Connie Jakab

I had the honour of speaking at Alison Springer’s Young Women of Power conference a few weeks ago on the topic of friendships.  When I asked how many gals don’t feel they get along with other females, every hand in the room went up.  Women to women relationships are “interesting” and need restoration.  I wrote this post two years ago in a time when I was struggling with friendships with women.  Perhaps you relate.

You women freak me out.  I’m afraid of your judgments when I walk in the room.  Am I dressed well enough to impress you?  Too much that I intimidate you?  Do I come across too talkative or too shy?     Should I smile at you or pretend to ignore you?  Should I approach you with openness or put on an aloof facade?

Its hard to walk into a room when you all know each other and I know no one.  You seem to all flock together.  It would be ok if I thought you didn’t notice my presence, but that glance back with a look up and down just made me realize you’re very aware I’m there.  I wish you could have seen me smile at you in attempt to reach out, but you turned back so quickly.   I guess this is why girls don’t often go places alone.  It’s just so awkward…..

It’s that uncomfortable moment of frantically scanning the room for a friendly soul that scares me.   It’s always nice when you finally decide to come over to introduce yourself.  You have no idea how refreshing!  But its hard not to compare the experience to feeling like I’m in the middle of an initiation.   The fact you just walked away tells me I didn’t pass….

I appreciate the attempts of inviting me out for coffee and to the party you were hosting so you could introduce me to your friends.  When you’re the new girl, it’s nice to have an invitation to hopefully form new friendships.   I’m just confused when the invitations stop?   I guess we’re not friends then?   It’s hard to read you when you’re nice, but not inclusive…….

I love deep talks with you.  It’s stretching for me to be open and spill my heart out.  I go away from sharing my soul with you feeling safe and free!….. until another comes and repeats verbatim all I shared with you…..  You were the only one I told.  I feel even more betrayed when you act like nothing happened.

I’m thankful when you’re not threatened by things I’m good at.  It’s wonderful when we can cheer each other on and celebrate one another’s accomplishments.   But I have to admit, I find it draining to hear you talk about yourself only to shut me down when I’ve got something new and exciting in my life I’m dying to share with you.

I was flustered after you got offended with me speaking rather frank with you.  I thought you said we could speak freely to each other and not take it the wrong way?

And honestly, it drives me a bit crazy when you obsess about what other girls are doing.  You become a different person when you’re trying to impress them.  I’m not sure when you decided these girls are setting the social standard?   Why can’t you just not care and be yourself?

Sometimes I just want to give up on you…. but I can’t.  Somewhere deep in my soul I feel I was made to connect with you.  I feel more complete when I’m with you.   As much as I want to isolate myself from you, I long for a kindred to walk through life with.

So when you ignore me, I’ll still muster the courage to smile.   When I’ve been pushed out of the circle, I’ll still speak highly of you.  When you succeed, I’ll choose to cheer for you, even if its not returned.   I may not bear my heart and soul with you until I feel  my trust replenished, but I won’t with hold my hand from you.    I will look for you when you’re the one alone in the crowd.   And even though my time seems so limited, I will try to look for you outside of my comfortable circle of friends.   I won’t care if you have a different style or point of view than me.  I find that intriguing and fresh!

You may hurt me again and again in ways you don’t even realize, but in those moments I will run to the Father and He will give me the courage to face you again.   I may succumb to my wall or standoffish behavior again.  When I do, I’m sorry.  Time to head back to the Father again to break down my wall of judgment ….. and hopefully surprise me with a new, deep friendship that sharpens us to be more like Him.

Ok, have you ever tried to get a really good headshot on Instagram?  Harder than it looks.  Doesn’t matter that you have a good one from a few weeks ago.  A few weeks = way overdue for a new one, right?…

I attempted to get a good one today.  I started with your typical “in the mirror shot”.  Had to move the camera about 6 times to get the right angle.  A little too far to the left or too the right revealed lumps and bumps I didn’t want to you to know I have.   Finally found a great angle.  A little “suck it in” and 1-2-3 click.  Hmmm…. nope.  Repeat process two more times and here it is.

But that’s not a head shot.  Decided to take one head on, directly in front of my face.  Result? Mortified!  No one told me I have a DOUBLE CHIN?!!  When did that happen?? #neverusethatangleagain

Delete, delete, delete!  That just won’t do.  Hmmmm….. I know!  If I could take a picture with the camera looking down on me, no one would see my double chin.  Great strategy… until I realized that I clearly need longer fingers to hold my phone with one hand and click the camera.  Dropped the phone about three times.  My fingers got a good stretch as I tried to make my face look like this photo was taken effortlessly.  #donotbefooled.  This picture was hard work.

I’m tellin’ ya, this is skill, people.  Still not satisfied, I wonder what the typical “pucker” would look like.

