A Change in Thought

I had an epiphany a few days ago, one that I hope signals a new way of being. In an instant, I changed my habitual thoughts, thereby changing my entire attitude.

Here’s what happened…

Because I needed some quick money, I wrote 3 articles for a content marketplace. (I used to write these same kinds of articles for this same content marketplace, but I hadn’t written for them in a long time).

To be honest, I quickly dashed out these 250-350 word articles. Nevertheless, I thought they were fine.

The client, however, did not think they were so fine. In fact, the client rejected one article for the following reasons:

Overall Writing Style

Spelling/grammar

Sentence structure

Knowledge of topic

Accuracy

Depth (vs. fluff)

This client, by the way, rejected it outright without giving me the chance to rewrite. Boy…talk about being slugged in the gut. The comment about spelling/grammar was particularly puzzling to me, because the articles go through an editor before being submitted to the client.

Anyway, the old me would have been very defensive and angry at first, and then I would have been humiliated and probably would have had some difficulty writing for clients again. In short, I would have taken it personally. Because I have always been very insecure about my writing, any criticism of my writing can negatively affect me.
But this time I was surprised at my response.  I did not take it personally at all.  I just considered the comment to be the opinion of one (possibly irritated) client. My thought: I could learn from this rejection but not be humiliated by it. I would make sure that I proofread more carefully before submitting articles in the future. But this client only pays 3.2 cents per word, so how much extra work should I do on such articles? In short, I viewed it as a comment which had nothing to do with my own personal worth or my worth as a writer.

I was amazed at how a change in thought could change my mood and my behavior. In this case, I was saved depression and self deprecation that would normally ensue upon such a criticism.

I give Louise Hay partial credit for this change, as she has taught me that my thoughts become my reality.

Have you had any similar epiphanies from following Louise Hay?

Having a Negative Husband

I have been trying to keep up with my affirmations, but my husband is very negative. We are having some cash flow problems right now, and all he talks about is how we don’t have enough money for this and how we don’t have enough money for that.

Every time he talks like this, I feel my positive energies being lowered.

You see, I am an extreme empath, so having a negative husband really affects my mood and my energies.

When I confront him about his negativity, he says he’s not being negative, he’s being “realistic.”

Sigh…

Of course, he’s not traveling down the same spiritual path as I am. So he really doesn’t understand how we make our own realities by what we think and by what we say.

I also want him to be able to express his feelings to me, so I am in a quandary…

Do you have any suggestions about how I can deal with the energy-lowering affects of having a negative husband?

Learning to Love Myself: The Universe Sends me Help



Every morning, I’ve been looking at my reflection in a mirror, saying to myself, “I love you, Christine. I really, really, really, really, REALLY love you.”  

This is my morning mantra. I say this 10 times, every morning. I’ve only missed one day since I’ve started this blog.

I do this just as Louise Hays instructs in her book, “You can Heal your Life.”

But I’m still not comfortable with it.

The Universe Helps Out
As you might expect, my morning mantra has kept me focused on loving myself (even if I still don’t feel that emotion for myself).
As I should have expected, the Universe decided to help me out. (This is classic Law of Attraction at work.).

I’m a freelance writer for a company that sends me a wide variety of assignments (articles) to write for their clients. I have been writing for them for about 1 ½ months, and they keep me very busy.

Well, a few days ago, they sent an assignment for me to write 5 articles for a client for which I have never before written.

But get this…these articles were for a self help program, most of which is concerned with techniques in loving yourself.  Not only that, but the Senior Editor of the company for which I work included 26 attachments to my assignment email These attachments were articles written by the head of this self help program. (The editor attached these articles so that I would have a better understanding of the focus of this company). Now, it’s a little unusual for this editor to attach supplemental materials to my assignment emails, but it’s very unusual for her to attach 26 articles!

So, in essence, I got a course in how to love myself absolutely free!

And I feel so loved even though I cannot, as yet, feel that for myself.

Not Blaming my Parents for my Problems

My Mom with her Aunt. (Mom is on the left)

In the first chapter of her book, You can Heal your Life, Louise Hay says that, though our parents are largely responsible for our faulty perceptions of the world, we shouldn’t blame them. They did the best they could. Further, if we look beneath the surface of our parent’s behavior, we’ll find the fears and insecurities (created from their childhoods) that made them behave as they did. Louise Hay also wrote that we chose our parents and the family to which we’re born so that we can learn certain lessons we need in order to continue our spiritual evolution.

I agree with both points.

In a few days, I will blog about why I think I chose my family to advance my spiritual path. Today, however, I want to discuss my parents through my adult eyes for a change. Odd as this may sound, this is the first time that I’ve ever thought about my childhood from my adult perspective. Every time I’ve thought about my childhood, I usually look at it through my confused, scared child’s eyes. Not today.

My Mother
My mother was born WaveJean on November 19, 1938, at the end of the Great Depression.  She was the second eldest of five children born to Virgil and Belva Sears. Virgil worked in the coal mines, I think. (I never called him Grandpa, for reasons that I’ll probably reveal much later in my  blog).

Virgil had been a violent, abusive alcoholic, terrorizing his children and his passive wife. (Back then, this kind of behavior wasn’t considered to be violent, it was probably expected of a husband and father, especially in the hills of West Virginia).  My mother never had many positive things to say about either of her parents. She feared and resented her father and had no respect for her mother who could never stand up to him.

