Me, the picture this article is based on
Body dysmorphic disorder or BDD is a mental illness characterized by a skewed perception of the self. People with BDD spend large amounts of time obsessing over and trying to “fix” a physical flaw that they believe they have. Often this flaw is more imagined than real. Take for example, people who become addicted to plastic surgery. No matter how many procedures they get, in their minds, they always fall short of perfection.
I remember watching Dr. 90210, a show about a plastic surgeon and his practice in Beverly Hills, California. Not only did it appear that his wife, who got skinnier and skinnier every episode, had a titch of this disorder, but it also seemed to plague many of his patients. On one episode, a woman who’s body was on par with a Victoria’s Secret model came into the office for a consultation. She said that her thighs were fat. It was pretty anticlimactic when she revealed her thighs and pointed out the region of imperfection because there was none.
I didn’t realize that I too had a bit of this BDD. I always feel fat and bloated. I am still trying to lose “that last twenty pounds.” And it wasn’t until I saw a recent picture of myself that I realized that I might be suffering from the disorder.
In moving a lot I’ve had to adapt to many different jobs. After moving from Idaho to rural Minnesota I tried selling Real Estate again, but the home prices were so low that I was barely covering my gas and advertising.
One night I attended a PartyLite party at the home of a new friend. Lisa, the consultant, showed us candles and gift-ware and mentioned that she averaged $100 in income per party. I listened closely. I couldn’t afford to buy anything, but asked her to contact me. Two weeks later I booked my “starter party” (and the 6 parties I’d give as a requirement to earn a free kit). We were new in a town of under 1100 people. I knew only the ladies who worked at the bank in town so it was a tough start. I didn’t know, at the time, the impact Lisa would have in my life. I was the first consultant she sponsored that made it past the first 6 parties. It wasn’t that I was great at it. I was desperate.
The card from Lisa thanking me for the guest list for my starter party. She says "I'll think we'll make good partners - and I know you have what it takes to be successful." Powerful words, I looked at them often and they lived in my heart.
I was honored in my first year when our Sr. Regional VP, Susan, called to ask me to do my first training. She had the national sales averages and said my number of guests per party was higher than the regional or national average. When you have low income women, they don’t spend much so you need higher attendance. I adapted my hostess routine to make sure there were more guests per party. Susan wanted me to train on what I was doing.
1997 my first full year and the first note I got from Susan on the monthly magazine page. I was number 7 in sales out of over 20,000. She wrote "Feel Proud of your Success Doris" Powerful words, I was walking on air.
What a challenge! Susan had a healthy 6 figure income and a large productive region filled with dynamic Leaders. She was also caring and genuine. It was important to me not to disappoint her. I was nervous about standing at a podium in front of at least 150 women with pens poised. I had handouts of the document I adapted to give each hostess as a checklist, and one I created to ensure I didn’t miss a single extra step. I wasn’t doing anything special, I was just regimented. My goal was that my hostess always got $100 in free product. If I made it happen for her, I earned $100, and my happy hostess would have more parties in the future.
At the podium that day, I forgot my nervousness as I focused on the importance of what I was passing on as I spoke. Later, consultants came up to ask me more questions. The following month something magical happened, many came to thank me for helping them increase their guest count. They were sincerely happy and proud that they had done the work and it paid off. Home sales isn’t an easy business. There’s lots of rejection and though it’s hard work, you don’t get much respect for doing it. You must constantly push yourself but you can never be pushy with others. I had a warm glow for days knowing I helped others meet their goals.
Good Afternoon! I would like to announce a few things.
The first is that the print copy of my book “I Know Why They Call a Shell a Shell,” will be coming out soon and I definitely want to do a giveaway/ contest. I will keep you posted on this.
Next, make sure you keep an eye out tomorrow for Linda’s new post, “I Wrote This Because You Loved Me.” The post is a touching and transcendental tribute to her beloved sister.
And finally, today I made my debut in HuffPost Politcswith my piece, “Rush Thinks We’re All Sluts.” Be sure to check it out by following this link! Have a great day everybody, XO
I remember standing by the window in the parlor looking at the evening sky in the Blue Hour. It was the winter of our first year and I loved standing in the empty room watching the colors change before my eyes. I never noticed in L.A. or San Francisco, was I too busy, too young, was it smog? What the hell was I doing in middle of nowhere Minnesotain winter on a farm, broke, bruised, tired and so damned cold. Memories that flash like photographs, still frames of my life that suddenly become a movie in my mind.