I review the photo before pressing “publish” and am shocked and disgusted by THIS:

When did I get wrinkles around my pucker?!  This is horrific!  Note to self: never pucker for a photo again.  That just ain’t sexy…

I’ve now wasted twenty minutes and still no decent headshot.  I’m exhausted.  I haven’t even mentioned the variety of other angles I tried.  Lighting, expression – I’m finding out there’s much thought that goes into these pics.  While concentrating on the perfect pic, my two year old has managed to find the dog food and is now creating art all over the kitchen with it.  Ugh.

Is it really worth all the effort?  Am I more than an instagram photo?  Does my value come from the effortless beauty I expect it to expose?

If you’re new to my blog, you may need to know that I’m poking fun at something many put much effort and value into.  I’m here to say that getting the perfect instagram photo isn’t easy.  I’d be lying to say I’ve never tried to get a great shot, only to press delete a couple dozen times.  I wrote this blog because one day I woke up to the pressure I was putting on myself.  Kind of ridiculous if you ask me.

Wrinkled puckers, double chins, and grey hairs revealed by my camera shouldn’t steal my worth.  And it shouldn’t rob you of yours either.

Here’s to your beautiful self.

“I don’t want to give money to a homeless person.  What if they spend it on booze?”  Ever heard someone say that?  Or maybe you have said it yourself?  When it comes to substance abuse concerning those whom society may label “broken”, I have a few observations I like to make.

• What is substance abuse?  You could define it as what we use to numb.   When something is wrong in our lives, we want to fix it.  If we can’t fix it, numbing is the next best thing.  In fact, numbing becomes our attempt to fix it. Truth is that today, North Americans  deal with more debt, obesity, medications and addictions than ever before.  No wonder we find ourselves seeking coping mechanisms.

For example:

• What about “busy-aholics”: buying into the truth that if we stay busy enough the truth of our lives won’t catch up with us.  For example, it’s easy to ignore the pain of a family in turmoil if we keep ourselves busy – or even further, we drown ourselves in projects or climbing the latter of success.  Our focus and determination, although not bad in itself, distracts us from pain.  Or what about parents who put their kids in so many activities for fear of them getting into trouble.  Not that activities are wrong, but when we overload ourselves and our family’s with too much, it can end in fatigue.  Being busy becomes what we believe is the answer to prevent trouble.  These can be attempts at numbing.
• What about those who have a glass of wine after work to unwind, or the one who drinks before bed to “take the edge off of life”?  ”Take-the-edge-off-aholiism” is encouraged when you’ve had a rough day.  ”Girl, you really need a drink.”  Why is this considered socially acceptable for us, but not for someone who faces cruelty and pain on the streets?
• What about those who binge on food to numb boredom or depression?  Or those who drown themselves in coffee, or depend on prescription pills to get through the day?
  • It’s interesting to note that more die from prescription overdoses than from heroin, cocaine, methamphetamine drug use combined.  They don’t get these drugs from “drug dealers” but parents, relatives, friends, and doctors.
• How about the “margarita mom” who drinks to numb the hard days with challenging children, or her feelings of losing her identity?
• How many feel they need to smoke weed or drink to be more comfortable in social settings?

• What are we numbing and why?  While someone homeless may drink to keep warm or to drown away the loneliness they feel in a day, are we any different to want to numb the pain that comes from feeling inadequate and “less than”?  Don’t we all want to numb because of feelings of shame, anxiety over pressures, and fear of disconnection?  When you look at society as a whole, homeless, poor, rich…. are we really any different?
• After thinking about all we consume to numb we can see it’s not only the homeless who deal with substance abuse. The wall of “us and them” crumbles with the awareness of our equal humanity to struggle.  We need to guard ourselves to not fall prey to the lie that we are above, or that we would never… (fill in the blank)
• I like how Cliff Newbury defined substance abuse “Our addictions are our attempts at self-redemption.”   Profound.  Isn’t that universal among us despite color, economic status, and position?  Perhaps this awareness can bridge the gap between us and “them” and tear the wall of judgment.  Maybe then compassion and empathy have hope to flourish and see the change we all desire become a reality.

“I’m just a mom”.  I’ve thought it, and have even allowed the words to escape from my mouth.  I’ve heard other women echo the same sentiment time and time again as well.  Where did that belief come from?  When I speak of making a difference, many women feel they are not included in being invited to participate to make the world better.  This has always grieved my heart to hear.  Something deep inside me has always told me that there’s more to life than the next Starbucks visit, hair appointment, new dress…  Been there, done that, got 10 tee shirts (that I didn’t need).  I’ve grown tired of the same ol’ conversations based around muffin tops and dissatisfaction with life.

My cry to “there’s got to be more!” was answered when I stumbled upon author Shayne Moore‘s book, Global Soccer Mom.  With every page, my heart raced.  I was reading about a woman who was making a difference globally with the HIV epidemic. I knew I wasn’t going to do what she was doing; travelling to Africa, speaking to senators, meeting Bono.  I didn’t find myself intimidated by her story, like many women feel when hearing about great things women are doing.  On the contrary, I was stirred!  I felt like my soul had awakened to something greater.  I knew I was an answer to a problem out there in my world.  I knew I had influence and power to bring change to something where I live.  I didn’t know what, but I thank God for women like Shayne who are embracing risk and raising their voices in issues that need attention.  Since reading her book, I have now joined Shayne in the Redbud Writers Guild where I have found a whole group of crazy women like me who are using their voices to impact our world.

