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What Writers Know: It is a Fine Line Between Truth and Fiction

By in Blog Posts, Revelations as a Writer, Writing East of Mecca No Comments

“Hello darkness, my old friend.

I’ve come to talk with you again.”

~ Paul Simon

4/52-Walking the Fine Line

For the past few months I have been working on a second edition of East of Mecca. It will include reviews from Amazon and Goodreads and discussion questions for book clubs. Also included is a “second edition afterword” where I address the question I have been most asked since the original publication in 2013, “Haven’t things improved for Saudi women since you lived there in the late 1980’s?”

The simple and tragic answer is, “No.” Circumstances have worsened for Saudi women—and for Muslim women and girls worldwide. Because of culturally-sanctioned honor violence and radical Islamic terrorist groups, gender apartheid against women has reached epic proportions.

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The Second Sunday

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Sheila and Mom

Today is Mother’s Day, and, as much as I enjoy being celebrated for being a mom, the day is bittersweet for me—as it is for most of us who have lost our moms. The loss of your mother brings both a unique and universal sorrow.

When I was a little girl, there was a tradition on Mother’s Day. At church, carnations were available for all the women. Those whose mothers were still alive got a red carnation, and those whose moms had died got a white one. As a child, I never thought about how that would feel—to get a white carnation. I could not have imagined.

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At This Moment

By in Blog Posts, Friends, Photographs and Original Art 3 Comments

isla_mujeres

If we own the story

then we can write the ending.

~Brené Brown

I am sitting in a circle of a hundred women, all wearing white. We pass a small woven basket containing a microphone into which we each speak in turn. We have been asked to share our experiences of the previous three days using the prompts, “At this moment…” followed by, “Moving forward…”

It was 6:00 p.m. Isla Mujeres, Mexico time, on Sunday, March 8, 2015— International Women’s Day. It was the closing ceremony for the We Move Forward women’s conference held that weekend at the MIA Reef Hotel.

Moving around the circle, “I feel blessed” and “I am grateful” were the phrases spoken most often. Insights were shared and commitments made to move forward with the intention of creating our best possible lives. There were tears and laughter, touches and hugs—as there had been the entire three days.

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Cancer Redux

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DSC06074.jpg

Time has been lost to me for a while. It has been over two months since my last blog post on December 8, 2014. It’s been a busy two months, and reading back through my journal, I catch glimpses of much that has transpired.

…a heavy work schedule, lunches, dinners, and movies with friends, dates with my husband, Zumba, working on Orchard Road and adapting East of Mecca back into a screenplay, signing up for an international women’s conference in Mexico the first weekend in March, buying, decorating, and taking down the Christmas Tree, holiday parties, a weekend visit from my oldest son, Christmas with my youngest and his wife, Winter Solstice, a quiet New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day resolutions, snow angels, a vortex, and a blizzard, the deaths of an aunt, Joe Cocker and Rod McKuen, the closely watched pregnancy of a dear woman, wonderful reviews of East of Mecca…

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Moving Forward

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Luck on a Fence

This is the second part of a two-part posting. You can find the first post titled “Cancer Redux” here.

*****

This past Thursday was the coldest day of winter and the Kellogg Cancer Center parking lot was completely full. I waited ten minutes then gave my car to the valet. Inside, the waiting room was crowded. I stopped just inside the entrance and looked around.

There is something uniquely nondiscriminatory about the waiting room of a cancer center. Every age, gender, ethnicity, and religion is represented. People are waiting for treatments, are in-between treatments, or are waiting for people who are having treatments. Mostly, it’s easy to tell who’s who. As I looked around the room, eyes met mine. There’s an assessment going on. Are you one of us?

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Suspended

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Suspended

A huge part of how I define myself is survivor. I’ve survived a lot in my life, but the thing most present in my mind when I say “survivor” is breast cancer. Up until last Wednesday, December 3, I was calling myself a twelve-year survivor. Now I don’t know. Now I’m just pending. Now I’m suspended like the tiny pieces of my flesh gathered for the biopsy.

Last Wednesday was my yearly diagnostic mammogram appointment. I scheduled it for as early as possible, 8:45, and showed up even earlier, before 8:30. I was wearing my exercise clothes, thinking if I got in right away I’d be able to make my 9:30 Zumba class.

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What Shrinks Know (#19): The Gift of Extreme Gratitude

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gratitude

“In the silence you don’t know, you must go on,

I can’t go on, I’ll go on.”

~ Samuel Beckett

Though I’ve never read Samuel Beckett’s novel, The Unnamable, I recognize the above quote as describing a place I’ve been all too many times in my life. It is that place of loss or illness or tragedy where, despite the support of loving people, you feel totally alone. It is that place of darkness where screamed and whispered cries of “Why?” are met with deafening silence—because there are no answers. It is that place with no road map out. It is that place you feel is impossible to survive—and yet, you do.

It is in places such as these, where the seeds for extreme gratitude are sown.

Last week I wrote about the power of mindful gratitude—how a practice of intentionally seeking out experiences for which to be grateful can bring us peace in stressful times. In previous posts, I’ve written about the value of perspective. It is in looking back that we often see the gifts that our disappointments and losses eventually brought us—valuable experiences and relationships that we would not have had without going through the pain—and which we would never choose to give up.

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What Shrinks Know (#18): The Power of Mindful Gratitude

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give thanks

“Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.” —

William Arthur Ward

The week of Thanksgiving has arrived, ushering in the most stressful and emotionally complex season celebrated in the Western world. Already, my patient load has risen!

None of us reaches adulthood without carrying baggage from childhood. And disappointments and losses continue to accumulate over the years. It is inevitable—we cannot live and love in this world without experiencing pain. And although we would so love to be able to neatly compartmentalize the different seasons and stages of our lives, it is not possible. The truth is, no matter how circuitous our life’s path, our lives are lived on a continuum. Every joyful memory remains to be triggered by something in our present. And it is the same with every loss. Even wounds we think have healed nicely can be ripped open without warning during the holidays.

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Repost: Hope and Action

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With October being Breast Cancer Awareness month, I want to once again share my personal experience.  I am now a twelve-year survivor… for which I am grateful beyond words. It is my wish that my story bring comfort and HOPE to those who are struggling with their own diagnosis, or who love someone who is.

I didn’t realize what a daunting task it would be when I decided to write my very first blog in October on the topic of breast cancer.  The original idea came from a celebratory place—on Friday, September 28, I had my yearly diagnostic mammogram and was declared cancer free.  I am now a 10 year survivor—which puts me in the 82nd percentile of women who make it this long.

Evanston Northwestern Hospital Breast Cancer Treatment Advertisement. Photo & Advertisement © 2003, ENH
Evanston Northwestern Hospital Breast Cancer Treatment Advertisement. Photo & Advertisement © 2003, ENH

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The SIMPLE Quest for Simplicity

By in Blog Posts, Life as a Shrink, Revelations as a Writer 4 Comments

Senior CrossingYesterday I drove past a sign that said “Senior Crossing.” My second impulse was to take a “selfie” in front of it. But my first impulse was to riddle it with buckshot. Back in my Texas wild-west days, I would have pulled out my rifle and done just that. (Not that I ever drove around with a rifle. But I was damn good at the shooting range!) That bright yellow sign would make for excellent target practice.

God, I hate the term “senior.” I’ve learned to let it trip off my tongue when buying movie tickets, but find myself only able to ask for senior rates when booking hotel rooms online or over the phone. To ask in person feels like only calling attention to the obvious. It feels redundant seeing that most people behind counters are so young they would automatically assume I was ancient enough to qualify for senior rates.

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