tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46698178774844521402024-02-02T01:10:12.283-08:00Battling BAREUnder Construction.
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www.facebook.com/BattlingBareAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-6477114708212923812016-09-13T05:44:00.002-07:002016-09-13T05:44:58.310-07:00Afraid to be Fit<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
AFRAID TO BE FIT<br />Blog Post #1<br />September 12, 2016</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a before and after 1 year on Thrive and when I can say<br />I truly started healing my relationship with food and my body.</td></tr>
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My nick name was “bloated porpoise”. In fact, I even had a scientific name along with that “bloatious porpious”. Pronounced bloat-ee-ous porp-ee-ous. It was all fun and games back then, you see. No one knew how badly that cut me to my soul. Not my brother or his friends. Not my mother. I just smiled and laughed right along with them.</div>
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That is, until I was alone in my room in front of the huge mirror and ballet bar my parents had put in my room. It was there I would pick myself apart. Silently critiquing my every curve, pimple, pore, cellulite spot—all less than “perfection” and all proof that I was never going to be good enough.</div>
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“Suck your stomach in, Ashley.”<br />“Stand up straight.”<br />“Maybe you should walk a few more times up this hill.”<br />“Are you really going to eat all of that?”</div>
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…all statements that I can still hear and more importantly can feel how I felt back then. Statements from loved ones that had no idea the profound affect they would have on me even now, 20 years later.</div>
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My body wasn’t the only thing that was targeted in this “constructive criticism”...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7CtOd4kEGXKgve2gIT_ohVtAXP_VhyphenhyphenjSsThhjLypje7eAQaohNyqglsCPswSyQU8-2ZAdFSQx_6RxoEZ1xsSTKFTi1wFATjiESzLd00bdFikQxAT2YStjZ0KhL93rPwvg90sRYfky0g/s1600/230420_1029374608763_8193_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7CtOd4kEGXKgve2gIT_ohVtAXP_VhyphenhyphenjSsThhjLypje7eAQaohNyqglsCPswSyQU8-2ZAdFSQx_6RxoEZ1xsSTKFTi1wFATjiESzLd00bdFikQxAT2YStjZ0KhL93rPwvg90sRYfky0g/s320/230420_1029374608763_8193_n.jpg" width="137" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Aug. 2008--4 months<br />after giving birth to my<br />youngest kiddo.</td></tr>
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My grades.<br />My “grandiose dreams”.<br />The “wrongness” of my love to be on stage and entertaining others.<br />My outbursts of anger.<br />My lack of self love.</div>
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“Ashley—the world is your oyster. You can be anything you want” was one breath, and in the next “Ashley, suck your stomach in! Stand up straight! Take better care of your things! Stop drawing attention to yourself! Stop being the center of attention! Stop being so bossy!”</div>
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And in conversations with others I was introduced like this: “And this--this is my very strong willed child.”</div>
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I grew up in a very sarcastic and highly critical family that placed a great deal of importance on image and what “other people” would see or think. Perfection was the standard and there was a “right way” and a “wrong way” to do everything right down to vacuuming the floor and folding the towels.</div>
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Not being “good enough” was a thing and failures just weren’t talked about. Feelings weren’t really talked about either, and when you did something “right” or accomplished something, you got a “good job” and life moved on….</div>
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But, when you “fell short”…</div>
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When you “failed”…</div>
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Or when, God forbid, you “disappointed” or “embarrassed” the family—</div>
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Yeah that was something you could and never would live down.</div>
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Can you see the mixed messages?<br />“You’re so beautiful—tone it down!”<br />“You’re so talented and well spoken—you really need to pay attention to how you intimidate people!”</div>
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Maybe you experienced something similar?<br />Maybe you longed deep in your soul like I have for you family to just love and accept you as you are?</div>
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Maybe, just maybe, you’ve cried and asked yourself over and over why you could never be enough yet too much at the same time?<br />Maybe you were the black sheep of your family, like me, that rebelled against all the bullshit yet found yourself on a crazy roller coaster because of self-criticism?</div>
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Maybe, like me, you’ve beaten yourself up for all the ways you “failed”?</div>
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All of that laid the foundation for how I’ve treated myself for years. Chain smoking and not eating then binge eating then feeling guilty then forcing my body to lose weight with diet pills, crazy diets—I’d even use super hard workouts as a way to abuse myself. Up and down on the scale I went over and over and over again. Hating myself when I was “fat” or “chunky” or “heavy”. Feeling scared out of my mind when I was getting toned and sexy because of all the attention—sexually charged from men and hate-filled stares from women--that brought up all the criticisms from my family growing up.</div>
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It brought up something else, too. When men would look at me with this predator look, suddenly I was</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4aU2KPRCYVbSsBc-JZof7_a-fJY8slLcSMHis0BKtMLJkXpfU6dTAVldPprPVlF6FSl6NaNcEVwS1L-EcSaBvEf7JgddbDkCvcpcS-fSB0Sa6RAAldJPUtOsGTU10Tufqg4nggYN4MU/s1600/229710_1029374728766_9024_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4aU2KPRCYVbSsBc-JZof7_a-fJY8slLcSMHis0BKtMLJkXpfU6dTAVldPprPVlF6FSl6NaNcEVwS1L-EcSaBvEf7JgddbDkCvcpcS-fSB0Sa6RAAldJPUtOsGTU10Tufqg4nggYN4MU/s320/229710_1029374728766_9024_n.jpg" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dec. 2008--starting to drop<br />the baby-weight.</td></tr>
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back at a fraternity house—surrounded by 7 men—scared out of my mind, wanting to scream but unable to get any words but a quiet “please stop” out of my mouth.<br />
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And this has been my roller coaster: getting so much extra weight that I was sick of it and did something drastic to lose weight. Started feeling great and then I’d get “in shape” or “fit enough” that men would start looking at me or coming on to me (insert the subconscious belief that skinny=rape) and so I would start gaining weight again.</div>
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Up and down and up and down and up and down again.</div>
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That was the physical cycle that manifested from this internal battle of “not enough-ness and too much-ness” along with “skinny=rape” that was compounded by the further effect of me beating myself up for something being “wrong with me” that I couldn’t just stay the same weight—wanting to ask for help. Wanting to break the cycle, but all the while hiding because of fear of what other people would think.</div>
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Know what is really interesting about this though? I’m far from the only one with this struggle, but I know I have reached the point where I’ve decided enough is enough and I worthy of happiness and health and breaking this old destructive cycle. It’s taken a long time to get here and I know there will be bumps along the road, but thanks to inspirational women, friends and mentors that have come into </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT75o1PHM1-sV-k4pwP3EdmORwOoAIJc40w9HVzWgYi_vgxpwroyVGa9YAR4LUP5f6NhZGJveyP4ZSzmYoALPp2Wo889bvtZDVEk-9-dE4uE3bl8v_Tz2YLbiBvLeFJFTNz_XlvKQQIFE/s1600/998198_10200878054087772_852123600_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT75o1PHM1-sV-k4pwP3EdmORwOoAIJc40w9HVzWgYi_vgxpwroyVGa9YAR4LUP5f6NhZGJveyP4ZSzmYoALPp2Wo889bvtZDVEk-9-dE4uE3bl8v_Tz2YLbiBvLeFJFTNz_XlvKQQIFE/s320/998198_10200878054087772_852123600_n.jpg" width="128" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May-ish 2013. Starting to<br />get skinny enough that I was<br />scaring myself because of all<br />the male attention.</td></tr>
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myself, I know I will succeed, and my sharing the naked truth with you along with journey is meant to inspire you to succeed and heal even faster than I have been able to. It is meant to let you know that even people on “stage” or that have “a platform” or “a following” have things they struggle with and are working to heal—it’s part of this incredible journey we call life and it doesn’t make you flawed or wrong or a failure, it makes you human. The sooner we are all brave and courageous enough to step into our own magnificence and vulnerability to share our truth, the faster we will all heal together.<br />
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Join me on this awesome journey to heal our pain—giving it a new and powerful meaning/purpose that will ignite our passion and transform our lives. It’s what I call “Pain Metamorphosis”—it’s what has allowed me to release the old blockages and no longer be afraid to be a fit, fabulous, flamboyant and slightly famous me.</div>
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YOU can do the same!</div>
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To see more from me, follow me on Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1057264992" target="_blank">HERE</a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD64Xo7NpeoVce5-NDbVU4Xxiro1vUJYwV4atBF0Fm5IhFxFoAY5sCO5dHZrArE-DunUt5okV8ksdMEOh04oSEXjVab-AUSbwjbgqorHoWx1BfI6EgdeV3FZ3R5Qi-AfB_NYUzFtlzYhk/s1600/14265073_10208865941419963_5336345413720015254_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD64Xo7NpeoVce5-NDbVU4Xxiro1vUJYwV4atBF0Fm5IhFxFoAY5sCO5dHZrArE-DunUt5okV8ksdMEOh04oSEXjVab-AUSbwjbgqorHoWx1BfI6EgdeV3FZ3R5Qi-AfB_NYUzFtlzYhk/s320/14265073_10208865941419963_5336345413720015254_n.jpg" width="199" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me September 12, 2016. I'm 205 pounds,<br />size 12 and loving who I am NOW as I<br />continue on my healing journey!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOLweD5dnFvHFXPLQV5VSScyaakHh97GJVbrk-yiPIPUtGiD6sGocbpNzrwxnFNkEOxsx2WNODeHdyEnbf3mOnUTE4szxhAnFfmbVOw88jI0GGdEKR0o71861cP4byFzNcg7v8UohS4D0/s1600/13680906_10208431477398634_5427947138951021863_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOLweD5dnFvHFXPLQV5VSScyaakHh97GJVbrk-yiPIPUtGiD6sGocbpNzrwxnFNkEOxsx2WNODeHdyEnbf3mOnUTE4szxhAnFfmbVOw88jI0GGdEKR0o71861cP4byFzNcg7v8UohS4D0/s200/13680906_10208431477398634_5427947138951021863_n.jpg" width="199" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Mike--the love of my life. He helps<br />me to see me through his eyes every day.<br /></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-42437229048767280202015-02-01T11:05:00.003-08:002015-02-01T15:23:17.087-08:00#JimmyFallon and the #TonightShow Saved My Marriage<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Jimmy,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I know this is probably a long shot. I’m writing anyway, and
sending it off on a wing and prayer. I want you to know how much your light of
laughter has meant in my life—more than that, how it was the basis of saving my
marriage.<o:p></o:p></div>
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See—my husband served 20 years in the military with multiple
combat tours and he suffers not only from PTSD but also from TBI (traumatic
brain injury). He just recently retired—June 1, 2014 was his first day as a
civilian in 20 years, and this transition has been the most difficult of our
lives. I dare say even more difficult than when my first husband was murdered
on Christmas Day in 2004.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The transition wasn’t something I was prepared for—and in
many ways, I put a lot of pressure on myself, my husband and my children to “keep
it together” because we are looked to in the military community as “examples”
because of a global movement I started in 2012 to raise awareness about the
invisible wounds of war (#PTSD) with one picture (see below) and a pledge. That movement is now
known as Battling BARE.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZP-wW-FA2gWYxBtOdNVt2H9_2GbbEP6dc2NX3hygGJ8PqP4c4hxY63xEaG9AnB_pblCl3G5ZzJN2a70zHF5dhT4DyiqrwwV1bvHvOrNN0gZ0pn4gVXyzeYBnkj-_okuR46HVt1xIYw0/s1600/P20120420-1-1FB+Ash+Original+BB+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ZP-wW-FA2gWYxBtOdNVt2H9_2GbbEP6dc2NX3hygGJ8PqP4c4hxY63xEaG9AnB_pblCl3G5ZzJN2a70zHF5dhT4DyiqrwwV1bvHvOrNN0gZ0pn4gVXyzeYBnkj-_okuR46HVt1xIYw0/s1600/P20120420-1-1FB+Ash+Original+BB+Pic.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I posted that picture, I was just angry that my husband
was hurting and instead of getting help he was most likely going to get
punished for what the Army called “assault” that was truly just a “flashback”.<br />
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I didn’t know how to help my husband, but I knew—after sharing my story with
other wives—that ours wasn’t the only hurting family…and then suddenly I was in
the spotlight and many thought I “had it all together” or “had the answers”,
when truly at that point, I was just scraping by day by day—sometimes minute by
minute—just trying like heck to hold it together for my family and “be
everything to everyone else”…in the process I forgot what it meant to take care
of myself and remember to laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Laughter is the basis for healing—laughter is what makes