That’s where I met Kimberly Owen Yim, who co-wrote “Refuse To Do Nothing” with Shayne.  I just finished this amazing book.  Like Global Soccer Mom, I couldn’t put it down.  What I loved about this book was that it gave the average mom, who feels helpless to do anything, tools that she can put into practice today that would make a difference in slavery and trafficking.  They answer every woman’s question: “What can I possibly do??”

What got my attention was the story they told of women who lived 200 years ago in a time when women could not vote, speak publicly or teach.  They couldn’t hold public office or be clergy. “And yet women played a central role of bringing an end to the trans-Atlantic slave trade.  In societies where ordinary women seemed to have little influence, they became the backbone of a movement that changed history.”   These women had no power given to them, yet they knew the power of their voice and action.  Where are these women today?  In an age where women have been given the right to speak, teach, hold political office and have a voice – where are we?!

We’re bored.  We feel forgotten.  We remain deceived that we have no voice, no power to do anything.  We question our ability.  We compare ourselves, thus disqualifying ourselves. We believe that believing in a cause beyond ourselves will abandon our motherhood.  To that I answer: Are you freakin’ kidding me!!  There’s never been a time when women have been given more opportunity as we have now to be an answer, and all we have to offer is excuses?  Really?

In their book, Shayne and Kim tell the story of these early Quaker farm women from the book The Great Silent Army of Abolitionism: Ordinary Women in the Antislavery Movement by Julie Roy Jeffery.  She tells “story after story of women who felt pulled by the demands of their every day lives, caring for their homes and children, and were unsure how they would find the time and strength to participate in the movement.  Yet history shows they did find the time and began to organize themselves…. They created opportunities for friendship, conviviality and emotional support and a worthwhile pastime outside of the home.  What is so remarkable is that this was the first time in history a mass movement of ordinary citizens rose up and fought for the rights of a group of people who had no family, tribal or national connection to them.”

i don’t know about you, but they seem no different than us.   They had homes, children, and busy lives to attend to.  Like us, they longed for meaningful friendship and participating in things that mattered.   When I read about these remarkable women I became full of hope for moms today wondering what purpose they serves besides knowing the Elmo theme song or being the transportation to the next hockey tournament.

Throughout the book, Shayne and Kim educate on the issues of trafficking and slavery and tell their own inspiring stories how they, too, are engaged in action.  I loved hearing how they inspire their families to care because of their compassion.  I found the book incredibly relatable and down to earth.

“Just a mom?”, no I’m a mom who is raising socially conscious children who care about what the world ignores.  They will see the example in me of Christ’s compassion on the earth.  They will watch me risk my own fear, and hopefully one day they will be moved to do the same.

If you’re hungry for more in life, but have no flippin’ idea what to do, you can start by picking up their book, Refuse to do Nothing and see what practical, every day things you can do to end slavery in your backyard and in our world.

…. and you never know what passion may spark in your heart, or inner answer revealed that you’ve carried all along.

I am very excited to be participating in the YWCA’s Keep A Roof Over Their Head campaign where I will be sleeping homeless for one night on May 2 at one of their shelters to learn about women’s vulnerabilities in homelessness and domestic violence and help the YWCA raise $4 million dollars (which is what it costs to keep a roof over the heads of homeless women).  The money raised provides immediate care kits for women upon arrival to the shelter which includes food and toiletries.  It provides them with support such as onsite counselling, referrals and advocacy in a place where they can be safe to make the changes needed for them to see a brighter future.

Why am I doing this?

Because few of us know what it is like to be homeless…. especially as a woman.  This will be an eye opener for certain.  As the Artistic Director of Invisible – a show about women’s vulnerabilities covering homelessness and domestic violence as one of our themes, I want to understand what these women experience.  Through the show, and even beyond the show, I have a great passion to do what I can to advocate for women such as these.

Some women have hard choices every day such as:  Do I keep a roof over my head, or pay my heating bill?  Do I keep a roof over my family, or leave an abusive relationship?  Do I have a place to live or buy winter clothes?  This is the reality.  I don’t want to just say, “What a shame”.  I want to do something, and that something starts with putting myself in their shoes for one night.

Why don’t we see homeless women on the streets?  They are invisible because many will return to an abusive relationship, sleep in their car, sleep in a church basement, stay with another family, or surf from one friends couch to another.  Women are called the “hidden homeless” because they don’t sleep on the streets.  It’s too dangerous for them.

In order to participate in this event, I have committed to raise $1000.  I figured if I could find 50 people who could donate $20 (tax receipts available) I’d reach that goal no problem.  If you would like to donate, click here.  Just press “Support me’ and put $20 in “other”. You’ll only be missing four $5 Starbucks visits to make a large difference.

I will be documenting the experience for your reading pleasure.  Stay tuned.