That day the snow was different, it looked like whitecaps on the ocean from the wind, the sun had warmed the top then nights froze the waves in place. There was a crust and I’d gone out to walk on it earlier, to feel it crunch and see how far I sank. God how you laughed at me, sinking thigh deep and struggling, the stubborn woman who wouldn’t turn back. Get it while I can, enjoy what I have, this new world and life I chose with you. I’m cold and tired but I have a new world. No, we have it.
Like the nights I had off in summer and fall when the colors soften and change, the birds settle in and the world gets quiet, I waited to watch that unbroken ocean of white. There were so few nights off during the Holidays but this night I had my time and my sights, I’m a watcher and magic is free. Slowly the night turned Indigo, deep, heavy purple-blue and the world was still early, no voices, no birds, no tires on the highway. Finally the yard light came on and I saw it, the ground sparkling everywhere I looked. It was as if someone had thrown millions of diamonds across the acre of lawn. It took my breath away and I stayed standing in the dark room, I didn’t want to look away.
I awoke from a deep medicated sleep by voices laughing behind the hospital curtain. The nurses were chatting at their desk and I silently wondered if I knew any of them that might come in and give me a kind word. Suddenly I heard the voice of my former obstetrician and remained quiet hoping she would not know I was there. Hearing her footsteps fade into the distance I suddenly ached for her to be by my side to reassure me that everything would be okay. I longed to see her smile or even hear words of anger that attempting to take your life was not something you should do.
Seeing the light of the moon cast its glare on the floor I knew that I would have to relive this day for the rest of my life. How many times had I done this and how many more times would I want to do it again? I felt my still tear-stained cheeks and knew that the hours of crying had not helped. This time it had been close; so close that I could taste it. Death had called out to me to be his friend and my stupidity had left me still standing on the other side with the living.
I found this through a Facebook “share” this morning and thought you might appreciate it. I do not know the origins of this photograph. All I know is that is was taken at a DC Slutwalk.
Slutwalks are a recent slew of protests by women who are sick of being victim blamed for their rapes by their rapists and the culture at large.
It has been a very stressful last several months for me. Care taking for others has been taking its toll on me and now I get some very sad news.
When I was a child I had a stuffed animal. I held onto it so much that eventually, it began to fall apart. There was only so much my grandmother could do to patch it back together. There was many a leg-transplant and arm transplant. And the patches she made couldn’t sustain the continuous amount of holes that kept cropping up. One day I retired it, I was too old and it was also too old. It was a sad day nonetheless.
My old pal Sandy- or what now can only be described as a rag doll
Life is difficult sometimes. Is it just me….or is it true that when things feel as if they couldn’t get any worse something (or several somethings) else goes wrong? I was not joking when I’ve said that the rejection letters I’ve received from graduate school programs and elsewhere came on some of the worst days of my life. Coincidental? I think not…
I have probably failed more than I’ve succeeded. Hasn’t everybody? It’s a matter of statistics really. If you want job X and they are only hiring 2 people but 100 people are applying for it, you have a 1 in 50 chance of succeeding and about 49 chances to fail.
Failing is part of life. You will be dumped, hurt, betrayed, rejected, and disappointed. That doesn’t matter. It is what you do next that counts. Will you go back to bed and stay there for a week? Or will you say, their loss, and try again?
Recently I spoke the phrase “I am proud of my failures,” and meant every single bit of it.
Below is a list of five reasons you should be proud of your failures too.
Today I flunked out of self-esteem class. And no. I’m not joking.
“I just don’t think I can get through to you. Don’t take it personally, but here’s a list of other therapists that might be a better fit. It was nice meeting you.” Are you serious? Good thing I didn’t take it personally- that would’ve been very detrimental to my self-esteem.
Upon hearing of my expulsion from self-esteem class, my other counselor -the one who recommended me for self-esteem classes- subtly asked me not to come back. I told her what he’d said and how I was confused as to what he meant by he couldn’t get through to me. I am not a child. I didn’t misbehave. I took the class seriously. As we conversed and continued to talk about other things she seemed to become very irritated with me.
Filed under Dating, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Fun, Growth, Healing, Heart, Inspirational, Life Lessons, Motivation, Passion, relationships
I like myself. There I said it. However, my domestic violence counselor sent me to “self esteem classes.” My counselor keeps insisting that I need them. At first I thought she might be on to something. I have been acting pretty insecure lately. I was dating a guy who has consistently blown me off (like twice in one week). I think that is a reason to be insecure. Here I was thinking he liked me. Would you blow off someone you liked? Even if he was legitimately busy it still sucked being blown off by someone you were looking forward to seeing.