life worth living, and you helped me to remember that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember watching your very first “Tonight Show”—listening
to you tell the world your sincere, pure and real intention of just helping
everyone to laugh a little before they go to bed because it was a great way to
end the day with tears in my eyes--because it was then I realized I'd forgotten to have fun in my life.<br />
<br />
I believe you even said something like “because that (laughter and having fun) is what it’s all
about”.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband and I were sitting silently together in the
living room—which was an accomplishment at that point in time. He was on one
side of the room and I on the other. We were barely speaking to each other—and something
magical started to happen as we tuned in nightly to watch your show…<br />
<br />
Our
laughing together started opening up conversation… our laughing together
progressed to sitting together…and then holding hands…and then getting back in
the habit of telling each other "I love you" and kissing each other good night before we fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Laughing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you created that bright spot for us.<br />
<br />
I can never thank
you enough, Mr. Fallon, for being such a bright spot in our lives. Your talent
for finding humor created a bridge for my husband and I to find each other
again, and I am forever grateful for you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With Humble Awe, Gratitude and Love,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Ashley E. Wise<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-152327268065899182015-01-26T09:03:00.000-08:002015-01-31T12:23:17.422-08:00Teal Star: The #PTSD Magazine<strong style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">#TealStar: The #PTSD Magazine</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;"> was launched as a digital magazine in October 2014. </span><em style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">It's already been a huge success with 5,000+ readers from around the world!</em><br />
<br style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;" />
<strong style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">The Mission</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">: help hurting people heal by providing stories of hope and effective resources & educational information on both tradition and non-traditional healing methods.</span><br />
<br style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;" />
<strong style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">The Vision</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">: Be the "go to place" for all things related to healing and recovering from PTSD/Secondary PTSD while providing financial stability to individuals dealing with or caring for someone with PTSD through flexible and "portable" jobs.</span><br />
<br style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;"><b>T</b>he digital magazine is FREE to subscribe--so please check it out here: </span><br />
<br style="color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;" />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.tealstarmagazine.com" href="http://www.tealstarmagazine.com/" style="color: #00709f; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">http://www.tealstarmagazine.com</a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;">If you would like to advertise in Teal Star, please email:</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-31894804757854686522015-01-26T07:27:00.002-08:002015-01-26T07:27:32.060-08:00Carrie Cox: Battling Babe launches PTSD magazine, still angry that soldiers don’t get help they need<h1 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 24px; line-height: 28px; margin: 10px 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Awesome article!</h1>
<div>
Check it out here: <a href="http://www.nkytribune.com/2015/01/carrie-cox-battling-babe-launches-ptsd-magazine-still-angry-that-soldiers-dont-get-help-they-need/">http://www.nkytribune.com/2015/01/carrie-cox-battling-babe-launches-ptsd-magazine-still-angry-that-soldiers-dont-get-help-they-need/</a></div>
<div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-69695466200040178102015-01-26T07:08:00.000-08:002015-01-26T07:10:37.040-08:00A Widow's Take on #AmericanSniper: For #TayaKyle, #milspouses, #Vetspouses and #GoldStarWives Everywhere<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RkX9jQvVFVkn-qtnm2mO7f2EjBAiBh554SgD219UpmIGVt84ymKKbvfdPVk8mDpVgNx_6pUgMl0IU6vlAxO2xq0MTsEXKfG_G6HAVOb_fs4nebc86A64V6T7Y2DhbGsFackTJmWfhT4/s1600/American_Sniper_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RkX9jQvVFVkn-qtnm2mO7f2EjBAiBh554SgD219UpmIGVt84ymKKbvfdPVk8mDpVgNx_6pUgMl0IU6vlAxO2xq0MTsEXKfG_G6HAVOb_fs4nebc86A64V6T7Y2DhbGsFackTJmWfhT4/s1600/American_Sniper_poster.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a>American Sniper--a painfully beautiful "slice of life" look into the lives of a truly noble American Warrior Family.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqv7eWDkN8Bk8nBXKT-NbupRJG6HPT-OWlwIpHZyyyjel80q59Wi3U4CzU1eZlKf2RZ27QSb-B9a3K0x4iWjLrVpbWN4EfARSL7Xf7m9JKDiLgyZ0jgUNyDZ4Wum4c2qUS3L8Z3cbbyto/s1600/722319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqv7eWDkN8Bk8nBXKT-NbupRJG6HPT-OWlwIpHZyyyjel80q59Wi3U4CzU1eZlKf2RZ27QSb-B9a3K0x4iWjLrVpbWN4EfARSL7Xf7m9JKDiLgyZ0jgUNyDZ4Wum4c2qUS3L8Z3cbbyto/s1600/722319.jpg" height="103" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="line-height: 21.466667175293px;">My "flashback" wasn't inspired by bullets flying, but watching as the heartbroken family left behind sits grave side and jumps at the shots fired to the 21 gun salute... </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hCE6-lfZuWoeJngLVigSsFDFsy616ygc7IO-lIWFU349sa66HD4J_Y67z_phO8U42eXJcp5kfvLMyqUus_OQR47nRNOdSFfkubrSpRJi9ld06DvYBy3ZED8LqAWVmhltBFE7OgoDuZw/s1600/100531_Memorial_Day_5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_hCE6-lfZuWoeJngLVigSsFDFsy616ygc7IO-lIWFU349sa66HD4J_Y67z_phO8U42eXJcp5kfvLMyqUus_OQR47nRNOdSFfkubrSpRJi9ld06DvYBy3ZED8LqAWVmhltBFE7OgoDuZw/s1600/100531_Memorial_Day_5.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
T<span style="background-color: transparent;">he tears flow freely as Taps is played with the melancholy sound of the bugle...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch0uHs5EyI547y4K3VIB1BDU-3OllHhVqfWSN4aahDiXV4OKA9HSHKJm94ZUyM3EhMRueqbBMyEg_sJ5908ngN00v_tFCnXED7kCray2gCTCstdfcUxz1Zb9PWnXCZIMulo0nDQFXQx0/s1600/rkimrie-funeral-services-photo-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch0uHs5EyI547y4K3VIB1BDU-3OllHhVqfWSN4aahDiXV4OKA9HSHKJm94ZUyM3EhMRueqbBMyEg_sJ5908ngN00v_tFCnXED7kCray2gCTCstdfcUxz1Zb9PWnXCZIMulo0nDQFXQx0/s1600/rkimrie-funeral-services-photo-03.jpg" height="200" width="195" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 21.466667175293px;">Our Nation's glorious flag being expertly folded over a casket... </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikazagjCji3YMoIJk_dGd9xhdPV-r3aipHE5pi3vT5HIulc1cXKF1z1-dOd026_0maJpylyC9iMcm3n1RHb4zQhGQIdIIlMUsr1MOLR6ezgCVJhL5venb845rdiqxMe1jjn6XeDy68W7U/s1600/Flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikazagjCji3YMoIJk_dGd9xhdPV-r3aipHE5pi3vT5HIulc1cXKF1z1-dOd026_0maJpylyC9iMcm3n1RHb4zQhGQIdIIlMUsr1MOLR6ezgCVJhL5venb845rdiqxMe1jjn6XeDy68W7U/s1600/Flag.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 21.466667175293px;">And reverently handed to the surviving widow who is trying like hell to keep what shred of emotional composure she has left within her being....</span></div>
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<br />
<br />
That experience still hits too close to home for comfort...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.466667175293px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br />
Still another "flashback" came when this scene was portrayed... being told by my Soldier that "if something happens to me, you'll be alright. You're strong. You'll find someone else."</div>
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Words meant to be a comfort by my cherished love who was soon to deploy.</div>
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Words that made me want to scream, "I don't want to be the strong one, but you leave me no choice!"</div>
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Words that made me wish I could have loved a man who wasn't an Earth Angel chosen to face evil courageously head on and possibly die to protect the rest of us...</div>
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And then realizing if he was anyone but who he was, my soul wouldn't have knit together so perfectly with his...and this love that runs so pure...so deep...so unconditionally wouldn't have blossomed within my heart.</div>
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Neither would any other Military or Veteran Spouse I know...or Police or Fire wife for that matter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBeoY3PdiFydxaob7s8tVs-UkqlR_LEg7mlaSQuj5nL0n9sqLdOjytfy9yhAgaL946B-smkLMHa9QoT-DZUbpwgEjnv2ydCApfwodUev5oPZ3qMumHboHTJV3Oh5M_02Hkt1ExlhxqeE/s1600/nmc_tayaKYLE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBeoY3PdiFydxaob7s8tVs-UkqlR_LEg7mlaSQuj5nL0n9sqLdOjytfy9yhAgaL946B-smkLMHa9QoT-DZUbpwgEjnv2ydCApfwodUev5oPZ3qMumHboHTJV3Oh5M_02Hkt1ExlhxqeE/s1600/nmc_tayaKYLE.jpg" height="138" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
Ladies...Taya might have been the one portrayed on that screen, but each and every one of us...even those who chose to break our own hearts and divorce our love for our own and our children's safety because our husband was so lost in the darkness of PTSD... (because those women love their warrior still)<br />
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Do you realize you are the embodiment of unconditional love?</div>
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Do you realize how utterly special you are to have been chosen for the mission of loving a warrior...a protector?</div>
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Do you see how this mission is just as dangerous as dodging those bullets because part of that mission is carrying on when your heart and soul have been blown to bits in the wake of losing the love of your life?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJGjwCIUVfVP62Fx0oQGYhuivMrxt0yXi7rh5iGWSo0SmfZZbztK9vOisHcL_A0X05Bal4hrRhJMaq5_6ab_037J8gLeEIp6eedjMTdYaCYUr4cJUcdzHUp5a1_kwlTUskOssDCloRWU/s1600/c3929888820bb9db65eb1bb1eb07d7f8_330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJGjwCIUVfVP62Fx0oQGYhuivMrxt0yXi7rh5iGWSo0SmfZZbztK9vOisHcL_A0X05Bal4hrRhJMaq5_6ab_037J8gLeEIp6eedjMTdYaCYUr4cJUcdzHUp5a1_kwlTUskOssDCloRWU/s1600/c3929888820bb9db65eb1bb1eb07d7f8_330.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a>...a burden much heavier than any ruck sack or weapon on the planet...and we are called to do so with grace, dignity and this silent strength that we so often curse within us.... </div>
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A strength our warrior spouse felt--most likely right before he allowed his eyes to fall on your beautiful self...and this strength is why he loves us.</div>
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There is no tab or medal for this mission.</div>
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Only empty casings from a 21 gun salute, a neatly folded flag, pictures and beautiful memories will remain long after we've been thanked for our husbands service...long after his precious smell has faded from his clothes...</div>
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There is no school to teach us the skills we need...everything is hands on, real world experience with some very hard lessons to learn.</div>
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There is no monument dedicated to "our kind"...but ladies. ..</div>
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You inspire the world.<br />
You embody beautiful, unconditional agape love.<br />
You are the glue that holds this world together...that go on and hold on long after "normal" gals would just give up.</div>
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And more than salute Taya and the rest of my Spouse sisters...</div>
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I bow on bended knee in honor of your silent sacrifices and indescribable strength.</div>