During the Christmas holiday, I read Brene Brown’s amazing book, Daring Greatly.  In her book, she explains shame and it’s effects well.  I’ve gleaned some nuggets on shame and have written about them here.  If you haven’t read the book, you can purchase it here.

Shame isn’t powerful.  It only becomes powerful when it can keep us silent.  It wants us to stay small, and full of regret.  Shame wins when it isolates me from others by fooling my heart into thinking that I am “the only one”.  It keeps my heart locked up where it is safe, and keeps my secrets buried inside.  It may move me to want to overpower others in fear of being discovered for the weakness I hide, or strive to please others to no end in efforts to be found worthy.  In the process, I lose myself.

This only leads to the continual torment of, “What’s wrong with me?” determining my every move (which is never forward).

When shame rules my life, I am far from risk.  I am safe, hidden from the casualties of progressing towards my dreams.

It puts me in self protection mode, I can’t listen to others.  I am too busy thinking about how I am being perceived in the moment to freely engage in enjoying others company.  It can isolate me with such force, that even in a room full of people, I still feel alone.  In attempts to belong, it can engage me in negative behaviors such as gossip or exclusion of others.

Shame rules my heart in a sea of fear.  It surfs on the waves of all I have failed to be or do.  To cope, I become who I never wanted to be.  I numb my pain in ways I never wanted such as addictions, violence, depression, and disorders.  These send the waves of fear higher, only making the cycle that much harder to break.  I am left to feel alone… and deeply flawed.

There is no where to escape it.  Culture feeds me shame on a silver platter of everything I don’t measure up to.   I can’t measure up to society’s image of effortless perfection.  I believe the lie that if I was really worth something, this perfection would come easy.

Shame has me in the corner when my unmasked self is accidentally exposed for the world to judge.  I shove myself into a prison of my own walls to protect myself before anyone can throw a stone.  Nothing will penetrate.  I am left to be alone with my disgusting self.  I am full of remorse of who I am.

Shame puts unwanted identities on me.  I don’t want to be seen as….  I don’t want people to think I’m….  I fight with all I am against these identities I feel are being forced on me.  At this point, I only see my own struggle.  I can’t see past myself.  Self preservation becomes my only purpose.  I will control others opinions of me.  I will exhaust myself in this task.  The shame only becomes stronger as I start to see myself through the eyes of others.

I don’t remember the wound – I have become the wound.

Can I ever be free?

There is a way, but it will take courage, more courage than I know I have.  I need to break the silence and tell my story.  When I tell my story, shame has no power.  I discover I am not alone.

When I share my story:

I become resilient.

The unwanted identities can’t stick and I find myself again.

I create change for myself and others

I become whole

Shame is indeed released from my life when I tell my story, but it is denied access to come back if my story is received by others in a spirit of love and grace.  When others create a place of safety, I go much further than just  getting over shame:  I flourish.

This, in turn, causes me to ask myself how I can create a safe place for others to tell their story to build resilience to shame.  I am reminded again that fighting shame alone only removes it for a time.  Fighting together annihilates it.

“This is the shame of the woman whose hand hides her smile because her teeth are so bad, not the grand self-hate that leads some to razors or pills or swan dives off beautiful bridges however tragic that is.  This is the shame of seeing yourself, of being ashamed of where you live and what your father’s pay cheque lets you eat and wear.  This is the shame of the fat and the bald, the unbearable blush of acne, the shame of having no lunch money and pretending you’re not hungry.  This is the shame of concealed sickness – diseases too expensive to afford that offer only their cold one way ticket out.  This is the shame of being ashamed, the self disgust of the cheap wine drunk, the lassitude that makes junk accumulate, the shame that tells you there is another way to live but you are too dumb to find it.  This is the real shame, the damned shame, the crying shame, the shame that’s criminal, the shame of knowing words like glory are not in your vocabulary through they litter the Bibles you’re still paying for, this the shame of not knowing how to read and pretending you do.  This is the shame that makes you afraid to leave your house, the shame of food stamps at the supermarket when the clerk shows impatience as you fumble with the change.  This is the shame of dirty underwear, the shame of pretending your father works in an office.  This is the shame of asking friends to let you off in front of the one nice house in the neighbourhood and waiting in the shadows until they drive away before walking in the gloom of your house.  This is the shame at the end of the mania for owning things, the shame of no heat in winter, the shame of eating cat food, the unholy shame of dreaming of a new house and car and the shame of knowing how cheap such dreams are.” – Vern Rutsala

We are breaking the power of shame through telling the stories of women’s vulnerabilities in the show Invisible playing at Theatre Grand Junction June 14-15, 2013.  If you would like to tell your story, please contact me at culturerebelonline@gmail.com.

A year ago, if you asked me what I knew about sex trafficking in Canada, I would only have a blank expression.  Truthfully, this buzz word has actually annoyed me more than anything.  I tend to not jump on bandwagons of fads.  However, it’s unfortunate I’ve waited this long to find out what the issues are lurking behind trafficking in Canada.  Now that I am aware, I can confidently say I believe its important everyone become educated on the issues surrounding trafficking, because it’s happening to girls you would never expect.

