glance, the observation,
perhaps, without too much consideration. We believe things at face value.
Disorder body image and
eating issues are no different.
Quick, look! What do
you see? How do you describe it?
Copyright © 2020 by
Sheryle Cruse
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Are We All at the Mirror?
“Are
We All at the Mirror?” addresses our uneasy and unhealthy relationship with
image.
https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/02/are-we-all-at-the-mirror-addresses-our-uneasy-and-unhealthy-relationship-with-image/
Gaslighting’s Laughter
Gaslighting has become a trendy buzzword lately.
It’s used to describe the crazymaking tactics often employed within an abusive
dynamic.
Indeed, Wikipedia offers its own definition…
“Gaslighting is a form of psychological
manipulation in which a person seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted
individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question their own
memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection,
contradiction, and lying, gaslighting involves attempts to destabilize the
victim and delegitimize the victim's belief.”
It's about creating a nagging self-doubt, in which we question what we
see, hear, believe and feel. Some common phrases?
“You’re crazy. You’ve lost your mind.”
“What’s wrong with you?
“Why are you so sensitive? This is no big deal.”
“You’re imagining things.”
In my personal experience, I encountered those uttered words. But I also
ran into another tactic: laughter.
I’m not talking about jovial laughter, good- natured stuff.
Instead, often in tandem with these pointed phrases, I ran into
dismissive, mocking laughter, utilized to deflect from real, serious issues and
situations.
One family member, uncomfortable with their own angst concerning the
abuse existing with our family structure, used laughter as deflection, to
minimize how dangerous things were and how much behaviors needed to change.
Once, as an adolescent in pain, responding to the abuse, I bared my soul,
sharing how I was experiencing suicidal thoughts. Within seconds of
disclosing that revelation, this person started laughing at me, telling me I
was silly. Chuckles bubbled up as I was labeled as being a” too-intense”
teenager.
I felt betrayed. But even more of a betrayal?
Well, I’m sure you’ve heard how laughter can be contagious. If fact,
there are actual laughing groups, sharing a human experience of contagious
laughter as stress relief and bonding.
Think of that contagious reality and now visualize me, this upset
teen, being laughed at over my suicidal thoughts. Soon, that contagious
laughter spread to me.
I was laughing, and it betrayed my very truth. I had betrayed myself
because I had succumbed to the dismissive laughter, offered by an individual
whose sole agenda was to stop dealing with the seriousness of the discussed
subject matter. As I laughed, as I betrayed myself, it was mission
accomplished.
The message was further strengthened to both this family member and to me
alike: the pain I was experiencing was silly and unimportant. I shouldn’t take
my feelings seriously.
For years, I had numerous experiences with me being upset, and then,
ultimately, joining in the betraying, contagious laughter.
But this suicidal discussion was the final straw.
I learned, at the tender age of thirteen, I was no longer safe discussing
anything important with this person. Moreover, I learned another harmful
lesson: people, in general, were unsafe. I could not risk vulnerability, for
fear of being laughed at…or worse.
I also learned distrust of my feelings. Was my pain really that
bad? That real? That important? After all, it was so easily
“laughed off,” even by me?
What could- should- I believe about that?
Laughter, in and of itself, is not evil or wrong. We’ve all had those
moments with loved ones, in which we burst out laughing, even at inopportune
times, like a funeral. It’s spontaneous. The more you try to suppress the
giggles, the more explosive it gets. We have a hard time controlling our
laughter. We have all had that.
That, however, is a stark difference to the laughter of gaslighting.
Within that context, there is no spontaneity, no loving, “in the
moment” experience of being collectively human, having a human, if not
ridiculous and free, moment.
No, gaslighting’s laughter is all about agenda. What is it?
Some purposeful device to try to…
… Stop an uncomfortable conversation…
… Make someone question the validity of their pain and upset…
… Redirect focus to something or someone else…
… “Make” a problem go away.
The laughter of gaslighting is never about resolving an issue; it seeks
to negate it, to manipulate it.