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-Ash</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-12005786505914323792015-01-26T06:49:00.003-08:002015-01-26T06:52:11.060-08:00#AmericanSniper<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUv0zxfikRqDLjs_V4ju7XUlQjhItq1IUfJlx9VCZiG_-YSfd_Q73wgerNV30NBCBmf1IZ7FAsAXr1KSOezVXgnnvRkN-cXSZ_RCxbg_ikiQGZugRPrWrWT5PdbThWVwAzK80NKUNRl8/s1600/american-sniper-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUv0zxfikRqDLjs_V4ju7XUlQjhItq1IUfJlx9VCZiG_-YSfd_Q73wgerNV30NBCBmf1IZ7FAsAXr1KSOezVXgnnvRkN-cXSZ_RCxbg_ikiQGZugRPrWrWT5PdbThWVwAzK80NKUNRl8/s1600/american-sniper-poster.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Ok so... I did it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">We went and watched American Sniper yesterday. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I said over and over: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> "We weren't going!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> "We didn't need to go!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> "Do you think that this is a good idea???!!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">However, I'm married to a very stubborn soldier and he felt he needed to go. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I'm sure most of you can relate, trying to tell that man he wasn't going to do something is about as useless as a one legged man in an ass-kicking c</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">ompetition. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">So we went...just my husband and I. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">We made the girls stay home. I'm just not ready for them to see this sort of stuff. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">We filed into an extremely packed theater that was mostly military and vets. There were a few locals scattered here and there, but mostly military. In fact on either side of us were some guys who looked about 20, fresh haircuts.. all "hooah" about the movie and on the other was an older gentleman about 60 with one of those military hats that all older retired guys seem to wear. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">So it starts, I'm not gonna lie.. I cried in the first 15 minutes of this movie. I cried through almost the entire thing, but there were also times I laughed through the tears. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I cried because I knew what was coming. I cried because I as a spouse could relate. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">This movie doesn't glorify her (Taya Kyle) or their relationship. It shows the horrible conversations you have after they get home and before they leave... again. It shows being on the phone and hearing horrible things and the phone going dead. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It doesn't show the crying till you throw up, snot running out of your face, trying to hide so your kids don't see.. but most of it... it's there. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I laughed and smiled at all the good times they showed. It's an amazing movie. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I'm not going to say it was a wise decision for us to have gone to the theater to see it. I've cried intermittently since yesterday at 2 when it started. I spent last night with no sleep because there were nightmares in my house last night. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">But do I regret going... not at all. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I've never been to another movie experience like it.. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Saving Private Ryan" was close, but not the same. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">When it was over.. there wasn't a sound.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">People just sat there and watched the credits in silence. The young guys next to us were solemn, my husband was so tense I could feel it, put on his sunglasses inside the theater and attempted to comfort me......and the old guy next to me.. sat there and cried.. unashamedly as his wife held his hand. Some people continued to sit after the lights came up, but not one person made a sound leaving... not one. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I'll never forget any of it. For any of you who choose to see it, know it's damn hard. Know you certainly are not alone in the world, that at the very least on a little island in the middle of the Pacific is another military spouse that's crying over the same things. That she is so proud of you and your family what we all go through. That she knows how amazing we all think are vets are... even when it's almost too much to bear. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It's an extraordinary person to do what they do and it's extraordinary people who love them. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Love you guys<br />~Jess</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-56281670432101592432015-01-20T08:20:00.001-08:002015-01-20T09:06:31.190-08:00Looking for Crew to Prove this WRONGIt's been said that nutrition is at the core of every health issue out there--to include PTSD, depression, anxiety.<br />
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With such a simple solution as nutrition--then why are so many still dealing with issues? Could this be false? Surely all the docs out there prescribing medications can't be overlooking something as simple as nutrition---<br />
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Then again, maybe people are like us and when they get stressed out, they just don't eat? Hmm--interesting things to think about, eh?<br />
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After reading a bunch of stories (like the one below by ER Doc Stephen O'Connor), we've decided to put together a crew to prove this WRONG--or right...depending on the results! What do you have to lose but the health issues you deal with every day? (PS the money back guarantee means that if you don't see an improvement, you get 50% of your cash back---sweet!)<br />
<br />
Join us?<br />
<br />
http://www.tealstarptsd.le-vel.com/<br />
<br />
Here is the letter from Dr. Stephen O'Connell:<br />
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This is a note sent to someone who gets it! He asked critically important and insightful questions about why I Thrive. Here's my response...</div>
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Hi M*******,</div>
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I'm no<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">t one for the feel good sales pitch, as that has not and never will be my reasoning behind promoting this product.</span></div>
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Right to the quick...</div>
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The Le-Vel products are different because the formulators were charged with the task to do many different things, with limits to amounts (read as: avoid the potential for toxicity), in a rational and scientifically or empirically proven way, with the idea that 98% of the general public could use Thrive, in a cost effective manner, with the least possibility of side effects, but the most impressive supplemental product out there...no small order! I think they pretty much nailed it!</div>
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This is why I have used the product every day for over a year:</div>
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Probiotics: necessary to balance and populate the gut with the right symbiotic bacteria - allows the proper digestion, absorption, and breakdown of nutrients. This is THE critical step in the whole program. If you do not have the correct environment to absorb what is coming into the GI tract, you can't benefit from anything in the supplement. The foods we eat, organic or not, and the water we drink, are often contaminated with antibiotics and toxins (look closely at the reports sent by your municipal water supplier), thus killing the helpful but harmless bacteria that resides in the bowel. In the ED I see the results of poor bowel flora with the broad range of GI disorders.</div>
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Next, is the issue of immune function. The GI tract is responsible for 80% of the body's immunity to pathogens or toxins. If the bowel is not in balance, and the defensive proteins, cells, and immune modulators are not available, we suffer from chronic inflammation and immune suppression. Balanced nutrition and supplementation is key here! The foods we eat are void of the proper levels of trace minerals, and phytochemicals necessary to allow our incredible biochemical machinery to function at full capacity. I don't care if you eat "clean" or "organic"- you cannot insure, reliably, the proper trace elements, vitamins, and plant enzymes necessary for elite health.</div>
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As an athlete, you push yourself to levels of oxidative stress and cellular breakdown that is difficult to recover or repair from with a modern or even "tight" diet. See above... The antioxidants, amino acids, and minerals in this product are balanced to allow critical recovery to the oxygen free radicals we generate in sports, day to day stress, environmental pollution, etc.</div>
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Phytonutrients provide the enzymes that are essential to all of our biochemical processes. The body is amazing in that it is able to delay breakdown so well that we hardly notice the tenuous condition we are in - we are only as good as the least functioning system - despite being in a chronic state of inflammatory distress. The root of almost ALL chronic disease is nutritional and inflammatory (obesity/diabetes due to sugar stress/inflammation, arthritis due to cellular inflammation and imbalance in our joints, cancer due to immune breakdown from chronic inflammation and overmodulation of phagocytes, t-killer cells, WBCs, etc., you get the point.</div>
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I changed my paradigm of medicine when, through my research of Thrive, I became convinced that the current medical model is broken. We are not in "Health Care," but in "Disease Care!" Many, if not most, of our medications and treatments are toxic and pose significant harm to the beautiful and self-healing homeostasis of the body. Our pharmaceutical industry profits from the chronic and recurrent long term use of toxic and ineffectual synthetic chemicals that pose a significant stress on the natural processes of detoxification in the body. I could go on and on... Suffice it said that I look at a healthy lifestyle as being one where we first supply the body what it needs (and everything we need to function at peak performance should theoretically be present in our natural world) and provide the substrates that are lacking in our diet. Thrive is a smorgasbord from which the body incorporates what it needs, at the time it needs, with the proper co-factors it needs, in the form it needs, plus a little extra to act as a nutritional insurance policy. It is not for everybody. But I see so many that would do well with this type of product. Be well.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-14969214742547528552015-01-14T07:40:00.001-08:002015-01-14T07:51:17.679-08:00February 2015 Teal Star Preview!Cover Preview of the next issue of Teal Star Magazine!<br />
**Available for FREE on February 1, 2014**<br />
To see previous issues click on this link: https://www.joomag.com/magazine/teal-star-volume-3-december-2014/0257631001416753971<br />
<br />
Please SHARE so YOUR FRIENDS can see this awesome FREE magazine!<br />
<br />
Next issue, featuring former Navy Seal Carl Higbie, released Feb 1, 2015!<br />
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This is a FREE magazine for those who deal with or love/support someone dealing with PTSD.<br />
To see previous issues click on this link: https://www.joomag.com/magazine/teal-star-volume-3-december-2014/0257631001416753971<br />
<br />
Please SHARE this FREE resource!<br />
If you would like to share your story or have your business/organization/service highlight in future issues of Teal Star, please e-mail: tealstarmagazine@gmail.com<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-33246604343262295242015-01-04T14:54:00.002-08:002015-01-04T14:54:51.865-08:00Miracle Blueprint for a Magnificent 2015 (FREE)<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/ebook/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/ebook/ashwise</a> </span></span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s from my good friend, “Bounce Back” expert and #1 bestselling author, <em>Sonia Ricotti</em>. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />Sonia’s phenomenal trainings, programs and webinars have helped millions of people around the world create extraordinary lives beyond their wildest dreams. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />Learn once and for all how to overcome the challenges life has thrown at you, and quickly and easily bounce back bigger and brighter than ever before. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />In “Bounce Back BIG in 2015!” Sonia gives you her crash course and "miracle blueprint" (free) to achieving the life you love and deserve. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>Go Here to Grab Your (Free) Copy Now.</strong> <br clear="none" /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/ebook/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/ebook/ashwise</a> </span></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>In this breakthrough new eBook you’ll learn:</strong> </span><ul>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The easiest and fastest way to manifest miracles into your life</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The #1 most critical and important thing you must do first that will turbo-charge your results in 2015 </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How to reprogram and re-wire your brain to manifest massive success, wealth, peace and happiness <br clear="none" /></span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How to easily let go of the pain, suffering, stress and anxiety -- and move forward with confidence, peace, joy and ease <br clear="none" /></span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How to create the blueprint for YOUR dream life – the one you love and really deserve!</span></li>
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<div style="margin-left: 30px;">