The information I am about to share with you is from notes I took from the W5 coverage on “Finding Ways to Free Canadian Women from the Sex Trade.”  Click the title to watch.  Please note, some of the information shared is disturbing.

We often ask ourselves, “How do these girls get involved in trafficking?  What would lead them there?”  They have subtitled the coverage, “Not A Love Story”.  You’re about to find out why.

One of the stories told on the W5 clip was one of a girl from Calgary who was living in one of the youth shelters.  She met a man who became her comfort and said he made her feel “safe”.  After gaining her trust, just two days after taking her virginity, he had her selling her body for money.  When she decided to stand up to him and tell him she didn’t want to do it, he started physically abusing her.  He and his friends would pound her with their fists.  One evening when she didn’t come back with enough money, he punished her with putting a hot curling iron up her vagina, then sent her out to work burned until she came back with enough money.

She knew she always wanted better.  It took ten years, but she finally escaped.

Another story was told about a university student who ran out of money.  She always felt she didn’t fit in.  Everyone around her seemed to have designer clothes, nice cars and be able to pay their tuition.   A part of her wanted that lifestyle, so she found herself doing what many university female students get lured into doing: stripping.  It paid the bills and gave her money to fit into the lifestyle of having expensive things.  She states in the interview, “I don’t know how I got there.  I thought strippers were disgusting.”  She described herself as a goody-goody church girl.  How does the “girl next door” go from a stripping job to being trafficked?  Easier than we think.

She started dating a man who happened to be a pimp.  He was charming, exciting, handsome, drove fancy cars, and lived the VIP lifestyle.  He bought her beautiful diamonds, took her on elaborate vacations.  He told her about the money she could make if she worked for him.  Most nights she would bring home $20,000.  He convinced her she owed him and that it would give her the lifestyle beyond her wildest dreams.  She was in love with him so she did it.  Eventually, she became pregnant with his baby.  She thought she was his special girl, but that all changed six months into the relationship when they were on vacation in Cuba.  Three days after he proposed to her, he beat her  so bad, she said the hotel looked like a murder scene.  Her face was mangled and unrecognizable.   She thought for sure he was going to kill her, but she lived.  After that, she stayed with him, not out of love, but fear.  She felt trapped and terrified about what he would do to her if he caught her trying to leave.  Thank goodness, she was finally able to escape with her daughter, find shelter and restoration.  She has now met a lovely man in her church and is able to move on with her life.

The last story the news interview covered was a girl who was lured into selling her body for money because of having such low self esteem.   Her “boyfriend” told her he had saved her life – without him, where would she be?  She believed him and believed he loved her.  After all, he had tattooed her name on his chest and married her.  Just like the other stories, she found out that this was far from the truth.  Thankfully, she also was able to escape and is now helping other women who have fled from trafficking situations.

She stated that many of these girls can look back and see how they would justify how they were the exception.  They girls that are lured into this lifestyle believe that somehow, they are invincible and the exception to the above scenarios happening to them.  Once they find out the truth, it’s too late.  The greatest barriers these girls face is lies that scream, “You’re worthless.  This is what you deserve.  This is all you’ll ever amount to.”

Most of the men who lure these girls don’t fit the “pimp” stereotype we have in our heads.  They are attractive, “normal” looking guys.  The girls they lure are not stereotypical either.  They are no different from you and I.

We all wonder: “What is keeps these girls from escaping?  Why would they stay?”  These girls feel they can’t escape because they are often beaten, raped and have their ID taken from them. Many are beaten into fear and submission, making it hard for them to leave.  Not to mention, many police treat them as offenders rather than victims, causing them to not want to approach the law for help.  However, as the news clip covered, there are police who are dedicated to offer rescue to those who are ready for it.

We also have wonderful organizations that are committed to helping rescue and restore these girls lives.  However, the only shelter in Calgary has had government budgeting stripped from them, and now face having to close the shelter.   We as Calgarians have a great opportunity to come a long side and support the work of Servants Anonymous by coming together as a community to raise funds.  We cannot allow this to happen.  Lives are at stake. If you are interested in helping raise funds or donating, please contact Theresa from Servants Anonymous at theresa@servantsanon.com.

Another way to get involved is The Net Alberta meeting where they will be talking about a number of things including how to help Servants Anonymous.  For information about the meeting, click here.

To read the Calgary Herald article about the budget cuts click here.

When I received this submission to the Women’s Vulnerability Series, I shook after reading.  I couldn’t believe a husband would be so cruel to put his wife through rape.  I am proud of this woman’s resilience and bravery for telling her story.  It’s for women such as this that feed my passion to advocate for women who are Invisible to society.  Women who face terrible situations such as this behind white picket fenced homes.  We don’t know what pain and suffering goes on behind closed doors.  She writes:

February 3, 2011.  “Reflections of a Former Victim”

Pitt Meadows…Rape….Hazing…You tube. The class was intent on discussing current events, but the words were a blur. They buzzed in my head like a swarm of bees. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on the assignment instead, but it continually came back like a boomerang. By the time I reached my third class that week, I wanted to cover my ears and run screaming from the room at the mention of it. During one class it became particularly difficult to concentrate; I was experiencing flashbacks. The nightmares had started, made worse by the realization that it really happened. My days and nights were haunted by the memories of the day I decided to divorce my husband.