So, do you see your experiences here? Have you ever encountered laughter,
that may have appeared innocent and jolly, but still, never felt quite right?
Have you felt the laughter was at your expense?
Have you felt it was a diversionary tactic to avoid dealing with an
important issue?
Not all laughter is equal. Some of it is sinister.
And yes, some of it IS abuse.
If an episode of laughter makes you feel unheard, unseen, violated or
manipulated, it’s probably because it is aimed at doing just that.
Trust your gut.
Laughter is supposed to make us feel better, not worse.
Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Monday, February 17, 2020
Layers of Tablecloths
Hoarding can kill. A family member of mine created once life-threatening
circumstances for herself. We conducted a welfare check of her home and
encountered disturbing evidence. Yes, there were boxes and bags piled from
floor to ceiling. There was disarray of newspapers and magazines, littering
each room. There were narrow pathways to walk in, room by room.
But I was not prepared for the actual layers of hoarding. I
was first hit with it as I encountered her small kitchen table. It was crowded
with stale cookies, coffee cups and silk flowers in a vase. Nothing glaringly
screamed “dangerous hoarding conditions.”
At least, not at first glance.
Let’s call my family member, “Hannah,” for privacy’s sake. Hannah
withdrew from human contact after her husband’s death. Hence, the welfare
check. She neglected her health and personal care needs. In fact, she stopped
taking her blood pressure medication two weeks before her devastating health
crisis. She was found lying on the floor for two days, unable to reach the
phone.
As paramedics scrambled to maneuver the house’s hoard and attend
to her, no one paid much attention to the kitchen table. Yet, that piece of
furniture held much backstory about Hannah’s decision- making process and state
of mind. Both were dangerously unhealthy.
As we cleared the table, the red tablecloth felt “padded.”
Removing it, we came to discover “layers” of tablecloths, covering the surface.
Tablecloth Layer #1: Bills:
We lifted the first red tablecloth and discovered its secrets.
Strewn throughout were various bills, both current and not so
current. Some weren’t even opened. They had Hannah’s scrawled handwriting, on
the envelopes, informing her that this bill arrived in 2003; this bill arrived
in 2009. There were overdue bills, second notices, all requiring a complicated,
tedious unravelling process. It took weeks to accomplish.
And it showed my family that Hannah was letting things go. Was is
merely absent-minded? Or was it deliberate? After all, she didn’t pay- or even open-
these bills. She simply covered everything up with a tablecloth. That
was her solution?
Unfortunately, for the hoarder, that often appears to be a viable remedy
to unpleasant realities. And bills, if nothing else, are unpleasant. This
“symptom” signifies, oftentimes, how the hoarder can no longer be viewed as
financially responsible. Guardians and financial powers of attorneys,
therefore, need to step in now.
Hoarders may not utilize the tablecloth technique when it comes to
bills. Some hoarders simply lose track of the mounds of accumulating paper. But
there is a common disconnect:
“I don’t want to deal with this, so I won’t.”
Tablecloth Layer #2: Depression Denial
We pulled off another layer, this one pink. Packed sheets of
notebook paper covered the table. The content of these pages contained Hannah’s
written prayers asking for help with losing weight and meeting her “goals.” Sprinkled
amongst her wish list were repeated mentions, “I’m depressed.”
And I immediately flashed to remembrances of her defiantly
declaring, “I don’t need therapy. That’s for other people.”
This was a woman who endured abuse, trauma and severe poverty. But,
not surprisingly, because of shame, she could not admit she needed help from
anyone else besides “The Lord.”
She denied she was sad.
She denied she was depressed.
She denied there was a problem.
And, I guess, looking at her notebook entries, which abruptly
stopped a year before her health crisis, she eventually denied there was a
problem to even “The Good Lord.” She decided, again, to cover the table.
Hannah was suffering. Yet she was adamant about refusing
help. She self-medicated instead with food and shopping, which, of course,
exacerbated the hoarding.
What could have happened if she just received some professional
counseling? What could have happened if she admitted she was miserable?