<em><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">... And lots more!</span></em></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Get Your Copy Here.</strong> <br clear="none" /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/ebook/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/ebook/ashwise</a> </span></span> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="none" />Sonia is giving this special eBook away for a very limited time, so make sure you get your hands on it now while you can. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />All the best, <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ashley </span> <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>P.S.</strong> Make sure you<em> also</em> register for Sonia’s latest <em>Unsinkable “Bounce Back” Webinar Workshop</em> which goes hand-in-hand with this life-changing book. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />You’ll receive the invitation to reserve your spot for this (free) training right after you get her book. <strong>Go here to get this life-changing book now.</strong><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <br clear="none" /><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/ebook/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/ebook/ashwise</a> </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-24121331882168547762015-01-04T14:52:00.002-08:002015-01-04T14:52:18.777-08:00Life Got You Down? 3 Powerful Steps to Bounce Back Instantly <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hi there, <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />The new year is here! Are you ready to truly take your life to the next level and make 2015 the most incredible and life-changing year you’ve EVER had? Me too! <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />I’m excited to announce that “Bounce Back” expert and #1 bestselling author, <em>Sonia Ricotti</em>, will be teaching you how to <em>Bounce Back Bigger Than EVER in 2015</em> with her upcoming (free) webinar workshop titled: <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><em>“The 3 Step Proven Formula to Bounce Back Quickly (and Higher Than Ever) When Life Knocks You Down” </em><br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>Register Now and Reserve Your Spot</strong></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If you're going through a difficult time in your life right now (with health, money, family, or more), then make sure you attend this life-changing (free) webinar workshop. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />No matter what your current situation is, whether you're experiencing financial problems, going through a breakup, just lost your job, suffering from health issues, or maybe you're just feeling "stuck" in your life -- you CAN turn things around really quickly and bounce back higher than ever! <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />In this (free) webinar, Sonia will reveal to you the most powerful and most successful three-step formula for turning adversity in your life, into opportunity, greatness, and success -- <em>in the fastest way possible!</em> <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />All you have to do is master the 3 steps in this webinar and it WILL transform you life -- in ALL areas of your life (finances, relationships, health, career, etc). </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<strong><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></strong></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Register Now To Master These 3 Steps</strong> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/webinar2015/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/webinar2015/ashwise</a></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />I want you to know that Sonia is no stranger to adversity. In fact, you’ll get to hear her “Unsinkable” story on the webinar (you’ll be shocked). <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />Today, she is living the life of her dreams (beyond what she ever imagined was possible) filled with financial abundance, phenomenal success, great health, love, peace, and joy. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />She did it -- and so can YOU. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />Here are some of the things you'll learn in this phenomenal webinar: <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />* Sonia’s proven 3 step formula for <em>lightening speed</em> recovery from any and all of the challenges and obstacles life throws your way. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />* Your 3 sentence statement that will turbo-charge your confidence, immediately elevate your vibration, and allow greatness to flow effortlessly and easily into your life starting <em>NOW</em> <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />* The ONE detrimental thing everyone automatically does when faced with major obstacles that guarantees your suffering - simply shift THIS, and you will transform your life <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />* Manifest miracles into your life with a simple energy shift that you can do easily (and anywhere) <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />* The 10-fold "Maverick" goal-setting method that will dramatically accelerate your results to ensure that 2015 is your best year ever! <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />You'll learn all these strategies and tools (without spending a dime) and you'll begin using them right away. <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />Get ready to <em>Bounce Back BIG</em> in 2015! <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>Get All the Details Here and Register Now</strong></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/webinar2015/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/webinar2015/ashwise</a></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" />To your success, </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ashley </span></span><br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>P.S.</strong> By the way, Sonia Ricotti is so highly respected, that even the highest regarded transformational teachers such as <em>Bob Proctor, Bob Doyle, Marci Shimoff and Loral </em><em>Langemeier</em> all recommend her “Unsinkable” teachings! <br clear="none" /><br clear="none" /><strong>Go Here Now to Learn More and Reserve Your Spot</strong> <br clear="none" /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://qa102.infusionsoft.com/go/webinar2015/ashwise" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">https://qa102.infusionsoft.<wbr></wbr>com/go/webinar2015/ashwise</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-7713684523537818482014-12-27T10:28:00.001-08:002014-12-27T22:52:19.829-08:00"Help Me Forget, But God Let Me Remember" Part 1<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s funny how images are burned into your mind—memories
that will last for all eternity…memories
that are so strong that they seem tangible—like, if only for the veil of time, we should be able to reach out and touch them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been 10 years now since my own world was shattered in
the silence of Christmas night…and I found myself panicking because what once
were memories I could play like a movie, I seemed to be forgetting—like I had
prayed to forget for so long, but what I realized was my prayer wasn’t really
to forget—it was just to pretend like “it” never happened…at least not
really…like Carrie Underwood’s song, “Just a Dream” there are still parts of
the whole ordeal that just seem to surreal to completely absorb.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, a decade later, I found myself being ripped apart by
this tug-of-war within my soul. Part of me wanted to “allow time to heal” but
another part of me felt that somehow that would dishonor the untimely death of
my first husband…a death that I have tortured myself over for years and years
because I had wished aloud, many times, for him to die during the most
tumultuous part—and the last part—of our relationship. As the saying goes, “be
careful what you wish for because it just might come true”…logically I know
that I truly didn’t play a part in his death…I only played a part in the
“death” of our marriage, but the guilt I bear is heavy—and truthfully I have
known little to no true joy or happiness since his death because I have not
allowed myself the pleasures of life…only the “burdens” and responsibilities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, in an effort to get all of this out from inside of me
--in an effort to finally permit myself to “forget” and heal “safely” because
the story is down on paper for all eternity, I’m allowing the memories to pour
out of me completely for the first and the final time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Mitchell kneeling before me crying his eyes out
one rainy night in early November 2004. It was the night I was to leave
Washington in our Ford escape—heading back to PA where the children already
were with my mother…the small SUV loaded with all the belongings I could fit.
He was sobbing…begging me not to leave—and I left anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I did—but it was like my
heart was closed off…and part of me enjoyed the pain he was enduring after all
the pain I’d been put through. The part of me that enjoyed his pain is still part of me that I absolutely hate--and cannot believe there is part of me that can be that cold and cruel. I am still utterly embarrassed and ashamed that there is part of me capable of that behavior...something for which I have yet to figure out how to forgive myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were young and our relationship had been a roller
coaster.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember staying an extra night…and I very clearly
remember the last time I saw him alive—he was riding his Honda V-twin motor
cycle—I believe heading to his support group. We were both on the WA-101. I was
taking the exit for I-5 headed North to Seattle and he was heading South to
Mountain View Church of the Nazarene—the day was foggy and cold…much like every
other November day in Washington.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember seeing his body—after flying out to Washington
December 30<sup>th</sup> or so. I remember sitting and waiting for my baggage
in the baggage claim of SeaTac airport and losing what little emotional
composure I had—literally sobbing my eyes out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sitting outside the airport after collecting my
bags—sobbing my eyes out again, but I don’t remember getting picked up at the
airport—I don’t remember the ride to Meadow Road in Lakewood, Washington where
Ron and Marci Kearns lived right next to the church I’d attended since Mitchell
and I had married in 2001. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sleepless nights thinking over and over again
that “he is nothing more than a picture now” and “how am I going to raise these
children? I’m only 21.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my mother getting me out of bed the night of
December 27<sup>th</sup>…or was it the 28<sup>th</sup>? I just remember it was
before I flew out to Washington. I remember the heavy feeling in the
air—thinking I was in trouble for the mess that was left as a stomach flu went
through the house and thinking I was in trouble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my Mother’s face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember how she started to tell me that I, Ashley
Elizabeth Lambert-Hollis, at the age of 21 was a widow: “Ashley…this is
something I would never want to have to tell anyone…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sobbing immediately—and then I remember going
numb but feeling heavy…sitting on the oval carpet on the floor in front of the
kitchen sink in the home where I’d grown up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Kent Holmes coming over, but I don’t remember
what we talked about…I just remember feeling part of my heart aching and my
soul dying…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember calling the Thurston County Coroner back—the same
man whom had called and spoken to my Mother—informing her that my husband’s
body had been identified at the scene of a double homicide at 3351 Ken Lake
Drive in Olympia, Washington. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember asking a bunch of questions—asking for a tattoo
to be described in detail on Mitchell’s right upper arm—a tattoo he and his
younger brother had gotten together….it was a picture of a card their mother
had sent each of them during a really tough time in their lives, but I forget
the details of the tough time. I was asking so many questions hoping and
praying the body of this man was wrongly identified, but when I heard the
Thurston County Coroner describe this tattoo, I knew this was real.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember calling Marci Kearns…the wife of the Pastor of my
church in Washington—Ron and Marci were like my adopted parents…I don’t
remember what I told her exactly, but obviously it was about Mitchell’s death.
Looking back now, I don’t even remember the details but I’m saddened that this
relationship that was once so close was torn apart in the aftermath of
Mitchell’s death...mine has been a particularly messy journey of grief that not even my relationship with my family--let alone friends, has been able to survive....it's a miracle Rob has been able to traverse this treacherous path with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember calling Mitchell’s Mother, Sherri. She was at her
older sister Kathy’s house in Kansas City. I remember Sherri telling me that
she didn’t believe me and dropping the phone. Kathy picked
up the phone and asked what was going on—and I told her Mitchell had been shot
and killed. That I had just found out. And giving her the Thurston County
Coroner’s contact information.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my children were both asleep…it was late at
night, but I remember walking into the rooms where they were sleeping and
asking God why while I cried.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember staring at a picture of Mitchell I’d kept beside
my bed wishing for this all to be just a dream.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Marci trying to get me to eat something the day I
flew into Seattle. Food disgusted me…but I took 2 bites from whatever it was
that we’d ordered from McDonalds to try to make her happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Ron and Marci walking through the crime scene
with me—it was after we’d been to the Coroner’s office and I’d been given a
little baggie with Mitchell’s watch in it. I remember very clearly how that
watch smelled…it smelled like dead flesh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember when I saw his body for the first time—it’d been
kept in refrigeration and I could see the stitching on his head from the
autopsy. I remember thinking he didn’t look that bad—and when I saw him again
in Missouri—after his body had been flown down for his funeral, I remember
thinking how awful he looked and wished his family had been able to see him
before he’d “come back to room temperature”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the first time I talked to Jeannie on the phone.
We’d said hello to each other and just started to cry. I remember feeling the
bond that formed immediately because this woman whom I’d only met over the
phone knew exactly how I felt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember meeting Jeannie for the first time in the half
circle drive of the home at 3351 Ken Lake Drive—the house where both our
husbands and fathers of our children had breathed their last and hugging her.