The evening began like any other. The boys were wrestling with each other and ignoring me when I asked them to brush their teeth and get into bed. My husband yelled from his seat on the couch, “Go and do it before I paddle your ass!” They scattered. Some ran to their rooms while squealing and giggling, the other playfully made their way to the bathroom to brush their teeth and make silly faces in the mirror. After several minutes, I made my way up the stairs to pray over them and tuck in my grinning children. Part of the bedtime routine has always been for them to echo my words: “Goodnight, I love you. See you in the morning.” My youngest- who was 6 at the time- added his own expressions: “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love YOU so much.”

“I love you forever.”

“I love you forever, too.”

I went into each of their rooms with hugs and kisses, and to wish them pleasant dreams. As I made my way downstairs, I wondered at the way my stress level went up with each step.

As I entered the living room, my husband informed me that a particular friend was coming over. For a moment, I considered going to bed immediately, or sleeping in one of the boys’ rooms for the night. My uneasiness rose as I remembered the friend’s admitted obsession with me, and my husband’s willingness to let him do things to me several years before. They were things I wish I could forget. I fought to regain my composure, and reminded myself that my husband promised me it would never happen again. To my dismay, they began discussing sexual fantasies after a few drinks. I knew then that I was in trouble, but I was so terrified I felt frozen. I thought of my sleeping children upstairs, and prayed they would not wake up until morning. I wanted to cast off the lead weights that were keeping my body sitting on the couch like a posed Barbie doll. I saw no way out. The implied and verbalized pressure was overwhelming, and I felt the 2:1 odds keenly. I desperately wanted the friend to leave, and looked at my husband repeatedly, quietly begging him for help….imploring him to not do this to me again, to no avail. Instead, he told the friend I had a fantasy of two guys at once. I was horrified! He used that as his excuse before! Here I was, once again facing a situation he promised me would never happen again. I told my husband to send his friend home and stated, “I don’t want to do this.” What was his response? “Well, WE both want to do it…”

“I don’t want to do it. Please back me up on this. Please tell him to go home.”

“He bought the condoms already. We want to do this.”

Why was he not listening to me? He brought me into the bedroom, where I could feel the nausea cramping my stomach to match my sense of helpless panic. The friend’s hands were cold and rough, and the bile rose in my throat as I briefly wondered if I would have bruises in the morning. My husband watched as he was eager and rough with me. I was already uncomfortable physically because of an allergic reaction to the latex, but the violence of the friend’s actions left me crying out in pain. Heedless of my cries, my husband took a turn. He was not as rough, but he was nearly wild with his perverse excitement. By that time, my body and mind were shutting down. I was mildly catatonic. When it was over, the friend left and I cried myself to sleep while my husband watched TV.

The next morning, I tried to talk to my husband about what happened, but he brushed me off. He blamed me, saying I “allowed it to happen”, so I “must have wanted it”. That is when I knew it would happen again. I tried a few other times to talk to him, with similar results. He moved out for the last time within a month. Even then, I did not feel safe in my own home, let alone in my own bed. I slept on the couch for two months, and only entered my bedroom to gather clothes so I could get dressed somewhere else. Despite my broken and battered sense of self-worth, something rose up in me after that night. I looked in the mirror the next day and firmly declared: “I do not deserve to be treated this way. No one does.” I was amazed to discover that for the first time in over 10 years, I believed it.

In the 17 months since then, I have started to feel safe again. My children and I are now in a different home, and I am pursuing a once-shelved dream of going back to school. The flashbacks triggered by the Pitt Meadows incident encouraged me to face and deal with this part of my past. I am now able to leave the past behind me and move forward in my education and my life with my children. “Victim of Abuse” is no longer a label I wear; instead, I am a FORMER victim. I am a survivor. Emotional healing is never quick or easy, but the freedom and benefits far outweigh the pain. My children are worth the effort, and so am I.

We are telling the stories of women who have overcome or escaped vulnerable issues such as this for our show Invisible, showing in at Theatre Grand Junction in Calgary June 14-15, 2013.  You can learn more about the show by clicking here.  If you would like to submit your story, please email Connie at culturerebelonline@gmail.com

Yesterday I wrote about my #stopinstagrammingmyperfectlife experiment.  Today, I share with you a free chapter from my book Culture Rebel about some of the struggles I’ve had with loneliness, isolation, jealousy in regards to facebook.

One of my favourite shows of the nineties is Seinfeld. I loved watching how Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer’s lives wove together through their endless “normality” of relationship issues, mishaps, and mundane days. It gave me warm, fuzzy feelings of camaraderie. I’d turn off the TV feeling like I had just been invited into their lives.