Tablecloth Layer #3: Dangerous Coping
The table still felt padded. We pulled off another layer (this one
was floral).
The surface here was covered with various family members’ Social Security
Numbers written on index cards and notes to herself about how to operate
appliances and where she kept various “important things” that she was, I guess,
afraid she’d lose track of.
Yet, with the event of her health crisis, the evidence was
overwhelming. She had lost track of everything. A progression of mental
fogginess was, perhaps explained by her massive stroke (or strokes)?
Hannah was disorganized and desperate, never wanting to admit to
herself that her strategies to “get by” further jeopardized her life and
safety. And her methods of staying on top of important pieces of information
was, inevitably, only covered with another layer of tablecloth.
Hoarders often make notes to themselves, reminding them of
important matters: people’s phone numbers, where the car keys are, how to operate
the car, how to turn on a light or lock the front door. They believe these
instructions will keep them safe. But these notes are often lost and buried
somewhere. Their whereabouts, many times, is long forgotten.
Tablecloth Layer #4: The Sacred and the Meaningful
The padding on the table still existed. There was one more layer.
We removed the red and blue floral tablecloth to find scattered
mementos: family photos and even the postcards my husband and I sent Hannah
when we moved Westward…in 1999. It was shocking to see how these mementos were
not in picture frames or even scrapbooks, for she insisted on keeping them.
Hannah wouldn’t throw anything away.
Did these items mean anything to her? And, if they meant
something, why did she bury them?
Perhaps, it was an all too common hoarding behavior: people bury
their treasures, again, often forgetting where they buried them. The
hoarder wants to keep not only his/her treasures safe, but himself/herself safe
as well.
Hannah wanted to be safe. And she also wanted a clean
house. Maybe she felt her tablecloth method achieved both. She could
keep everything, yet still have things look pretty. Because, let’s not forget,
on top of that first layer was a vase with silk flowers. She was trying
for beauty.
Aesthetically pleasing, but at what price? Her health? Her safety?
Her social life? Hannah didn’t let anyone “in.” She chose to shut out those
people, representing those photographs and mementos. The biggest reasons?
Probably shame and self-protection, which were both in overdrive. But what
emotional damage did this do to not only her, but to others, as well? No man is
an island.
Safekeeping. It appears to be a hallmark of a hoarder. Stay safe.
Build a barrier. Build a cocoon. And somehow, over time, that morphs into a
death trap. People have been found dead under the layers of cocooning,
known as their homes. It’s private and quiet.
Usually, by the time the hoarding is discovered, it is at crisis
level. It requires professional help of the “many hands” variety. It requires
counseling. And that requires willingness from the hoarder. And
if he/she is anything like Hannah, that will be a challenge, as they assert, “I
don’t need help/therapy. I’m fine on my own.”
In fact, concerning the hoarding, the only way to effectively stop
the madness was to remove her from that multi-room home and place her into
a more contained care facility. Hannah is now limited to her bedroom. Facility
staff frequently check on her, monitoring her hoarding tendencies so they do
not flourish in this environment.
And sometimes, that is the best one can do. Hoarding is a
compulsion, often born from trauma. You cannot reason with it. And it’s not as
simple as “just get rid of the junk.” More will appear quickly in its absence.
Hoarding, from start to finish, is a layered issue. And we often
must pick things apart, layer by layer, dealing with it.
Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse
Friday, February 14, 2020
Make Someone Happy?
The lyrics from “Make Someone Happy?”
challenge us concerning healthy self-esteem and relationships.
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
Tuesday, February 11, 2020
Enough
When
I was a college theatre major, I performed a monologue from Christopher
Durang’s “'Denity Crisis” in my
acting class.
“...You
remember how, in the second act, Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's
about to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and
he says that Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough people believe in
fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that
they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won't die…. and so then all
the children started to clap…. we clapped very hard and very long…. my palms
hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard…. then suddenly the actress
playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, ‘that wasn't enough. You
didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’
Uh…well, and… and then everyone started to cry. The actress stalked
offstage and refused to continue with the play, and they finally had to bring
down the curtain. No one could see anything through all the tears, and the
ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the street. I
don't think I was ever the same after that.”