It was foggy. It was cold, and it was raining the typical Washington drizzly
misty rain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember wanting to go into the house the same way the
bodies of our husband’s had been found.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the first blood spatter on the patio step—just
outside the glass sliding door that led into the eating part of the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the blood spatter on the wainscoting of the wall
to the left of the door. I remember, as I turned to look in the short hallway
that led into the den/office where Mitchell’s body had lain in a pool of his
own blood until he was found nearly 48 hours after he’d been shot 7 times and
died, how odd that I had toured this house him just a few weeks before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember looking at the hole that had been cut into the
floor where a bullet had travelled through Mitchell’s body and lodged into the
floor and then at the pool of blood that had since dried and bubbled up—I
remember leaning down to touch it and thinking that I wanted to put some in a
baggie to keep it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the Coroner talking me through what they’d
figured out forensically had happened around 11:45 p.m. Christmas Day 2004…I
remember asking what he thought Mitchell was doing—and the Coroner replied,
“running for his life.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember turning around and coming back into the
kitchen—seeing 2 open Bibles on the breakfast bar in the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember looking to the left to see where the body of my
fellow widow and now friend's husband had been found. They’d assumed he’d come
out of the bathroom because his fly was still down. There was another hole in
the floor where a bullet had travelled through Don’s body and lodged in the
floor. Don was face up where as Mitchell was face down and the pool of blood
beside the hole in the floor where Don’s body was considerably smaller than
where Mitchell was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember walking upstairs and seeing the broken glass
where the gun cabinet has been broken into and thinking how ironic is was that Don was killed with his own gun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the blow up mattress and camp table and chairs
that had been in Mitchell’s room…I remember I took a few things with me—now
that Brian, the gunman, had been found and had killed himself, there was no
longer an active investigation and I could take whatever belongings Mitchell
had left at the house…for Thurston County it was “case closed”—and I remember
wishing it could just be “case closed” for Jeannie and I, too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember finding a pile of something—I wasn’t sure if it
was poop or vomit at the time. I remember the corn kernels…I’d found it was I
walked the yard where they believed Brian had been—I remember the empty beer
cans that had been thrown in the side yard—opposite the side of the house where
the patio was and the first shots had been fired.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember shopping for an outfit to wear to Mitchell’s
Memorial Service with Marci…I remember enjoying the distraction, but feeling
completely numb and disconnected with my body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember wanting other people to not worry about me and
doing whatever I could to help them feel better…and I remember even talking
about what I was looking for in my “next” husband…after all we were separated,
right? I was the “estranged” spouse—and thus felt I didn’t have the right to be
completely broken hearted because if I hadn’t left Mitchell—even after he’d
assaulted me—he would have never met Don…or Brian and would still be alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sitting in the front row during Mitchell’s
memorial service—losing control of my emotions and regaining my composure
multiple times. I remember Pastor Ron Kearns speaking—I don’t remember all of
what he said, but I do have his notes…and I remember him closing his “sermon”
with a poem that went…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do not stand at my grave and weep<br />
I am not there<br />
I do not sleep<br />
I am the thousand winds that blow<br />
I am the glitter on freshly fallen snow<br />
….<br />
So do not stand at my grave and cry<br />
I am not there<br />
I did not die.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Traci singing a combined version of “Old Rugged
Cross” “It Is Well With My Soul” and something else…and as she sang I remember
thinking back to when I’d walked into her brother, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Troy’s, house in 3<sup>rd</sup>
way in Lacey the day before—after walking through the crime scene with Traci’s
parents. I was wearing Mitchell’s West Point PT jacket—though I don’t remember
what ever happened to it. I remember her rubbing the arm of the jacket before
she hugged me…and then hugging her brother Troy…but I don’t remember anything
else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Cathy Edgin playing the piano, but I don’t
remember who all was there…I remember being told there were several that
couldn’t get back form Christmas vacation for the funeral, but I don’t remember
who those people were either---I think the Schroder’s were some and Pastor
James and his wife Lindsey…but I’m not sure of that either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the hotel where my Mother, Mikayla and I stayed
in Leavenworth, Kansas.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember seeing Ben and Betts Kaiser at the Funeral
Home—and being rather shocked when I saw how awful Mitchell looked after not
being in refrigeration for 3 days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Ben speaking at the Funeral—and I remember I
spoke, but I don’t remember everything I said other than mentioning the open Bibles
at the crime scene being a sign that even in the midst of everything—God had a
plan. (Looking back it was stupid and insulting thing to say in front of
Mitchell’s family.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember not wanting to let go of Mitchell when I’d walked
up to say good-bye to him in his casket…thinking this was the last time I’d
ever see his body except for photographs. I remember my Mother coming up to get
me—I don’t know how long I stood up there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember walking out of the red brick Nazarene church in
Napoleon, Missouri to his burial plot in the cemetery that is bordered by the
Missouri river on that foggy day in January 2005 and looking to the right to
see the newly constructed Veterans Memorial…and seeing, just barely, through
the fog the cement piece surrounded by red brick with a Bible verse engraved on
it. The Bible verse said, “Be still and know that I am God.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember sitting in a folding chair in front of Mitchell’s
casket. My mother, with my daughter in her lap, to my right (I believe) and
Sherri—Mitchell’s mother—sitting to my left.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember getting lost in my own thoughts as the Pastor
officiating Mitchell’s funeral read more Scripture. I remember thinking how odd
it was to have my mother—who never liked Mitchell—on one side of me…her energy
feeling like she was saying “Ashley, if you’d only had an abortion or let Uncle
Bill and Aunt Lois adopt the baby and never married Mick this wouldn’t have
happened.” And Sherri’s energy felt like, “Ashley, if you had just been a
better wife and not lied about my son assaulting you this never would have
happened and Mitchell would still be alive.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember jumping—startled by the first set of gun shots
fired in the traditional 21 gun salute at a Service Member’s funeral.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the aching in my heart as I heard Taps
played…thinking the melancholy sound of the bugle fit perfectly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember watching in silence as the team of United States
Army Soldiers—led by an African American Sergeant First Class lifted the flag
from Mitchell’s casket—the casket his mother had picked out…she’d told me about
the little details like the crosses that were the fastening brackets for the
handled on the sides…and the color was pretty close to Infantry blue—blue was
Mick’s favorite color.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the black of their dress uniforms…the shine of
the bills on their “saucer caps” and their shoes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the white gloves on the hands of each Soldier as
they perfectly and precisely folded the flag—stopping twice to remove lint or a
thread from the flag.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the Sergeant First Class leaning over in front of
me until his eyes were level with mine as he held the flag in between his white
glove clad hands. I remember biting my lip in a vain effort to control my
emotions as this Solder said, “Ma’am, on behalf of the President of the United
States of America, the Army and a grateful nation, I thank you for your
husband’s selfless service to his country and present this flag to you in
memory of him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember setting the flag on my lap—looking at how
perfectly it’d been folded and thinking what an ironic comparison this
perfectly folded life was in contrast to my life that was shattered in pieces
on the floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember wanting to throw that flag on the ground as I
screamed at the top of my lungs and jumped up and down on it in the mud that
this whole situation wasn't my fault and that this wasn't fair—I knew how much
I’d blamed my mother for my father’s death. I was 5 when he’d died and the only
memories I have of him are the afternoon before he died when he was blind and
looked like a skeleton in a dark room of Spohn Hospital in Corpus Christi,
Texas—and now my daughter, who was 3, and my son who was 13 months old would
have no memory of their father…and how if any parent had to die it should have
been me because Mick was the one to get on the floor and play with the children
while I was the one to cook, clean, do laundry and pay the bills…I was the
“worker” and didn't really know how to play.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember how upset people were that I’d had Sherri pick up
“Infantry Blue Balloons” filled with helium so Mikayla could send balloons up
to her Daddy who she knew was now an angel in heaven. Sherri and Mitchell’s
younger brother, Wally, were the only two from the Hollis side of the family to
participate in the balloon release. I remember Sherri telling me that the other members of the family weren't ready for anything remotely happy—they were still
heart broken and in shock. I remember thinking that it was absurd that they
couldn't get over themselves enough to think about what Mikayla would go
through for the rest of her life with her “real Dad”…and then reminding myself
that not even my mother had that frame of reference…I was literally the only
one who had grown up without their father being alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my Mother getting upset with how rude Mitchell’s
family was being to her—or at least how she perceived it. I was too much in my
own world to notice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my Mother and I screaming at each other in the
rental car as we drove back to the hotel. We both hit each other and I got out
of the car in the middle of no-where and ran into corn field that had been
cut—only 8 inches or so of the stalks remained. The night was crystal clear—not
a cloud in the sky and I could see millions of stars in the sky as I screamed
at God with everything I had in me: “This is not my fault! This is not my
fucking fault! I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you for letting this happen!”
And then I fell to my knees and cried some more—I don’t remember getting back
in the car or the flights back to Pennsylvania…other than I flew alone and my
Mother had my daughter with her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember going and getting my hair highlighted and permed
the day after we returned from Missouri…and I remember going out to dinner that
night at the Anchor Inn with the members of the Punxsutawney Presbyterian
Church Choir. I don’t remember what I said—when I replay those memories, I am
talking but there is no sound…I just remember my Mother being appalled at
whatever I’d told the others over dinner…apparently a detailed account of the
murder scene.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember I didn't go straight home that night. When
everyone left the Anchor Inn, I headed to a bar in town known as “The Hotel” to
drink—I've never been much of a drinker, but I didn't want to go back to my
parents’ house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember watching others I’d gone to high school with
laughing, joking and having a good time as I sat detached and numb sipping on a
vodka cranberry. I remember thinking how it had felt like the world had stopped
turning for me, but for everyone else it was life as usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my old crush from high school, Paul Wherle,
coming up and talking to me. He must have sensed that I was on a collision
course for an massive break down—and I know I got drunk that night. I remember
Paul drove me back to my parents and sat with me in their living room talking
until nearly 4 in the morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my mother coming down and asking me to come into
the kitchen where she chewed my ass and told me to get “that man” out of the
house and get “my ass” in bed. Looking back, I think she thought Paul was
trying to take advantage of me, but I don’t remember him making “a move”—just
talking and making sure I was ok.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my mother waking me up at 6:30 the next morning
with my step-dad…a man I’d called “Dad” since I was 5, but never felt like I
was “his kid”—especially in comparison to how I’d seen him interact with my
sisters…it wasn’t really anything he’d ever done or not done. It was that I
knew in my heart my “real Dad” was dead and I was angry about it because it was
like my mother “just” moved on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember when they woke me up, my Mother handed me $1,000
and told me I had 24 hours to get myself, my things and my children out of the
house. I’m not sure where she thought I was going to go—looking back, I think
she thought I’d talk to my Aunt Martha and stay with her like I’d done when she
had kicked me out of the house my Senior year of high school. I remember she
was especially angry about two things:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
#1 that I had called Indiana University of Pennsylvania—the
college where she worked, thus my tuition was waived and I was scheduled to
begin classes mid-way through January 2005—and postponed my enrollment until
the fall of the year…telling the college administration office of the loss of
my husband and the brain fog that has set in. I remember telling then that
getting through the day was challenging right now, and I couldn’t imagine
trying to concentrate on classes—let alone even try to get passing grades. The
college said they understood and felt this was a good decision given everything
I was going through and happily delayed my starting of classes until the fall
semester. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
#2 that Kent Holmes—who was not only the Reverend of the
church I’d grown up attending in Punxsutawney, PA, but was also the father of
the children whom I’d babysat very regularly since I was 13. Our families
were so close we’d vacationed together at my family’s summer place in
Harborside, Maine nearly every summer since Kent had been assigned to our
church—announced from the pulpit on the Sunday my mother and I were in Missouri