One of the hardest things I’ve experienced in my thirties is loneliness. When I was single and even into the early years of being newly married, I was always surrounded by amazing friends. Weekends were full of exciting adventures or just lounging together at someone’s house. It was truly an electric time. There’s nothing like having a safe group of friends who accept and love you. We could have taken on the world.

I’m not sure when that changed. It could have been when we moved to a new city and I found myself at home with a newborn. It was hard to start from rock bottom trying to find good friend material, and then to begin the hard work of building each relationship.

I had never been hurt by shallow people until my thirties. For the longest time, I wondered if they truly existed outside Junior High, but they do. Wondering who I could trust, I responded to the hurt by isolating myself from the world. I started building a sense of community on Facebook where I could put my best face forward. Yet Facebook sank me into more loneliness and depression than I could ever imagine. On Facebook, people would “friend” me only to ignore me in public. On my birthday, over two thousand “Happy birthday’s” would hit my wall, only to find me lonely, and dying for someone to go for coffee with. If I found someone I was finally beginning to connect with, I would soon see all the parties they threw that I was not invited to. I started to see my “friends” interacting with one another on their walls, but not on mine. They would “like” one another’s status’s, leaving mine void of any “likes” from them.

I started to become very self-conscious and guarded. I suddenly felt this grade eight feeling well up in my body: I decided to commit to NOT “liking” their status’s! “Take THAT.” If I had a party, I’d be sure to post pictures of all the fun we had without any of them. I’d put comments on the pictures such as, “Best party ever with the best people” (How old am I??)! I started carrying my camera everywhere, taking pictures with all my friends just to be able to post my amazing life for the world to see. “And here we are at the homeless shelter …” Gag me. I was making myself sick.

I didn’t like who I was becoming. I was morphing into a shallow soul who only saw people as photo opp’s’s for my Facebook charade. I didn’t like who I had become, but I didn’t know how to live any other way. I wasn’t finding deep friendships, so I had to create a world where it at least looked like I had them. The result? My loneliness was turning into some serious depression.

I remember the day I chose a new focus for my Facebook page. My goal was to stop treating it as my social empire, but as an opportunity to encourage and network with some amazing people. I would limit my time on it, and pick up the phone. I committed to investing in people. I started watching for girls I call “kindred spirits,” and dared to ask them to be my friends. Surprisingly, I found some who agreed. I stopped trying to be the most popular, and engaged in meaningful community with a handful. It has been refreshing.

I learned another valuable lesson through my Facebook journey: when haters try to destroy my spirit, I need to let it go. This has been hard to do at times, but the exercise of letting go is always freeing. I’ve learned that for every hater, there are always a dozen people who love my heart. Why focus on the ones who don’t care to understand?  I moved on and chose not to open my mouth to speak against them. Seth Godin states, “It is human nature to be weird, but also human nature to be lonely. This conflict between fitting in and standing out is at the core of who we are.”

Community is a hard thing to find, but I can guarantee you that it’s not found when you try to put your semi-fake best face forward online. It’s not found on twitter where you network with some amazing people, but they’re not your kindreds. It’s not built on texts sent from your cell phone. It comes from a willingness to be vulnerable; it takes phone calls, coffees dates, and finding the right people to build your life with. Sometimes, the long, hard path is just finding the right people: people you really love and feel you can give to and receive from; people who you won’t take for granted, and who won’t use you; people who show up when tragedy strikes, and who let you in when they need support; people who you stick with (and who stick with you) through disagreements and misunderstandings; people you would have over to your home, even when it looks like a bomb went off; and people who don’t scream when you show up in jogging pants and no makeup (Now that’s friendship) …

Community is messy. It forces us to let go of our perfect image and embrace the mess. It takes courage to allow yourself to be fully immersed in that kind of chaos. You need to be willing to love people without wanting anything in return. You have to let go of building relationships just for the benefit of where they will get you. True friendship and love is built on sacrifice and generosity that is completely selfless.

Perhaps you feel let down by relationships in your life, and the only relationships you have in your life now are those that you allow. I know, that wasn’t nice, but it’s the truth. If you’re being used and abused, however, you’re the only one who can get out of that. Sometimes we have to say “thanks, but no thanks,” and have enough self-respect to walk away. It’s not wrong to walk away from relationships that are damaging. Some of you need to re-read that sentence.

Perhaps you’ve been so driven by climbing the social ladder, you’ve actually fooled yourself into thinking you care about the people who surround you. You may care about the ones who have got you where you are, but who have you stepped on to get there? You may not want to dig up those repressed memories because then you may have to admit that you’ve been pretty shallow, and that would be hard. I’ve been in this place, and it’s incredibly humbling, but it will free you to be the loving person you truly are. Sometimes, we have to let go of what we know in order to embrace something better.

Community isn’t instant; it takes time to find, and then even more time to build. You’ll be tempted to give up and head back to your isolated tavern behind a screen, but don’t do it. Take the harder road. Show who you truly are and love every ounce of yourself and others. Love when you’ve been hurt. Forgive those who’ve hurt you and move forward. See value in people who are completely different than you.  You weren’t called to live life alone, but in genuine friendships.

