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Let's Be Real - A Blog
from Lauren Hamilton
Some of us
protect ourselves because it hurts too much to let go.
Or, maybe because it's scary to let someone see what's deep down
inside, past the blood and the guts and the tears.
Like a prison, almost. Except it's our own.
Don't come too close or you'll bite...right?
Or, perhaps, you'll get bitten.
But, let's get real --
Sigh
Screw it, what do I know? I
got my guard up, too. And frankly, I'm one heartbreak away
from
lockin' up shop permanently. I know there are many of you out
there smiling in agreement, two seconds away from callin' it quits on
love. At least you wouldn't have to shave your legs as often,
among other thangs.
I identify with wanting to give up,
with not understanding what it was all worth after putting in all those
sleepless nights and endless fights. I see you --
The jaded hearts.
The mangled limbs.
The life still waiting to come
back into the Soul that fell to the ground when she left.
Yet, just as we almost finish
building those steel doors and
cement walls around our heart, another PYT comes walkin' around the
corner.
Then:
We, you, and I fall even
harder as we chase her pavement.
Copyright © Lauren Hamilton April 2010
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"The Mindset" - A Health & Wellness Blog by Terri West
We are excited to have WOAR Board Member Terri West provide this new weekly blog.
So now, in my early teens, I am faced with knowing that my father
doesn't care too much for my chunky physique. He probably meant well,
though.
My father took me to a dietitian, a short stoutly
gentleman who, although he had a warm smile, was intimidating even
though he was barely taller than I. In my later years I began to
wonder - Was my father doing this for me or for himself? Did my
body embarrass him?
I had weekly appointments in Newport Beach
to make sure that I was losing weight. I was hooked up to
machines, weighed, measured, and subtly berated if I made any
gains. And, yes, I cheated. What was a 14-year-old in a
house full of snacks supposed to do?
I sometimes sneaked into
the cookie drawer for an Oreo. Little did I know, my stepmother
had been keeping count. When she discovered my thievery, she
scolded me and said, "Every time you ate one of those cookies you
stabbed your father in the back!"
Copyright © Terri West May 2010 |
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