burying Mitchell and about what had happened Christmas Day. His actions came from a
place of love and wanting the congregation to be informed and ready to support
me and my family in the wake of this massive tragedy…my Mother took his actions
as sharing our family’s personal business with others…we hadn’t even put an
obituary in the local paper because my Mother didn’t want anyone to know…for
her, the fact that I’d been rebellious all through Junior High and High School,
endured copious rumors and finally gotten pregnant and “ran away” to get
married at the age of 18 was embarrassment enough in a small town she said
“never lets anyone forget anything”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember calling Ron and Marci to tell them my Mother had
given me 24 hours to “get out”—and they told me I was welcome to come back to
Washington and live with them until I could get on my feet. ...<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-43936674160728200022014-11-25T07:18:00.000-08:002014-11-25T07:18:00.865-08:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Today my heart is aching--I can feel the heaviness in the air from both "sides" of this story.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">While I do not agree that </span><a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/ferguson" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;">#Ferguson</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> was a "racial" thing--perhaps that is because I have a Combat Veteran for a husband who has shot and killed</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">individuals from another race in a war that had nothing to do with race...and I know how that affects him...I know that instead of being excited about the pending birth of our daughter during my pregnancy with her in 2007-2008, he was horrified because the bigger I got the more he saw the pregnant Iraqi woman he had to confront during a house raid.<br /><br />Perhaps my thoughts are as they are because I look beyond the color of skin to the heart and soul--and feel that love is the only answer...and it is such a simple answer--if we get our ego out of the way--that I sit wanting to cry because what happened last night doesn't make sense to me.<br /><br />I didn't follow this case much. In fact, I don't pay attention to the news or political agendas hardly at all because I don't need those lower energy frequencies in my life. I am a role model and example for too many hurting people that desperately need hope and something to hold onto in their lives--someone to love them regardless of their past...and I do not take that responsibility--one that I didn't choose, but rather chose me--lightly.<br /><br />In August. ..<br /><br />We lost a troubled, young man who had a lot of life left in him--who made decisions in the moment that resulted in his death. I live by a quote..."Out beyond the limits of right and wrong, there is a field--I will meet you there"...for I believe it is not my place to judge. It is my place to love--to comfort--to be a light--to spread hope, and I have seen first hand that amazing miracles begin as seeds not yet seen in deep, dark moments like last night...I have come to know beyond a shadow of doubt that no death or life is ever in vain. There was a reason and a purpose and a plan to literally every microscopic detail of each life and death.<br /><br />We lost another young man who had chosen to be a civil servant and has now removed himself from this selfless role because of choices he made that resulted in the death of another human being--regardless of skin color...taking the life of another human being (even in a kill or be killed situation) is a heavy burden to carry... any Veteran or Service Member will tell you that (if they feel safe enough with you to admit the pain they carry within their hearts and souls).<br /><br />I fail to grasp the "reasoning" for the rioting and destruction last night--again, regardless of the color of skin, I am so very ashamed of humans right now....WHERE IS THE HUMANITY?<br /><br />I've chosen to share the following example because the color of one's skin has been such a focus lately...<br /><br />"In this African tribe, when someone does something harmful, they take the person to the center of the village where the whole tribe comes and surrounds them.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />For two days, they will say to the man all the good things that he has done.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />The tribe believes that each human being comes into the world as a good. Each one of us only desiring safety, love, peace and happiness.<br /><br />But sometimes, in the pursuit of these things, people make mistakes.<br /><br />The community sees those mistakes as a cry for help.<br /><br />They unite then to lift him, to reconnect him with his true nature, to remind him who he really is, until he fully remembers the truth of which he had been temporarily disconnected: “I am good.”<br /><br />Shikoba Nabajyotisaikia!<br /><br />NABAJYOTISAIKIA, is a compliment used in South Africa and means: “I respect you, I cherish you. You matter to me.” In response, people say SHIKOBA, which is: “So, I exist for you.”<br /><br />This is taken directly from the Facebook page of author Natasha Kyssa.</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-40693309352324724852014-11-15T09:26:00.004-08:002014-11-15T09:26:49.817-08:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">The November Issue of Teal Star is now available!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" />Available here: <a href="http://joom.ag/zUkb" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://joom.ag/zUkb</a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-6912968725953169602014-10-01T04:02:00.002-07:002014-10-01T04:02:35.538-07:00Lessons from "The Slight Edge" by Jeff Olson"Turning Simple Decisions Into Massive Success" reads the subtitle on the book that came in my "start-up kit" for <a href="http://ashleywise.nerium.com/" target="_blank">Nerium International</a> this past January.<br />
<br />
And you know what? That book sat around in a stack of other books I've been "meaning to read" since then. I literally had to dig it out of a box to start reading it after the move.<br />
<br />
And guess what? Today is one of those days that I really don't "feel" like writing a blog post or scheduling social media--all part of the slight edge plan that I'd created for myself a few weeks ago...because I'm going through and I'm doing the right things to grow the Battling BARE network and get my life on track, but it's not like this plan is a magic wand and everything is "poof" going viral again. Know what I mean?<br />
<br />
It's a slow process.<br />
<br />
A process that must be carefully, deliberately and diligently executed--a little bit every day.<br />
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<br />
So what exactly is "<a href="http://slightedge.org/" target="_blank">The Slight Edge</a>"--I'd never even heard of the book or Jeff Olson before I was introduced to Nerium. So, I completely understand if you have never heard of this book that has been a "best seller".<br />
<br />
The Slight Edge is a philosophy...an attitude in life that brings to like that it is the little decisions that don't really seem to matter...you know the little ones...that either give us the "edge" or have the "edge" working against us.<br />
<br />
The decisions like getting out there and walking for 10-15 minutes because you just know you should--and a year later, you look and feel amazing because all those minutes of walking added up and created this huge life change....but that is after a year. At first, the small decision to walk 10-15 minutes doesn't result in much change...and you don't look or feel any different. So, you just have to stick with it...and the cool thing is that the walking really becomes second nature. You just "do it" instead of having this big huge debate in your head about whether or not you "feel" like walking.<br />
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The same thing with getting on top of finances and saving money to finally break the "paycheck to <br />
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paycheck cycle" of life that often results in the infamous "bill juggling" where one never gets ahead in life--they catch up on one thing only to fall behind on another. UGH...I think every person has been there a time or two--but far too many "stay there" because they don't know how to break the cycle...it's their "normal" or as I like to call it their "awareness". (For how to break this cycle, check THIS <a href="http://lifehacker.com/how-to-break-the-living-paycheck-to-paycheck-cycle-1445330680" target="_blank">THIS</a>out!)<br />
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The same thing with eating--which I have to be honest, this is where I am really having a tough time because I have come to love food and "flavor adventures"...especially in times of stress where I crave sugar and "baked goodies"--not to mention that baking in and of itself is a stress release for me--and I adore the reactions people have to my delicious concoctions. So, all of that together--along with my decision to not work out since we've been in Missouri...and let's just say the only clothing that comfortably fits right now are "stretchy" things. (For resources on medicating with food, check out these 2 incredible books: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/WITHIN-Spiritual-Awakening-Love-Weight/dp/1624671802" target="_blank">Within</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Losing-Your-Pounds-Doreen-Virtue/dp/1561709506/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412161216&sr=1-1&keywords=Loosing+your+pounds+of+pain" target="_blank">Loosing Your Pounds of Pain</a>)<br />
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**I do want to insert here that I have made the decision to start working out again and am getting new athletic shoes today. 2 weeks ago, when I started my "slight edge" plan, I found my athletic shoes had been left outside during the "great garage" organization...and my 8 year old Maine Coon decided to pee on them. YUCK! And...since we are still getting back on top of the finances...I didn't "just have" $60 to go spend on shoes. Today is payday! So, GUESS WHAT!?!? New Shoes!!! :-)**<br />
<br />
So, why am I rambling on about the slight edge after I just wrote about not striving for perfection and stressing yourself out in yesterday's "<a href="http://www.battlingbare.blogspot.com/2014/09/reality-check.html" target="_blank">Reality Check</a>" post?<br />
<br />
Because the slight edge isn't about doing it all at once.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrfQAsd-r2VnpSqx38NEi4CkdnHsphw09Ff7MPhGZYRVjIm4c15Kcxsk6A15PLYZma7zb3hX7VH_iGP9wJyl3vF3il-MeDi783TeRn5GNlw7JXwDqShY5WA-b2nldlTUaCEUn27_-4SI/s1600/flylady.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrfQAsd-r2VnpSqx38NEi4CkdnHsphw09Ff7MPhGZYRVjIm4c15Kcxsk6A15PLYZma7zb3hX7VH_iGP9wJyl3vF3il-MeDi783TeRn5GNlw7JXwDqShY5WA-b2nldlTUaCEUn27_-4SI/s1600/flylady.gif" height="200" width="137" /></a>It's about doing a little it here and there--like with your house for instance, I just love <a href="http://www.flylady.net/" target="_blank">The Fly Lady's</a> 15 minutes a day program that starts with shining your sink. :-) It's amazing how that results in a clean home less than a month later....and a purified and lightened heart and soul, too!<br />
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It's about reading a few pages a day in a book that feeds your heart and soul--instead of what I used to do...buy 30 books at a time and read 30 pages of one of the books before ordering another 30 books on the new "topic de jour". (Lord have mercy! I have a LOT of books and self improvement programs!)<br />
<br />
It's about make small nearly unnoticeable changes that have time start working in your favor and not against you. (Like--Christmas is coming! Are you putting aside money to pay cash for gifts?)<br />
<br />
It's about setting a goal and breaking it down into tiny little baby steps and then working your plan...even if, like me and my social media plan, you see more "unlikes" than "likes" on the Facebook page--or people being cranky that I refuse to focus on the "sad, angry truth about PTSD".<br />
<br />
It's working that plan--no matter what, and before you know it, you'll have a brand new life.<br />
<br />
So what are you going to do to give yourself "The Slight Edge"?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-70411605043153252402014-09-30T08:50:00.000-07:002014-09-30T08:50:19.960-07:00Reality CheckSo, I don't make a million dollars a year.<br />
Not even close.<br />
We are lucky enough to count ourselves above the median income here in South Western Missouri, but things are still tight as we try to adjust to retirement and furnishing our home.<br />
<br />
So, I'm not one of those moms that I idolize who seem to have it all together and are just, you know, on top of everything.<br />
In fact, I'm quite the opposite....you know, the kind who is scrambling to find something acceptable for picture--or, like this year, didn't even realize when picture day was...and who constantly seems to be searching for missing shoes or backpacks at the same time we are supposed to be heading out the door to do the morning "drop the kiddos at school" run.<br />
...the kind of housewife who loves and adored organization--even color coding clothing "Roy G. Biv" style, but in reality is shoving things into the hall closet and vacuuming "where people see" right up until company comes over...and even then is apologizing for the globs of black hair that my Newfoundland leaves all through the house no matter what time of year. *sigh*<br />
<br />
I'm also the kind of wife that realizes my husband has PTSD/TBI issues--thus I find myself helping him search for his wallet or shoes or whatever because he can't remember where he put them...thinking all the while, "Umm...I have 3 children...one teenager, one "tween" and a 1st grader...why am I doing this for my nearly 40 year old hubby? And why is it that I can remember where everyone else's stuff is, but no one seems to have a clue when my crap turns up missing?"<br />
....and then I feel all kinds of guilty for a little bit...and then forgive myself because, Lord-have-mercy, I am only human and I'm trying...I really am trying to give my best, but for what ever reason I seem to get caught up on one thing and then something else falls behind.<br />
<br />
Please tell me this sounds familiar.<br />
Please tell me I'm not the only one who tries to budget--yet forgets a bill or doesn't think to plan financially for something and then has to juggle/maneuver things around to make it all work...<br />
...who has made valiant attempts at creating a daily schedule and a "home organization binder" but with 3 kiddos and this monkey on our backs called PTSD/TBI, things get over looked, forgotten, put off, adjusted, and then who knows what else! *laugh*<br />
<br />
I try to stay balanced.<br />
I try very hard to not strive for perfection; however, with Pinterest as my comparison...well....it's rather difficult. *laugh*<br />
<br />
<br />
Can I let you in on a little secret?<br />
In my crazy brain, your home is literally perfect...like Pinterest perfect.<br />
Your pantry is perfectly stocked with all the labels facing out and organized by this incredible system.<br />
Your meals are planned--always.<br />
You never forget anything at the grocery store.<br />
You are dressed fashionably and with no dog drool or kiddie oopsies anywhere to be seem..oh and your shoes, jewelry and purse perfectly accessorize your ensemble....and you have these outfits planned out the week before.<br />
There is no digging in your purse because it is perfectly stocked and organized at all times with no crazy loose receipts fluttering about.<br />
Your animals are perfectly bathed and groomed.<br />
Your towels folded and organized.<br />
Your house is always cleaned--with fresh vacuum tracks in your carpet.<br />
<br />
Wait.<br />
What?<br />
Why are you laughing and rolling your eyes?<br />