To order a copy of Culture Rebel click here and receive a signed copy from me!

Last week I read a great blog, Stop Instagramming Your Perfect Life.  The title caught interest because we all relate.  On days when our lives seem to be in havoc, it’s hard to browse through facebook pictures and status’s of others seemingly perfect lives.  But that’s what facebook is, isn’t it? A collection of highlights.  It’s a pseudo world that wasn’t meant to fill our need of community and friendship.  If we seek to belong, social media will always fail us, which is the Relevant article’s conclusion.  Community doesn’t happen online.  It happens face to face.

I decided to do an experiment as a result of reading the article.  Do people really want to see the ugly?  I posted a picture of myself first thing in the morning (the picture you see here).  I made this picture my profile picture for the day.  Yes, it was extremely embarrassing.  I did this for a couple of reasons.  First, to give others a laugh.  Second: to observe reactions.  Throughout the day I also posted pictures and status’s of everything I was feeling or things that went wrong.  Interesting, that particular day A LOT went wrong!

Here’s what I observed from what I posted and the feedback I received.

Although many had a good laugh and applauded my bravery for posting my first-thing-in-the-morning look, some interesting messages came into my inbox about my profile picture.  Here’s what one said:

Is showing the ugly, or the “not so great” helping people focus on the beauty of life? Ya, life can suck and bad things happen, but why are we focusing on it.? I don’t think not getting my dishes done is praise worthy or lovely. I find when I look at the not so nice things in my life, it makes me depressed.  Looking at the things in my life that I did right or things I excelled at makes me happy. Having a look how bad my life is isn’t uplifting to my spirit. I know we can grow from bad things in life, and believe me, I’ve gone through a few things. It wasn’t the people saying, “Look how bad my life is”, that got me out.  It was the people that showed me hope. 

I think this is a notable observation.  If we all posted our worst pictures, our worst moments, what would that do to beauty?  Would it encourage others to dream, create, be passionate, excel and achieve? Or would it create a culture of mediocrity and apathy?

I like what another wrote in to say about taking more ownership on ourselves on how we use social media.  She wrote:

If we experience feelings of dissatisfaction or inferiority because of what we infer from other people’s posts (i.e. their life must be better than ours), then we are the ones who need to renew our minds. True contentment does not come about because other people stop posting about how awesome their lives are. When we continue to trust in and have faith in God, when we continue to be thankful for what we have, and when we continue to trust that He is at work in our lives, despite any outward evidence to the contrary – that is when we will truly feel content.  No amount of instagram photos or facebook statuses can diminish that or rob it from us.

I agree with this statement.  There was a time I was experiencing much isolation and jealousy as a result of typical facebook envy.  It was consuming my mind and making me angry.  I started to notice when people stopped “liking” my pictures and status’s, yet still “liked” others in our circle of friends.  I found myself feeling left out and rejected from “likes” on facebook. I had to make adjustments on my settings to give myself boundaries and return to a place where I could enjoy social media for its positive side.  Ever since I did that, I can’t begin to tell you the liberty l’ve experienced.  I’m free from facebook Jr. High drama and it’s lovely.

On the other hand, another wrote in about the importance of keeping it real and not being afraid of showing imperfection.  She writes:

While I can agree with the comments above, i also believe that there is a place to be able to say, “I’m sweaty, I’m frustrated, I’m not on my game today, or pick your issue of choice!” Balance is important.

I couldn’t agree more.  There’s something about pictures like these that make us laugh at ourselves and make us feel at peace with our humanity.

Pictures like this:

or this:

These pictures were posted by some friends who thought they would share in the #stopinstagrammingyourperfectlife experiment.  These pictures make us laugh because they’re relatable.  They’re not “negative” or bring feelings of apathy.  There’s nothing like these moments that remind us not to take ourselves too seriously.  Posting pictures like this reminds others, too, that laughter is good for the soul and not to worry too much if life just isn’t working today.

What I noticed from this experiment is: no one wants to see our worst, yet we want people to be real.  We enjoy it when others aren’t afraid of revealing their funny imperfections.  Elitism on social media disgusts and creates inferiority, but showing the beauty we bring to the earth in a spirit of friendly confidence inspires others to be their best.

I concluded the day by stating:  We all know we don’t have perfect lives. If facebook or social media make us feel inferior then we are the ones who need to adjust the amount we’re on facebook. To expect others to expose their darkness on social media isn’t realistic and honestly looks…. weird. I believe in being real. It’s one of my core values, but I will save some vulnerability for those who have earned seeing me at my worst. We were born for genuine community – community that can’t be manufactured cheap through a screen. We long forcommunity that is real, raw, accepting, and gets into one another’s lives face to face, with the dedication of stating “I AM FOR YOU” – quirks and all.

Tomorrow I will reveal a free chapter from my book, Culture Rebel, that talks about a time when I was buried in my shallow heart, revealing it’s ugly head on my facebook page.  Until then, what are your thoughts?