One
word: enough.
This
business of earning grace, love and worth can wreak havoc. It drives many of
us, in some attempt to self-soothe. We reason no matter what we do or do not do
in life, it’s not “enough.” We can find ourselves in a state of paralysis.
We
come from a survival place of just getting through this thing called life. We
believe the best we can hope for is, while paralyzed, is to numb and comfort
ourselves with our beloved addiction.
We
can call it multi-tasking, being goal- oriented or doing some trouble shooting.
Still, we are bombarded by the demanding assessment…
“‘that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard
enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’”
There’s
a popular self-esteem exercise which challenges us to rethink what it means to
be on the adequacy/inadequacy spectrum. For those of us who are prone to black
and white, all or nothing thinking, this confronts how, when we think the
absolute worst of ourselves, we tend to see ourselves as being complete
failures, as being inherently worthless, talentless, stupid and incompetent.
The
other end of this oppressive spectrum, in our minds, is complete and total
perfection and competence. It means we have reached an “enough” status. We are
smart enough, pretty enough, rich enough, talented enough, lovable enough, on
and on… You get the picture.
Until
we are that, we are nothing, again, according to our harsh and mistaken
minds.
But
really, the more accurate, more human, perspective is our placement on
the continuum of skills and capabilities. We are somewhere in the middle.
Our
harsh inner critic often doesn’t take kindly to that assertion. Perfection is a
demanding taskmaster, promising fulfilled dreams and a pain-less existence. We
set ourselves up for devastation when we expect that promise to be thoroughly
realized in our lives.
But
it’s not hopeless. For, along with the realistic approach to the adequacy
spectrum exists one important antidote word: Nevertheless.
Here’s
a few statements to shout down that inner critic’s inaccurate and harmful
self-assessment:
Harsh
Inner Critic Assessment: “I can’t do
anything right.”
Nevertheless
Antidote: “I have failed at something.
Something has not worked out. Nevertheless, I am still here,
still breathing, still a person of value, even though I cannot quite experience
it in this moment.”
Harsh
Inner Critic Assessment: “I keep
screwing up.”
Nevertheless
Antidote: “I have had successes in my life. I
have done a number of things well. I may have failed here, nevertheless,
things are not over for me. I will succeed again.”
Harsh
Inner Critic Assessment: “It’s
over.”
Nevertheless
Antidote: “It feels over. Nevertheless,
it is not. My perception in this moment is not the end-all, be-all of
reality.”
Yes,
life, inevitably, deals us some trauma, pain or negative experiences which
reinforce how, indeed, we did not clap hard enough.
Perhaps
our marriage failed...
Perhaps
someone died...
Perhaps
we lost our career, our financial stability or our reputation...
Maybe
we’re given a particular diagnosis or health challenge…
So
now, our personal Tinkerbell, because of imperfect life and self, can feel
dead.
All
the more reason, within these moments, to embrace and execute a countering
assertion in the face of the notorious demand…
Enough
is enough.
We
need to challenge our definition of what “enough” means.
Is
it perfection?
Is
it pain-free?
Is
it consequence-less?
Just
what are we expecting when we place “enough” as a demand, upon ourselves?
Human
beings are flawed and fragile. We need to recognize and honor that. To demand
superhuman of our human condition is abusive.
And
it doesn’t work.
Even
if/when we achieve some measure of an elusive “enough” status, inevitably,
something will break down. “Enough,” especially within the realm of perfection,
and “all- needs- completely- met” expectation, is not sustainable. Being human
will trump that. Just wait.
I
love a quote uttered from the late, great tennis phenomenon, Arthur Ashe:
“Start
where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
Notice, there was no utterance of perfection or
unrealistic promise. Instead, his statement exudes…
“Enough
is enough.”
That
always applies to you and I. Tinkerbell may live; she may die. But our inherent
“enough” status exists and remains.
Nothing
can ever kill that.
Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse
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