Is this not your reality?<br />
<br />
See, I had some girlfriends clue me in on the reality that this "reality" in my mind that I was constantly comparing myself to was ridiculous and just not REAL.<br />
<br />
I was stressing myself out for some illusion I had concocted all on my own in my head.<br />
<br />
So what is real?<br />
What is realistic?<br />
<br />
Well...you are going to have to define that one for yourself, but right now my office isn't all the way unpacked and even though I make organized little piles every other day, my kittens or children come in and remind me how much they love me by leaving this:<br />
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About once a week...ok, probably more like every 2 weeks when myself or the children run out of clean socks and underwear, my laundry room looks like this as I catch up on a tsunami of dirty clothes:<br />
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<br />
<br />
And my kitchen sink seems to always have "straggler" dirty dishes that didn't quite make it into the dishwasher....like this:<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
..............<br />
<br />
But you know what? I don't care anymore...because have found that as long as my children and husband get my attention for a few minutes a day--they don't care whether or not the house is immaculate...and Lord knows I don't look back over my childhood and wish my mother had kept the house cleaner...in fact, I remember how stressed she was raising 4 children with a husband that worked away trying to keep it to the standards that her mother kept her house....oh and her mother had a live in house keeper. ;-)<br />
<br />
So, why am I writing this?<br />
Why am I sharing my "lived in and full of love" house?<br />
Because I want you to know that you are a superstar!<br />
You are more than enough...and this "stuff" that women's magazines tell us is important is B.S.<br />
I want you to love yourself--have fun with life where ever you are at and let that be wonderful.<br />
<br />
For instance, we pinching pennies to save for Christmas and fix this crazy car that "blew up". So, I've decided to see how creative I can be to feed my family for $150 or less a week. I'm learning how to make bagels and bread at home...along with a bunch of other stuff. And Christmas is going to be rather home made...along with Halloween costumes this year. And we've committed to buying gently used clothes...basically the only thing new we'll buy is socks, undies and shoes.<br />
<br />
And you know what?! We are having a lot of fun with it! (And not focusing on "lack" but instead all of the things we have to be grateful for!)<br />
<br />
So, I challenge you to give yourself a "reality check" by redefining what "reality" should be in a life that is full of mood swings and unexpected "stuff".<br />
<br />
Remember, my friends, to always:<br />
Love with PASSION!<br />
Live with PEACE!<br />
Dare to DREAM...for you are more than "enough" and incredibly worthy of everything you desire--and more!<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
-AshAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-42812709669692421712014-09-29T08:37:00.001-07:002014-09-29T08:37:30.812-07:00Managing ExpectationsCan I be totally honest here? I really feel like I have no idea what I am doing sometimes.<br />
<br />
No seriously.<br />
<br />
In the beginning of the crazy, awesome journey called "Battling BARE" I was only on Facebook. I had no idea about websites or Twitter or blogs or anything like that. Social Media was just fun for me--so the idea of using it as a business just blew my mind.<br />
<br />
And then things went crazy...<br />
And the entire team that was working with Battling BARE at the time felt like we were simply holding on for dear life.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to today and I am really a one woman show as far as everything really goes, and I really let everything slide for awhile. Even thought about shutting everything Battling BARE related down, but was begged not to by many, many strangers.<br />
<br />
So here I am--writing a blog, figuring out what it means to have a Social Media plan, what it means to be the wife of a now retired 20 year Veteran, settling my family into a beautiful home that we don't have enough furniture to furnish--and I've decided in all my home-making to literally build most of the furniture and thoroughly adopt the attitude/philosophy of my secret addiction--The Duggar Family's show on TLC of "Buying used and saving the difference."<br />
<br />
This idea means that it'll probably be a full 6 months or so before our home is furnished and "finished"--which drives me absolutely insane in the mean time and delays having a "house warming party" where all our family and friends locally can come see our beautiful new home.<br />
<br />
On top of all of that, this move from Tennessee to Missouri has been full of crazy ups and downs, financial adjustments, epic surprises...like the SUV we bought in June having catastrophic engine failure 5 weeks after we bought it...thus we now drive a Ford Flex (which is basically the result of a station wagon and a mini-van/SUV falling in love and having a baby car...ok, I drive a tissue box, people. Ask my children. And yes, he has a name--Felix!) and are still figuring out what to do with the SUV(--so if you have an engine to a 2007 Ford Expedition you are getting rid of, please let me know!)<br />
<br />
On top of all of that, we are still recovering from a $3,000 shortage in July, and I just honestly have to sit back and laugh because isn't this life? Isn't this wonderful journey what everyone goes through? That no matter what we plan for and try to figure out, life is full of surprises and pitfalls and just craziness sometimes--and each and every moment is truly a miracle if we stand back and look at it?<br />
<br />
Just this morning, I sat contemplating what to write--thinking in the back of mind that really what interesting things so I have to write about? And then all this just started pouring out.<br />
<br />
When I look back over 2014 thus far...I could focus on the frustration of all the health effects from the toxic mold in the Tennessee house and how much money we lost remodeling it--or I could realize all the wonderful memories that were made there...like building an awesome flagstone patio and pergola (like this one from ana-white.com) <span style="text-align: center;"> with my children and my husband.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xexnScvWVu6t8j8dmUD6ai1w12T16Zbu4h_fWobSe3m2ONkIQlnD2mQNtI1JGHlD73TxIxCDoNjaMNwWqiL4HNQ2GymrQSQ6RF5U87GzPYrPyQYEVGqrGD7uPW1fJfrZYmuvzWb2ZwM/s1600/3154845123_1399051218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xexnScvWVu6t8j8dmUD6ai1w12T16Zbu4h_fWobSe3m2ONkIQlnD2mQNtI1JGHlD73TxIxCDoNjaMNwWqiL4HNQ2GymrQSQ6RF5U87GzPYrPyQYEVGqrGD7uPW1fJfrZYmuvzWb2ZwM/s1600/3154845123_1399051218.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">Here are the plans: </span>http://ana-white.com/2014/05/plans/ryobi-commercial-pergola<br />
<br />
I could focus on my husband disappearing to his best friend's house in Carthage, Missouri (9 1/2 hours from where we lived in Springfield, Tennessee) after telling me he was heading to the store to get buns for dinner...thus inducing a state of panic and horrendous fear in the lives of my 3 children and myself. Or I could focus on the outpouring of love and assistance that came from the friends I've met literally and only through Facebook because of Battling BARE.<br />
<br />
I could focus on this crazy move to Missouri that we hadn't saved for or planned because I knew my husband needed to be "back home" where he grew up...close to family and friends. That resulted in our financially struggling for the past few months, my daughter and I's precious Pomeranian, "Chewie" getting killed on the road in an area he didn't know and my massive emotional break down because of all the memories of my 1st marriage that resulted in a double homicide Christmas Day 2004 being triggered because Carthage, Missouri is where my 1st husband and I went on our honeymoon (Odd the way life comes full circle, eh?) and the 30 pounds of weight can that resulted in all the stress...did I mention that when I am stressed I bake...and let's just say I've been baking A LOT!<br />
<br />
Or I could focus on this big, beautiful home that my entire family loves! Here is the front of the house: <br />
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--and that has a REAL DEAL laundry room! Here is part of it: <br />
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(I gotta let my geeky-mom self out for a sec there!) a huge great room: <br />
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And a functional kitchen that allows my love of all things culinary to go WILD: <br />
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Our new precious Pomeranian, "Reggie". The fact that my oldest 2 kiddos were so excited to be in Junior High and Middle school here in Carthage where they would have still been in Middle and Elementary school back in Tennessee. The amazing recipes that I found to feed my "stressed out baking habit" and have made several times over because of the financial strain forcing me to get creative with what I made my family for dinner.<br />
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<br />
Like this crazy-amazing pizza crust that we now make once a week for Pizza Night on Friday! YUMMY! (Here is the Recipe: http://feelingfoodish.com/the-best-new-york-style-pizza-dough/)<br />
<br />
... and the fact that I have an amazing friend, Lori Harder, who got me involved with her busygirlhealthlife.com workout group and I have amazing support through a group of women who have all "fallen off the wagon" a time or two in their journey to a rock-hard body.<br />
<br />
<br />
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This is Lori...I love her...and just have to tell you I met her at a conference in California. She was walking into the women's potty in front of me and I blurted out, "Girl! You have the nicest butt ever!" Yeah...I have no filter sometimes. *laugh*<br />
<br />
Life is nutty, my friends. Life is anything but perfect--and I know none of you really expected me to be perfect...I just put that idea in my head. So here is to having realistic expectations and being open and honest with everyone.<br />
<br />
Here's to this blog being a window into my crazy life in the hopes that you will see you aren't alone in the chaos that is having a family affected by PTSD...and that your perspective will shift so you see all the things to be grateful and in awe of in your life...instead of all the B.S. that will always be there no matter what.<br />
<br />
So, I think that is enough "mind dumping" for my first blog post in over a year.<br />
Make today amazing, friends!<br />
<br />
And remember to:<br />
Love with PASSION!<br />
Live with PEACE!<br />
Dare to DREAM...for you are worthy of everything you desire and so much more!<br />
<br />
-Ash Wise<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-91735154531468031762012-07-03T07:22:00.001-07:002012-07-03T10:24:32.505-07:00Good Morning Battle Buds! This letter was posted on one of our state pages by a fellow buddy and it touched our hearts. We had to share with all of you. Heather has described what each of us goes through - what we all want to say to PTSD. Know that each of you are NOT alone! Thank you Heather for giving words to all of our feelings! Battle On!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="background: white; vertical-align: top;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Dear
PTSD,<br />
<br />
Before you came into my life, I had heard rumors. Back then, no one really
spoke about you unless it was in hushed whispers. No one knew for sure what you
looked like- but I heard you did unspeakable things... that you crept into bed
with husbands and seduced them away from their unsuspecting wives. I also heard
that you drank. A lot. I heard sometimes you could be two places at once-
physically in one place but mentally elsewhere. It was also said that you were
a liar, home wrecker, careless and violent... that sometimes you would take
your mounting anger out on walls or whatever or whomever happened to get in
your way. You left shattered picture frames and broken memories in your wake.
There have been songs written about you... yet they don't even begin to do
justice to just how evil you are. In fact, there has been talk of you being a
murderer. I can't say that I'm surprised. I wouldn't put it past you. I
believed those rumors and I certainly never invited you into my life.<br />
<br />
But you came anyway.<br />
<br />
And you were relentless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">It was
four and a half years ago when you crept into our lives- an unwelcome guest.
I'm not sure if you were in his med bag on the plane or if you quietly crept in
through an open window one night making him awake in a state of panic... but
once you came, no matter how much I begged and pleaded, you just kept finding
ways back into our life. Persistent. I still can't believe the cops were never
called when you would be banging down the door just to prove you were still
there, still providing him the thrilling "alive" feeling I
couldn't... At first you were just a nuisance... doing stupid things like
ruining our sleep and tracking your sandy footprints all over our home, leaving
shattered glasses, like a disrespectful child never cleaning up after
yourself... leaving your mark to let us know you were still there...then you
started turning up and interfering with his job. Distracting. Leaving us on
edge...but you proved to be a stealth, well-trained machine... incognito even.
We knew you were there but no one else admitted to seeing you- some might say
you were a ghost of sorts. Eventually, we thought maybe they were right- that
maybe you weren't there to stay.... So we tried so many times to go on
pretending we had moved on... but you are like the ex we avoided yet managed to
bump into on the fourth of July at the fireworks, causing him to hide under the
nearest table so you don't see him and have to wax nostalgia about all of your
memories. Those trips down memory lane were always too much to handle anyway.<br />
<br />
But we were wrong. And you were angry. Angry that we wished you away or that we
ignored you - I'm still not sure which but you sure let us know it. Quite the
elaborate production. You make quite a scene, don't you? You followed us
everywhere we went. Proof of your existence began popping up everywhere but,
like us, others knew of your bad reputation and hanging out with you started to
get him into trouble at work... and then at home... You once left a hole in the
wall at the top of the stairs...and I read the elicit text messages between the
two of you... you sure were proving all the rumors true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The last
straw was when you began attacking me for trying to pull him away from your
allure... your antidepressant induced numbness ... All I wanted was to go back
to being a couple but everyone knows, PTSD, you're a dirty, dirty whore. You
weren't ready to let go yet. You had greater plans... the ultimate sacrifice
was number one on your list. You wanted his life. And you tried to take it. You
probably would have won if I conceded defeat that day but, unlike you, using
him for whatever thrill... I love him. So I saved his life. I'd heard you'd
been violent before, or in instances like ours, cowardly, disguising yourself
as miracle pills that would end the suffering you've caused. Some might say you
are the snake to Adam and Eve. Even the experts trained to recognize you, they
were so afraid of you and the implications of your existence that they
concocted an elaborate cover up and sent us on our way. Maybe you are just
bloody brilliant.<br />
<br />
I've been reading in the news lately about how good you've gotten at tricking
the military into believing you aren't real and I gotta say, I'm impressed. But
I'm not buying it. At all.<br />
<br />
I've been talking about you, PTSD, and I have about had it with you in my life.