Probably the most disturbing thing about Virgil was his sexual behavior. I don’t remember details, but I have the impression that he was always cheating on his wife. But apparently—and this is even more disturbing—the age of the female didn’t matter. Mom said that every time she brought a girlfriend over to stay the night, Virgil would come into her bedroom and try to molest her. Consequently, her friends never got to spend the entire night with her. They always went home in the middle of the night, crying.

It makes sense to me that if Virgil molested her young girlfriends, he probably molested her. So I asked Mom about it once. She didn’t deny the possibility, but she said she had no memory of it.
On Her Own

Mom said that her mother was very jealous of her. She said that Belva (whom I had never met, for she died before I was born) was constantly telling Mom that she could see the “sex” in her eyes.  This is another reason why I believe that Virgil molested Mom. I think that Belva knew all about it and, as some women do, blamed her daughter for it. This had to be so shameful to Mom. I think they also kicked Mom out of the house many times and she had to go live with relatives.

Becoming an Adult at 15

Mom had been a beautiful woman. She could have been a model, with her shining black hair, brown eyes, hourglass figure and 5’6” tall frame. But, instead, she got married at the age of 15 to a man she didn’t know very well. His name was Cliff Walters and she said she married him to “escape” West Virginia and come to Ohio. She had a child by him, my oldest brother, but the marriage didn’t last very long. Cliff cheated on her constantly, Mom said.

Cliff got custody of Gary, my brother, because her parents wouldn’t go to court with her and help her get custody. (I don’t remember her age at the time, but she wasn’t old enough, back then, to go to court by herself). I can only imagine the feelings of bitterness Mom must have had toward her parents for letting her lose custody of her child.

Several years later, after she had married my dad, they went to court and got custody of Gary. By that time, they had already borne a few children of their own, and Gary felt like a misfit.

Eventually, Mom gave birth to 7 children.  (She actually had something like 10 pregnancies. One was stillborn and the rest were miscarriages). With babies, Mom was loving and protective and nurturing. But when we got old enough to be people, Mom became rejecting. There was little softness in her. Rather, she respected strength. She could show anger much easier than she could ever show tenderness. Vulnerability was dangerous to her sense of self preservation, I suppose.
Though I was the oldest daughter, Mom made it clear that she didn’t respect me. I was sensitive, quiet. I cried easily, wore my “heart on my sleeve” as she put it with heavy disdain in her voice.

I grew to resent and fear Mom, whom I could never seem to please. I felt constantly belittled and betrayed by her. Sometimes I even hated her. But good or bad, this woman has been the major influence on me throughout my life. My intense need to escape her only fused me more tightly to her.

As I got older, I withdrew more and more into myself, into the safety and relative peace of my bedroom.

In a later post, I will talk about my father.

Thoughts to Ponder:

Did you ever think of your parents as people while you were kids?

Do you think of them as people now?

Do you understand your childhood better now that you're an adult?

I Love You, Christine. Yeah, Right!

It was really difficult for me to look into my own eyes in the mirror this morning and say this affirmation: “I love you Christine. I really, really, really, REALLY love you.

Why?

Well, besides the fact that I do not REALLY love myself—yet, but I’m working on it—I looked awful. There was no life in my eyes. The crusties from sleep were still in my eyelashes. I seemed to have developed more wrinkles during the night. I desperately need a haircut, as my bangs are so long I have to part my hair in the middle. I hate parting my hair in the middle. I much prefer having bangs. My face is also fat, as is the rest of my body. Thank GOD I'm not looking at my reflection in a full length mirror!

For each “I love you” affirmation, my old, haggard face kept saying back to me, “you don’t REALLY believe what you’re saying.”

Damn Louise Hay!

So I press on.

“I love you, Christine. I really, really, really, REALLY love you.

Negative Beliefs from Childhood



This isn't my entrie family, but most of us are there.  My dad is the one with the camera. My Aunt and Uncle are standing in back. My Aunt is the one with the baby in her arms. I am in the far left with a big round black bag over my arm

In the first chapter of her book, You Can Heal Your Life, Louise Hay says that our childhoods shape most of our negative beliefs about ourselves and the world around us.

When I think about this, I know she’s right. In our childhoods, we are told “no” a lot. We are criticized a lot. We are indoctrinated with our parents’ views of the world.

And what were my parents’ viewpoints? How did they react to the world and to us, their children? How did I experience their behavior to me and to my siblings? How did my parents affect my views of the world and, more importantly, my view of myself?

Being Afraid

My dad was passive and my mom was aggressive. When things got too tranquil around the house, mom apparently felt the need to stir things up. She would wage great, loud, dramatic fights with my dad. My brothers and sisters and I would go to other rooms, trembling and hoping the fight would end soon.

The family was constantly under pressure and today I understand why. My parents had 7 children to feed and clothe on my dad’s meager wages. Although we never went hungry (mom was a great cook and could make a meal out of a combination of almost any ingredients) we were always aware of how precipitous life was.

My parents let us know each time that we were nearly broke (which was almost always). They told us that resources such as school supplies and clothing and food were limited. My grandmother bought our school supplies each year and my mother screamed at us whenever we needed anything extra. My brothers and sisters kept asking for what they wanted until they got it. I withdrew from my mother’s rage.

And I grew up with a deep poverty consciousness and a fear of asking for what I truly wanted. Worse, I came to believe that I did not deserve to go very far in life.