The few bruises, the tears, the fear, the insecurity, anxiety, infidelity,
deceit and the broken heart.... I'm over it and I want my husband back. I bet
you feel real big... that uneasy feeling you leave in the pit of my stomach
never goes away anymore. Empty promises don't ease my pain. You have even
stooped so low as to bring my children into your little shenanigans and that is
just crossing the line. They aren't babies like they were when we first met.
They're perceptive. They've witnessed our arguments. They've seen how terrible
you are to me but I'm strong. I'm a fighter and when it comes to my children, I
always show them that...but you're expertly trained and certainly know how to
subdue your victim until they concede defeat.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">This time
is different, though. You have me so close to waving the white flag to protect
my children... but I know once you put the pen in my hand to sign away the
relationship I committed to, you will only find another home to ruin. It is for
that reason that I will let you win this round. I walked away... No, I ran. In
fact I fled. Hundreds of miles. Too tired to fight... but I'm regrouping.
Preparing. Training. Filling my arsenal. More focused and driven than before.
I'm sure you've heard the phrase that Hell hath no fury like that of a woman
scorned. If you won't go quietly into the night and leave my family be, you
need to know I'll never give up. And when you come at me again, I'll be
prepared. This time I have a ton of women who have my back. We will tell
everyone what you do. I won't let you have him. I want him back. And I don't
care if you have to rot in hell but you will lose. I hope you're ready. PTSD, I
hate you...<br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br />
Sincerely,<br />
Heather Goble,<br />
-wife of a
United States Navy Service Member<br />
2003-pending PEB<br />
-mother<br />
-fighter</span><o:p></o:p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-1250780609875231262012-06-26T11:32:00.000-07:002012-06-26T11:32:14.520-07:00<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, all you Battle Buddies out there! We will be starting to add new content to this blog every few days or so. The purpose will be to inform and hopefully start discussions to help you and your family understand what is happening in your home as well as open the door for healing. The following two 'articles' are from one of the proffessional counselors on our team. Be looking for more to come! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is this “normal”?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Soldiers always tell me to
“break it down Barney style” to them about what exactly PTSD is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One said, “Sesame Street that for me, doc!”
After I explained that I am NOT a doctor, I broke it down for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is trauma?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A “trauma” is any event that a person
experiences that they perceive to be traumatic. (I know, never define the word
with the word. So for the sticklers, Webster defines trauma as “<span style="color: #222222;">a deeply distressing or disturbing experience”.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>T</span>rauma can be different things for
different people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two people can experience
the same event and react to it two different ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On September 11, 2001 hundreds of thousands
of people experienced an event and reacted thousands of different ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t be surprised if an entire platoon
experiences an event and they all react differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the nature of the human brain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p>What is a “normal” reaction to
trauma? (I HATE the word normal, so whenever I use it, you’ll see it in
quotes.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s “normal” to feel
frightened, anxious, sad, angry, depressed and disconnected after a traumatic
event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the days turn into weeks after
the event, this should fade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it
doesn’t fade…we could be looking at PTSD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - or
in English - “after a traumatic event I do things I never did before” can be
complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can look like different
things in different people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I’m not
going to put the DSM-IV list of criteria for PTSD in here- you can Google
that.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a traumatic event threatens
your safety or your life, it can really change you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can make you glance behind you more, it
can make you sleep lighter, it can make you stop trusting people…and it can do
a lot of things that you never thought YOU would do. As a wife of a Soldier
with PTSD, you might be thinking, “this is not the man I married”, and you’re
right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s not the same man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a hyper vigilant, hyper aroused,
paranoid guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those things kept him
alive in combat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why he’s still
here today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only crappy part is he
can’t “shut off” those Spidey Senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And now, he won’t go into a crowded Wal Mart with you, he has a lot of
anger and he might even break things or hit walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is help for this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not an easy process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a LONG process. It can be an
embarrassing process for your husband—it shouldn’t, but it can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can cause you to be traumatized too (more
on that in an upcoming article).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Utilize the Battling Bare state
page groups (http://battlingbare.org/State_Group_Pages.html). Utilize other online
support groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk to your
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chances are their husbands are
experiencing it too and go hug your husband -- don’t sneak up on him, but go
hug him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Saturday at the Mall-
a great day for shopping </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">or a nightmare come true?</span><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the hardest things for people that don’t have PTSD to
understand is how everyday activities suddenly become threats to those that
suffer from PTSD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of times, this
is misdiagnosed as depression- your husband suddenly doesn’t enjoy the things
he used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That <b>IS</b> a symptom of
depression, but it’s also a symptom of PTSD - "avoidance”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are whole clusters of avoidance behaviors that take place with PTSD, but in
this article we’re looking at “normal” places and things that now cause fear in
someone that suffers from PTSD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of
these come straight out of the mouths of Soldiers and Airmen that I’ve worked
with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mall</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see: A great place to do all of the shopping in one
place, save some money, eat lunch, give the kids a chance to burn off energy in
the play area and scope those earrings you really want for your birthday (hint,
hint, hint).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He sees: A crowded, chaotic place with too many people, not
enough exits, an unsecured area with <span style="color: black;">the</span><span style="color: red;"> </span>potential for bombs, weapons <span style="color: black;">of</span>
mass destruction <span style="color: black;">and</span><span style="color: red;"> </span>full
of people he doesn’t know and doesn’t trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The 4<sup>th</sup> of
July event</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see: a patriotic celebration of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, fun
for the kids, socializing with friends and a great place to have some barbecue,
ribs and beer!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He sees: reminders of the ones that didn’t come back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
He feels: guilt and shame for being one of the ones that
did.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
He hears: the <span style="color: black;">sound of gunfire and
artillery-like explosions coming from the fireworks.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Movies</i>”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p>You see: an awesome date night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p>He sees: a dark place where he can’t watch everyone’s
movements, too crowded, not enough exits, and possible plot lines (war, love
themes) that will make him feel uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The kids playing in
your slightly cluttered house</i>”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see: your children having fun, playing and being kids<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
You hear: the shouts, whines, laughter and “Mooo-ooom” that
accompanies this.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He sees: the clutter…one more thing he can’t control. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
He hears: the noise of the kids, combined with the possible
TV in the background becomes almost a high pitched whine (similar to white
noise, just very annoying) that blocks his ability to hear possible threats and
often gives him a headache.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A welcome home event
or just a large family gathering</i>”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see: friends and family that are proud of your husband
and want to thank him, a great chance to see everyone in one place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He sees: A large amount of people, some he trusts, some he
might not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
He thinks: “I hope they don’t ask me about the war”.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
He feels: guilt and shame.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hard part about this aspect of PTSD is the person
suffering might not know that the reasons listed above (or similar reasons) are
WHY he is avoiding the event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just
knows he is now uncomfortable with the thought of going to the movies, out to
dinner, or large events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you push
him to go to these things, thinking it’s a good way for him to socialize, his
anger comes out. He can’t explain WHY he doesn’t want to go, he just knows he
doesn’t. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We will have more information soon about how you can help your
husband to slowly start going out again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It involves a lot of compromising and patience, but it can be done!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t give up hope!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Battling Bare will be here to support and
encourage you along the journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">~Joanna Nunez MSW, LCAS, LCSW</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(A little more about Ms. Nunez: Joanna Nunez, MSW, LCAS, LCSW received her Masters of Social Work from East Carolina University. She specializes in the treatment of PTSD, substance abuse, co-occuring disorders and children with behavioral disorders. She has previously worked with agencies serving prenatal and perinatal substance abusing mothers; active duty military with PTSD, substance abuse and other mental health issues; and children with ADD/ADHD, conduct disorder, oppositional defiant disorder and adjustment disorder. Joanna is the daughter of two career Army Veterans and married to an Air Force Veteran. She believes that PTSD is a chronic problem that is just now starting to get the attention it needs in the United States. She currently works with Active Duty Military, their families, and Veterans in and around the Ft. Bragg, NC area.)</span><br />
<br />
<em>***The above information is intended to be educational and informational. Information contained in this article cannot substitute for consultation for or treatment of a medical condition by a physician or other qualified healthcare provider. Always consult a qualified healthcare provider before making any choices about your healthcare needs. Never discontinue treatment or medication without first consulting your healthcare provider. This article is not meant to nor can it replace face-to-face, individualized mental health services provided by a professional. The information contained in this article is intended solely as general guidance on the use of the service, and does not constitute therapy, counseling, or other professional advice.***</em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4669817877484452140.post-71869138504011230962012-05-16T09:21:00.000-07:002012-05-16T09:21:07.301-07:00Battling Bare, an overview<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Our first blog post :) This will be a basic overview of what Battling BARE is and what our ultimate goal is. NO MORE will we be the "silent support" on the homefront... our soldiers DESERVE the right to be healed and whole! Help combat PTSD!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Our mission is to unite women and children who love a soldier dealing with PTSD by providing comfort in knowing they are not alone, a pathway of speaking out and battling back against the struggles they have faced with their soldier, along with offering support and encouragement so those women will continue walking the path of healing with their soldier.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In the process of empowering and encouraging these women and children, we will raise awareness of the signs and symptoms of PTSD while combating the stigma associated with this condition by increasing understanding of PTSD allowing for veteran suicide rates to decrease as the willingness to seek help and healing increases.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Battling Bare--a private organization-- is currently seeking non-profit status and is in it's beginning stages. We may challenge the status quo in what is acceptable and appropriate for a woman to do/behave. I ask that you stop for a moment and hear me out... my husband battles daily with his demons of war. These unseen wounds of Soldiers all over the world, have the names depression, anxiety, night terrors,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">P</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">TSD, and others. I, and wives like me, have tried everything we know to try to help.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 14px;">Currently stationed at Fort Campbell--home to the highest suicide rate </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">in the Army-- we've suffered the loss of 30 plus soldiers to suicide </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">in the past few months. To state that soldiers are "dropping like </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">flies" is no exaggeration...a few were husbands of dear friends and my</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">heart is breaking as I try to help them cope. Grief from a traumatic</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">loss such as suicide is truly an animal of its own breeding.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">I ask for your help and support via prayer or taking part in battling</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">back. The photo, just as the emotion it visualizes is raw--my heart</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">breaks and soul bleeds for the pain of each and every soldier--I hope</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">that the power of this photo inspires more "silent supporters" to</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">"battle back".</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Searching actively for a way to answer when asked "what can we do, we</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">are just the wives?", the idea for Battling Bare hit me in about 45</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">seconds one night...let's start with powerful, eye catching pictures </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">and let our voices be heard. The purpose is to create an outlet for </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">wives that are at their wits' end trying to help their husbands </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">heal...women who feel all alone in their struggle. Let us unite to </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">raise awareness, battle back for healing, create hope and take away</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">the feeling of being alone.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16px;">What can you do? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-weight: bold; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Photo submissions of support are welcome, please send them to BattlingBare@gmail.com. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Please utilize the following guideline: Use of tatas and tushies, or photos which could be construed "of a sexual nature" will not be posted. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Submission of a photo provides permission to Battling Bare for posting and/or duplication and a release of ownership of photo without expectation of compensation. Editing will be completed, as neccesary, to enhance anonymity or meet spacing parameters at our discretion.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We are also accepting personal stories and testimonials to feature on the blog to inspire and support others. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="fwb" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17477978254998902381noreply@blogger.com3